"Until Chief Inspector Kramer runs those names past everybody, including the undercover people, what else can you do?"

He shrugged. "That's what I've been telling myself."

Miller came walking quickly back to them.

"Think of something?" Castillo asked.

"My mother," Miller said. "I promised to call her when I knew if we could come to supper. I've got to tell her one way or the other. She really wants to see you, Charley."

Castillo looked at Betty.

"Do your radios work as far as Bala Cynwyd?"

"Sure," she replied, "and then we have this cellular phone gadget."

"Dick, call your mommy and tell her the cops are bringing you home again," Castillo said.

Betty chuckled and smiled at Castillo.

"Can we?" Miller asked. "What about Kramer?"

"He calls, we go," Castillo said. "We're not doing anything useful here."

"She really wants to see you, Charley," Miller repeated.

Castillo gestured in the direction of Market Street and they started to walk toward the car.

Castillo looked at his watch. It was ten minutes to four.

1550 here is 2150 in Abeche. Which means it's dark. I don't know what the CIA had to do to get satellites over Abeche but they probably couldn't do it before nightfall, which means they're having to use infrared and other exotic technology, which obviously hasn't worked. Secretary Hall would have called to tell me what the CIA reported, one way or the other. Which means we don't know if that goddamned airplane is – or was – there. And won't know until daylight, when the satellites can work their photo magic. Which doesn't always work.

Jesus, getting a call from Hall means my phone has to be working.

When was the last time I checked the battery?

He took his cellular out and looked at it.

There was still some battery charge left but not much.

He saw Betty's eyes on him.

"I'm going to have to charge this soon," he said.

"I've got a plug-it-in-the-lighter charger in my purse," Betty said, inspecting the fitting on Castillo's phone. "It'll probably fit your phone."

When they reached Market Street and the unmarked car, Castillo got in the passenger seat beside Betty. She fished in her purse and came out with a phone charger and handed it to him.

[ONE]

Office of the Deputy Commander

U.S. Army Special Warfare Center

Fort Bragg, North Carolina

0930 6 June 1991

Second Lieutenant C. G. Castillo, who was the aide-de-camp to Brigadier General Bruce J. McNab, the deputy commander, USASWC, answered the phone in the prescribed manner:

"Office of the deputy commander, Lieutenant Castillo speaking, sir."

"What's his name?" the caller inquired.

"What's whose name?" Castillo responded, so surprised by the question, and the manner in which it was asked, that he almost forgot to append: "Sir?"

"The deputy commander's name?" the caller said.

"Brigadier General McNab is the deputy commander, sir."

"Senator Frankenheimer would like to speak to General McNab. Can you get him on the phone or is he, too, 'not available at the moment'?"

"May I ask what this is about, sir?"

"No, you may not. If he's there, Lieutenant, get him on the phone."

"One moment, please, sir," Castillo said.

He went quickly from his desk to General McNab's office door, rapped his knuckles on the jamb, and waited for General McNab to acknowledge his presence, which he did thirty seconds later by glancing up at Castillo from the sea of paper on his desk with a look of exasperation.

"They just nuked Washington, right?" General McNab inquired, not kindly.

General McNab, who disliked being interrupted when he was thinking, had on going into his office instructed Lieutenant Castillo that only if one thing happened was he to be disturbed.

"Sir, I think you should take this one."

General McNab considered this for at least two seconds and then pointed to one of several telephones on his desk. This was an order to Castillo to pick it up so that he would be party to the conversation. When Castillo had done so, McNab picked up another telephone.

"General McNab," he announced.

"You are, I understand, the deputy commander of the Special Warfare Center?"

"I am."

"I am led to believe the commander is not available at the moment?"

"If you were told that, it's probably the truth as we know it."

"Hold one, please, for Senator Frankenheimer," the caller said.

Senator George J. Frankenheimer (Republican-Nevada) was chairman of the Senate Armed Forces Committee.

General McNab and Lieutenant Castillo heard their caller-faintly, as if he had his hand over the telephone microphone-say, "All I could get was the deputy commander, Senator."

Another voice faintly said, "Shit," and then a moment later, more audibly, said: "Good morning, General. This is Senator Frankenheimer. I'm afraid I didn't get your name."

"McNab, Senator."

"How are you this morning, General?"

"Very well, thank you."

"General McNab, are you familiar with the AFC Corporation?"

"I know the name, Senator."

"They are, as they like to say, the cutting edge of data transfer technology."

McNab didn't reply.

"AFC stands for Aloysius Francis Casey,' " Senator Frankenheimer announced. "The founder, who also serves as chairman of its board of directors."

Again, McNab said nothing.

"Can you hear me all right, General?"

"I hear you fine, Senator."

"AFC has facilities all over the country-primarily in Massachusetts, where they are close to MIT, and in Silicone Valley in California-and they have chosen to establish their primary research and development laboratory in Las Vegas, where Mr. Casey maintains his primary residence. He's a constituent of mine, in other words, and has been very generous in contributing to my election funds and to those of the Republican party."

McNab said nothing.

"Mr. Casey wants to come to the Special Warfare Center, General McNab, and asked me to sort of smooth his path, which I am, of course, delighted to do."

"What does he want to do here?" McNab asked.

"He didn't share that with me, General."

"When would he like to come?" McNab asked.

"He will arrive at Pope Air Force Base about eleven o'clock."

"In a military aircraft?"

"In his own airplane."

"Senator, are you aware that Pope is closed to civilian aircraft?"

"Mr. Casey is apparently aware of this, as another thing he asked me to do-and I was happy to do-was ask the secretary of the Air Force to make an exception for him. He will land, as I said, at Pope around eleven. May I suggest, General, that it would be in all our interests if Mr. Casey was made to feel he was welcome?"

"I take your point, General," McNab said.

"Roll out and brush off the red carpet, so to speak."

"Right."

"Good talking to you, General," Senator Frankenheimer said and hung up.

General McNab took the telephone from his ear, held it in his hand, glared at it, and said, "Sonofabitch!"

Then he looked at Lieutenant Castillo.

"Charley, this Irish sonofabitch with political connections is yours. I don't know whether he's just curious, or wants to sell us something, but I'll bet it's sell us something."

"Sir, what am I supposed to do with him?"

"I'll buy the bastard lunch, but that's all. Set that up at the club for one o'clock. Get him into the VIP quarters, in case he wants to spend the night. But keep him, as much as humanly possible, as far from me as you can. Take him on a walking tour of Smoke Bomb Hill. Take him to the museum. Take him for a chopper ride over scenic Fort Bragg. Anything. Just keep the sonofabitch away from me. Clear?"