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Charley hung the laptop’s strap around his neck, picked up the two suitcases, and with the laptop bumping him uncomfortably with each step walked toward the double glass doors of base operations. Before he got there, the Citation was just visible as it approached the threshold of the active runway, and, as Charley pushed through the doors with his back, he saw the Citation turn onto the runway without stopping and begin its takeoff roll.
Charley wondered again why it was so important that he come to Fort Bragg right now that Hall had sent the plane for him. The only thing he could think of was that otherwise it would have taken him forever to get here on an airline.
There was an Air Force sergeant on duty behind the base operations counter.
“I’m going to need a ride over to the Special Warfare Center,” Charley announced.
“You just get off that Citation?”
“Yes, I did.”
“You military?”
Good question. Who am I? The special assistant to the secretary of Homeland Security? A supervisory special agent of the Secret Service? Major C. G. Castillo of the U.S. Army? Or maybe a Drug Enforcement Agency agent? Which is what I told Betty’s brother just before he offered to break both my legs.
“Yes, I am,” Charley told the sergeant.
“I’ll need to see some identification, sir,” the sergeant said. “And your orders.”
Where the hell is my Army identification?
In the lid of the laptop briefcase, where I put it when I went to Germany. And I am not going to take it out now and give the sergeant something interesting to tell the boys.
“Not possible, Sergeant, sorry,” Charley said. “Would you call the duty officer at SWC and tell him that Major Castillo needs a ride over there? They expect me.”
“I really have to see some identification, sir.”
“That wasn’t a suggestion, Sergeant. Call the SWC.”
“Sir, this is Sergeant Lefler at Pope base ops. I have a gentleman here who doesn’t have any identification but says he’s a Major Castillo and that you expect him.”
Fifteen seconds later, after repeating Castillo’s name, the sergeant almost triumphantly turned to Castillo and said, “They never heard of you, sir.”
“Let me talk to him, please,” Charley said.
The sergeant didn’t reply, instead dialing a number from memory.
“Sir, I hate to bother you,” he said a moment later, “but I think you better come down here. We may have an attempted breach of security.”
A moment later, he added, “No, sir. Not to worry,” and then hung up.
“Sir, would you please have a seat over there?” he said to Charley, pointing to a row of chrome-and-plastic chairs.
“What’s going on, Sergeant?”
“Sir, the Airdrome Officer of the Day is on his way here. He will answer any questions you might have. Please take a seat, sir.”
The sergeant rested his hand on the holster hanging from his pistol belt.
What the hell is going on here?
They don’t expect me?
Charley walked to the row of chairs and sat down.
Fuck it, I’ll give him something to talk about.
“Sergeant, could I walk over there and get into my briefcase, please?”
