"Probably less, Major," Sergeant Orson said. "The angles there are a bear."

"Don't call him 'Major,' Orson," McNab said. "We don't want anybody to know that he's one of us. Didn't you did see him skiing down the hill?"

Orson chuckled.

"Let's have another look at the whole airplane," Torine said.

McNab typed on the keyboard again and a few moments later an image of the 727 from the side appeared. And this shot showed other movement. An open-bodied Ford ton-and-a-half truck, loaded high with thin cardboard boxes, moved in jerking movements toward the airplane and two men moved jerkily toward the 727, obviously intending to open the cargo doors.

"Well, there's your flowers, Charley," McNab said.

"Which means they're getting ready to go," Castillo said.

"And what would you suggest we do about that?" McNab asked. "Keeping in mind the president wants this done quietly, which would seem to rule out telling one of the gunships to put a couple of rockets in it."

"Why don't we steal it back?" Colonel Torine asked.

"How would you propose that we do that?" McNab asked. "Can you fly that thing by yourself, Jake?"

"With Charley in the right seat, I can," Torine said and looked at Castillo.

"How can we do that quietly?" Castillo asked.

"Quietly is a relative term," McNab said. "Not very quietly would be to put a couple of rockets in it, which would leave a burned-out airplane for the television cameras of the world to see proof of our arrogant invasion of friendly Costa Rica. A little less quietly would be having the Air Force take it out after it gets in the air. A lot of airplanes-and who knows who else-are going to hear our pilot order the airplane to return here or get shot down. How the hell are we going to be able to deny that if he has to shoot it down?"

Torine grunted.

McNab added, "There's a flight of F-15s on their way from Eglin, by the way. Hell, they may even be here, out over the Pacific."

"They've probably built some sort of framework over the fuel bladders," Castillo said.

"What?" McNab asked.

"There's thirteen fuel bladders in the passenger compartment," Castillo said. "They'll have to be hidden from the customs guys at Tampa. So they will cover them with flowers. Hence, a framework."

"Okay, so?" McNab said.

"Which means they will have to be placed on that framework by the guys who stole the airplane, not by ground handlers, who would want to know what's up with the fuel bladders."

"Major," Sergeant Orson said, "when Sergeant Stedder was getting into position he said it looked to him as if there was a crew of four."

"They must have brought two guys to help carry the flowers up the back stairs," Torine said. "And protect the airplane."

"Making a total of four we have to take out if we're going to take over the airplane. Figure it's going to take them forty minutes to load all those flowers, six boxes at a time, up the front and back stairways."

"So that's how much time we have," McNab agreed.

"We don't know all they have is two more guys," Castillo said. "The sergeant said he saw four. There could be more."

"And they all have to be taken out, right?" Torine asked.

McNab grunted. "Odds are, we can't have a little chat with them and explain the futility of their position. We have to take them out quickly and then get that airplane off the ground quickly."

"How is Gray Fox equipped for snipers, sir?" Castillo asked.

"Well, there's one really good one, Major Castillo," Sergeant Orson said. "If I do have to say so myself. And Sergeant Stedder thought it would be a good idea if he took his rifle along when he went out to climb on the roof. How many do you think you're going to need?"

"What I'm thinking:" Castillo said and stopped when he saw the look on McNab's face.

"Go on, Charley," McNab said. "Let's see how much you remember of all that you learned with me as your all-wise mentor."

"What I was thinking, sir, is that I don't think the other two are pilots. Which means if we can take out the two pilots, the airplane couldn't be flown."

"And how do we get the pilots-or any of these people-to obligingly line themselves up for the attention of Sergeants Orson and Stedder?"

"A diversion," Castillo began, thoughtfully.

[ONE]

Tomas Guardia International Airport

Liberia, Costa Rica

1415 10 June 2005

Major C. G. Castillo, now wearing a black flight suit with subdued insignia that included the wings of a master Army aviator and identified him as CWO-5 B.D. SHINE, lay beside a small concrete-block building hoping he was further concealed by a fifty-five-gallon drum full of aromatic waste. His face was streaked with brown, black, and green grease. He had binoculars to his eyes and wore a headset, putting a small receiver in his right ear and a microphone at his lips. A CAR-4 lay on the ground beside him.

Immediately to his left, the other side of the reeking garbage drum, was Sergeant First Class Paul T. Orson, who was armed with a dull black bolt-action rifle based on the Remington Model 700. 308 Winchester caliber hunting rifle. About the only things that hadn't been changed were the caliber-known in the Army as "7.62x55mm NATO"-and the action. It now had a carefully chosen and tested barrel and, in place of glossy walnut, a matt black stock made up of fiberglass, Kevlar, and graphite. A dull black 10x42 Leupold Ultra optical sight was mounted on top.

Immediately behind them-literally, behind the garbage drum-and also armed with a CAR-4, was Colonel Jake Torine, USAF, now wearing a black flight suit whose subdued insignia identified him as CWO-3 P.J. LEFKOWITZ, a senior Army aviator.

A good deal was about to happen-Sergeant Orson thought of this as all hell was about to break loose -but there was no indication of this on the tarmac in front of them.

Another open-bodied Ford one-and-a-half-ton truck was pulled up close to the 727. A man on the truck handed down, four at a time, long, thin cardboard boxes to two men on the ground. They carried the boxes to the movable stairs rolled up to the front door and to the lowered rear stairway of the airplane. There they were passed to men wearing short-sleeved white shirts with captain's and first officer's shoulder boards and quickly carried up the stairs into the airplane.

Castillo had recognized the face of one of the aircrew as the guy had run up and down the stairs. He had seen his photographs in Philadelphia. He had not seen the second Philadelphia mullah nor had he recognized the two men who had also carried flowers into the aircraft up the rear stairs. But they had intelligent faces and he wondered if he had been wrong, that everybody was a pilot.

How the hell can you calmly load an airplane – with flowers, for Christ's sake – knowing you're going to die in it?

"Five: four: three: two: one," General McNab's voice said in Castillo's earpiece. "Showtime!"

"Heads up," Castillo said softly and, a moment later, realized it was entirely unnecessary. Sergeant Orson had his eye to the Leupold scope and the rifle was trained on the rear stairs of the 727.

The first thing to disturb the peace and tranquillity of Tomas Guardia International Airport was that of artillery simulators detonated near a small concrete-block building, painted in a red-and-white-checkerboard pattern, to one side of the runway. The simulators were intended to sound exactly like that of a 105mm howitzer shell coming through the air and detonating on contact. And they did.

At precisely that moment, two Little Birds popped up past the end of the runway where Castillo, Sherman, and Torine had fallen down the hill. Rocket fire exploded from the left Little Bird and a stream of 40mm grenades from the other. The rockets struck a fuel truck parked out of line of sight of the 727, causing an immediate explosion, and the grenades exploded in a line parallel to, and a few feet the other side of, the runway.