General Naylor looked at General McFadden.

"Al?"

"When I heard the CIA had found the 727," General McFadden said, "I ordered an E-3*^ (3) down there. The nearest one was refueling at Guantanamo. They said it would take thirty minutes to get it in the air. That was about thirty minutes ago. So it's probably wheels-up. It's about eighteen hundred miles from Gitmo down there. At a little better than five hundred knots, figure three hours twenty minutes. I also ordered up two KC-135s out of Barksdale. Љ Both are wheels-up, one headed down there and the other to Gitmo, where it will be on a ten-minute runway alert. I also have a four-plane flight of F-15s on a ten-minute runway alert at Eglin. ј

"Worst possible scenario: The 727 takes off in the next few minutes, whereupon we scramble the F-15s at Eglin to intercept. The intercept point would be about 150 miles south of Miami, a little south of Cuba. They could either order it to land at Gitmo or shoot it down.

"The decision to do either would be in the hands of the pilot. For obvious reasons that's risky. But there's no other way to go until we get the E-3 there and up and running.

"I admit this isn't an ideal situation, but the truth is, we just weren't set up to deal with an airplane sitting on a field in Zandery, Suriname."

"And the best possible scenario, Al?" Naylor asked.

Naylor was impressed with the action McFadden had taken and felt a little guilty for having staged "the junior speaks first" business.

"That would mean the airplane doesn't try to go anywhere soon-in other words, before we can get the E-3 down there, which will give us both a more positive means of identification and communications here-in other words, take the shoot-it-down-or-not decision off the pilot's shoulders and hand it to you. Then we get McNab's people down there and they neutralize the airplane-quietly, very quietly-before it gets in the air. That's possible, even if we shouldn't count on it. By the time McNab can get a C-17, Little Birds, etcetera, to Hurlburt-which, obviously, won't be in the next hour or two-I should have heard from the CIA where he can set the C-17 down in Suriname."

"You've asked for that intel from the CIA?" Naylor asked.

"I'm told, General," Lawrence Fremont of the CIA said, "that it will take another couple of hours to get our man out to-and back from-an area about forty miles from the field that we show will take a C-17. But the data's a couple of months old and we don't want McNab to get there and find the field is either under water or filled with lumber or scrap metal."

"I must tell the both of you I'm impressed with all you've done," General Naylor said. "Now, let's hear what General McNab has to say. Get him on the secure line and put it on the speakerphone, please, Wes."

"Yes, sir," Sergeant Major Suggins said and went into the Phone Booth, coming out in less than a minute. "You're up, sir," he said.

"General McNab, please," Naylor said.

"Speaking, sir."

"You've been made aware the 727 has been found in Suriname?"

"Yes, sir."

"Well, here's where we stand. The secretary of defense has tasked CentCom to neutralize the airplane. Everyone here is agreed that Gray Fox is the way to do it. Backed up by Air Force fighters which will intercept the plane should it take off before you can get your people there and either force it to land in Suriname or shoot it down."

"In other words, sir, what you're hoping is that a Gray Fox operation to keep the airplane on the ground could be put into play as soon as possible?"

"Yes. You want to tell me how you would proceed?"

"Actually, sir, it probably will be less difficult than it seems. We're not going to have to land on a hostile airfield, for one thing, and I can't imagine that they are going to have any meaningful forces defending the airplane. So what has to be done is to put a half-dozen Little Birds-two gunships, four troop carriers-in a C-17 with thirty men, wait until I know where I could sit down the C-17-I've asked DIA about possible landing areas; I haven't heard back yet-and then go do it. 'It' is defined as anything from grabbing the airplane to blowing it up."

"You think you could take over the airplane, Scotty?"

"I think that's possible, sir. And that would be the best thing to do."

"This operation has to be done quietly, Scotty, you understand?"

"Yes, sir, I do."

"Staging out of where?" General McFadden said. "Hurlburt?"

"Yes, sir. Was that General McFadden?"

"Yes, it is."

"Sir, I'd appreciate any help you could provide about someplace to sit down the C-17."

"I'm working on it, Scotty. The CIA has someone-as we speak-confirming that a field about fifty miles from Zandery is usable. Between the CIA and the DIA, we should have confirmation shortly."

"Thank you, sir," General McNab said.

"Scotty, how long would it take you to get an adequate team of your people and the Little Birds to Hurlburt?"

"Not long at all, sir."

"How much is 'Not long at all' in hours and minutes, Scotty?" Naylor asked. There was a tone of impatience in his voice.

"As a matter of fact, sir, as we speak I'm in the shade of a C-17's wing, watching the Gulf of Mexico lap on the sandy beaches of Hurlburt."

"Do I understand you to say, General," Naylor asked, icily, "that you are at Hurlburt Field?"

"Yes, sir. With six Little Birds and thirty stalwart special operators, waiting for your order to go."

"Who authorized you to go to Hurlburt, General?" Naylor asked, coldly furious.

"Mr. Castillo suggested that if I organized the team and brought it to Hurlburt, it would save a good deal of time, sir. I could not fault his reasoning, sir, and acted accordingly."

"You are referring to Major Castillo, General?"

"In a way, sir. But I have been calling him 'Mister.' That seemed appropriate, inasmuch as he was at Fort Bragg as the personal representative of the president, sir. And in civilian clothing."

"You're a goddamned lieutenant general, Scotty!" Naylor exploded. "And you don't take goddamned 'suggestions' from a goddamned major! And you goddamn well know it!"

"With all respect, sir, he's not functioning as a major. The national security advisor made it quite clear on the telephone that he was coming to Bragg as the personal representative of the commander in chief, sir, and, as I said, sir, I have acted accordingly."

Naylor threw his hands up in outrage and disgust and looked around the room. The officers and civilians at the conference table were looking anywhere but at him. Sergeant Major Suggins was standing just inside the Phone Booth making signs with his hands, moving them between a gesture of prayer and a gesture meaning cool off.

Naylor tried to collect himself, thinking, When you are angry, you make bad decisions in direct proportion to the level of your anger.

You cannot afford to make a decision now you will regret later.

That sonofabitch! I'll nail his and Charleys balls to the wall when this is over!

"General McNab," General Naylor ordered. "Maintain your readiness to place this operation in action on my order. And only on my order."

"Yes, sir."

"And when this is over, you, Major Castillo, and I have a good deal to talk over."

"Yes, sir."

Naylor looked around the table.

"Does anyone else have anything for General McNab?" Naylor asked.

"General McNab," General McFadden asked. "Is Colonel Torine readily available?"

"No, sir, he's not."

"He went back to Charleston?"

"No, sir."

"Do you know where he is?"

Yes, sir.

"And are you going to tell me?"

"Yes, sir. He should be in Cozumel about now."

"Cozumel? The island off the Yucatan Peninsula?"

"Yes, sir."

"You don't happen to know what he's doing on a Caribbean island, do you?"