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Then he walked ou
t of the room.
Ten minutes later, he came back into the dining room. All of the officers—now including McNab and Thomas—rose to their feet and were immediately waved back into them by the slim man.
“That was quick, Tommy,” the slim man said as he sat down.
“They don’t need me to help with the plane, sir,” Thomas said. “I’m just in the way.”
A waiter delivered three plates of fried eggs, potatoes, and toast.
“That fellow we were talking about earlier, Scotty?” the slim man said.
“Yes, sir?”
“He doesn’t believe either of your scenarios, either, but he thinks that looking into it is a very good idea.”
“Thank you, Your Royal Highness.”
“And, of course, he is pleased to be of some small service to an old friend,” the slim man said. “He asked me tell you that.”
“I’m honored that he thinks of me as an old friend,” McNab said.
“I’m sure he does, but I believe he was talking of our countries,” the slim man said. “Did you know, Tommy, that Morocco was the first nation to recognize the U.S.? Even before it was the U.S. In 1777?”
“No, Your Highness. I didn’t know that,” Lieutenant Colonel Thomas confessed.
“My own history is a little fuzzy. But I think your seat of government was then in Philadelphia.”
“I believe it was,” McNab said.
“And was this bell—the ‘Liberty Bell,’ you said? Was that in Philadelphia at the time? And, if so, what is the connection? ”
“Your Highness, I am more than a little ashamed to say I have no idea,” General McNab confessed. “It probably was but I just don’t know.”
The slim man waved a finger at General McNab.
“That is terrible,” he said.
[THREE]
Royal Air Force Base Menara, Morocco 1220 9 June 2005
A red-and-yellow tug pulled what three hours earlier had been U.S. Air Force C-22 tail number 6404 from the hangar.
What the slim man had called “the chameleon process” had been completed twenty minutes before.
Plastic decalcomania had been applied to the fuselage with just enough adhesive to hold them in place for a short time. There were now green and red stripes running from the nose to the tail down both sides of the 727’s fuselage. The words ROYAL AIR MAROC now appeared from just aft of the flight compartment windows rearward. There was now a red shooting star on both sides of the vertical stabilizer. Beneath it, in the largest letters of all, were the initials R A M in red.
Once everything had been stuck in place, the decalcomania had been sprayed with a very expensive clear, quick-drying paint. It was by no means permanent, but tests had shown it would stand up to fifty hours of high-speed flight at altitude, thirty-six hours in the sun at 120 degrees Fahrenheit, and forty-eight hours at -20 degrees Fahrenheit.
It was not believed the paint was going to have to last anywhere near that long. Within thirty-six hours, at the most, it was hoped that Royal Air Maroc 905, now named Rabat, would be back in the hangar at Menara, where it would be sprayed with a solvent even more expensive than the paint. The solvent would in a matter of minutes chemically attack the paint and permit both the paint and the decalcomania to be removed in a very short time.
The engines were started and Rabat taxied to the threshold of the runway, and—having been cleared to do so— turned onto the runway without stopping and lifted off.
The Royal Air Force controller in the tower informed Casablanca Area Control that RAM 905 was off the ground at two-five past the hour, destination Jiddah, Saudi Arabia.
At that precise moment, Major Carlos G. Castillo pushed his way through the circular door of the Warwick Hotel in Philadelphia and took the few steps down to Locust Street.
