"Yes, sir."

Two vehicles were in attendance to the deputy commander of the Special Warfare Center outside the headquarters building. One was a glistening olive drab Chevrolet staff car, the other a Bell HU-1F helicopter, the paint of which was designed to be nonreflective.

The regular driver of the staff car, Sergeant Tom Fenny, was conversing with that day's copilot of the Huey, a chief warrant officer whose name-Kilian, Robert-Castillo remembered only at the last second as he walked up to them.

Sergeant Fenny saluted as Castillo approached. Chief Warrant Officer Kilian, who was ten years older than Castillo, did not, which neither surprised nor offended Castillo.

"We've got to go pick up a VIP at Pope," Castillo announced.

"You want me to bring the car over there?" Fenny asked.

Until that moment, Castillo had intended to meet Mr. Aloysius Francis Casey with the staff car.

I don't think the general's going to want the Huey.

If he does, with me at Pope, Kilian can't – or, at least, shouldn't – fly it alone.

I've got to occupy Mr. Aloysius Francis Casey until lunch; that's almost two hours.

The general said, "Take him for a chopper ride."

Maybe he won't like that suggestion.

Should I ask the general if I should use the chopper?

"Goddammit, Castillo. Tattoo NEVER LET ANYTHING GET IN THE WAY OF YOUR MISSION! on your forehead!

"I already told you once, don't disturb me unless you get a flash they just nuked Washington!"

"Yeah, Tommy, bring the car over there," Lieutenant Castillo ordered and then looked at Kilian. "Are the rubber bands all wound up, Mr. Kilian?"

"Is this VIP a civilian?"

"Yeah."

"You need written authority, Lieutenant, to haul civilians."

"There is an exception to every rule."

Parking on the tarmac directly in front of the base operations building at Pope Air Force Base is reserved for colonels and up and Pope ground control was unhappy when Castillo requested permission to park the Huey there.

"You have a Code Six aboard, right?"

"I will be picking up a VIP."

"Pope Ground clears Army Six-Two-Two to the Base Operations VIP area."

At two minutes past eleven, a Learjet taxied into a space beside the Huey.

As Castillo got out of the Huey to walk toward the Lear, an Air Force colonel and an Air Force lieutenant colonel-the latter wearing the brassard of the Air Officer of the Day-came out of the base operations building obviously headed for the Lear.

Both gave Lieutenant Castillo a "What the hell do you want?" look as he saluted.

The door of the Learjet unfolded and a very small, pale-faced man in a baggy black suit got out.

The Air Force colonel put on a smile and put out his hand.

"Mr. Casey? Welcome to Pope Air Force Base."

Casey nodded and took the hand.

"We don't know why you're visiting us but we're honored to have you here."

"I'm here to see Special Forces," Casey interrupted. He pointed at Castillo. "Is that you?"

"Yes, sir," Castillo said. "I'm General McNab's aide. The general is sorry that he couldn't be here:"

"Is McNab a little Scot?" Casey interrupted again. "About this high?" He held his hand up, estimating. "Mean little bastard?"

"General McNab is about that tall, sir," Castillo said.

"When do I get to see him? He was supposed to be told I'm coming."

"Sir, the general hopes you'll have lunch with him:"

Casey checked his watch. "It's a couple of minutes after eleven. When's lunch?"

"At thirteen hundred, sir. One. At the officers' club."

"That's two hours. What does he think I'm supposed to do in the meantime?"

"Sir, the general thought you might like a tour:"

"In that?" Casey asked, pointing at the Huey.

"Yes, sir. Are you familiar with the Huey, sir?"

"I've got a couple of them," Casey said and started walking toward the helicopter.

Castillo made a "wind it up" gesture to Kilian, saluted the Air Force officers, and trotted after Mr. Aloysius Francis Casey.

By the time he got to it, Casey was inside, fastening his seat belt.

Castillo took a headset from a hook and extended it to the wiry Irishman.

"If you'd like to put this on, sir, I could give you a briefing as we fly."

"Like a tour bus guide, right? 'And on our left:' You're going to fly?"

"Yes, sir."

"How much time do you have in one of these?"

"A little over six hundred hours, sir."

"You're a second lieutenant," Casey said. It was an accusation.

"Yes, sir, I am."

Casey examined him intently for a moment, shrugged, and took the headset and examined it with visible disdain.

"Okay," Casey said, "Smoke Bomb Hill first and then Mackall. Okay?"

"Whatever you'd like, sir."

Casey put the headset on.

"Okay, let's go. Maybe Fayetteville, too. The train station, the bus station, and the airport."

At five minutes to one, after an aerial tour of Fort Bragg, Camp Mackall, and the Fayetteville rail and bus stations and the airport, Castillo set the Huey down on the helipad by the Main Officers' Club.

Casey was already out of the helicopter by the time Castillo could make it to the fuselage door.

"I guess we cheated death again, right?" Casey inquired.

"Yes, sir, I guess we did."

"Where's Colon: General McNab?"

"I'm sure he's waiting for you inside, sir."

Casey marched toward the main door of the Officers' Open Mess, with Castillo trotting after him. Once inside the lobby, Casey turned and looked at Castillo with an "Okay, where now?" expression on his face.

"I believe the general will be in the main dining room, sir," Castillo said, pointing.

Brigadier General Bruce J. McNab rose when he saw the wiry Irishman in the baggy suit headed toward his table, with Castillo on his heels.

"Mr. Casey?" he said, offering his hand. "My name is McNab."

"I know who you are, General," Casey said.

"May I offer you a cocktail, sir?"

"You drinking?"

"It's duty hours, Mr. Casey. I generally:"

"I'll have a Schlitz, please," Casey said. "There was everything on the airplane but beer."

McNab signaled to a waitress and ordered a bottle of Schlitz and then changed his mind.

"Make that three," he said. "I think a beer is a very good idea."

"I'll wait for you outside, sir," Castillo said.

"You stay," Casey ordered.

McNab looked at him but said nothing.

"Lieutenant Castillo-what is that, Italian?"

"Tex-Mex, sir."

"You don't look Tex-Mex," Casey said. "Lieutenant Castillo just gave me an aerial tour of the main post, Mackall, and Fayetteville," Casey said.

"I'm glad you enjoyed it."

"Auld lang syne," Casey said. "Can I ask you a question about him?"

"Certainly."

"Where'd he get that CIB he's wearing?"

"In Iraq."

"I've been on patrols longer than that war," Casey said. "You think he deserves it?"

"I gave it to him, Mr. Casey," McNab said, bristling a little. "He earned it."

"He's a pilot, right?"

"And he earned the CIB on the ground, Mr. Casey," McNab said, measuring his words to control what he feared was his building temper.

"I thought, on the chopper just now," Casey began, then hesitated, and then went on, "I remembered a guy, an aviator, a Signal Corps captain named Walker. He was trying to exfiltrate us up in Laos:"

"Do I understand that you were in SOG, or something like that, in Vietnam?"

"I was a Green Beanie in Vietnam, General," Casey said. "Let me finish my story. Anyway, his Huey took some automatic weapons fire from Charley on his way in and he bent the bird pretty badly getting it on the ground. He wasn't hurt, but the chopper wasn't going to be able to fly out of there.