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Sergeant Dumbrowski wordlessly demonstrated with his hands the size of the expanded antenna.
“Jesus, that small?” Isaacson asked, rhetorically. “Still, Charley, if we set it up on the roof of the OEOB all kinds of questions will be asked. What about Nebraska Avenue?”
As OEOB meant “Old Executive Office Building”—almost everything in Washington seemed to be boiled down to acronymns—Nebraska Avenue was verbal shorthand for the “Nebraska Avenue Complex,” off Ward Circle in Northwest Washington. Originally a Navy installation dating to World War II, there are thirty-two buildings on thirty-eight acres. It was now the home of the Department of Homeland Security. Secretary Hall had his official office there, although, as a practical matter, he most often used his office in the OEOB, which was right next to the White House.
Before Charley could reply, Isaacson asked another question, this time of Master Sergeant Dumbrowski.
“How far can you set up the antenna away from the working part?”
“About fifty feet,” Dumbrowski replied. It was the first time he had opened his mouth.
“The boss’s office is on the top floor,” Isaacson said to Charley. “It’s a lot less than fifty feet from it to the roof. And it has secure phones. And, no one will ask questions about one more antenna out there. Make sense?”
“Makes a lot of sense, Joel,” Castillo said. “Sergeant Dumbrowski’s also going to have to teach a couple of your people how to operate it—it’s not that hard—so that it’s covered all the time. Most important messages come in when the operator is on the john.”
“You can start with me and my partner, Sergeant, okay?”
Dumbrowski nodded and then said, almost hesitantly, “Major?”
“Joel, the fewer people who know these radios exist, the fewer people are going to absolutely have to have them,” Castillo said. “Okay?”
“For the moment, Charley, fine. But if this equipment is as good as you told the boss it is, I’ll want to talk about getting some permanently.”
“We can talk about that later,” Charley said. “But this one goes back to Bragg with Dumbrowski when this is over. Agreed?”
"Agreed.”
“Sergeant Dumbrowski is going to need a place to stay. Close to the radio.”
“There’s a bedroom off the boss’s office. So far as I know, he’s used it twice. I’ll put the sergeant in there, and if the boss asks I’ll tell him you said to do it. Okay?”
“You are devious,” Castillo said.
“Talking about devious, two guys who work for an unnamed federal agency and who we haven’t seen in years looked Tom McGuire and me up—purely for auld lang syne, of course—and then asked if we happened to know where they could find your friend Kennedy. Not together. They took four shots at us. First Tom, and then me, and then two hours later another guy did the same thing. I guess they had a real hard time believing us when we said we didn’t know anything about Kennedy’s whereabouts and didn’t think you did, either.”
“Thanks,” Castillo said.
“You want me to take this radio and the sergeant to Philadelphia with us?”
“Who’s going to Philadelphia?”
“The boss is, I guess to try to keep the mayor from going ballistic when the commissioner tells him about the plans for the Liberty Bell. You mean, you didn’t know?”
Castillo shook his head. “When?”
“First thing in the morning.” Isaacson looked at his watch. “In six hours. He wants to be there early.”
“Leave the radio where it is. I’m taking one to Philadelphia to give to Miller. And you’ll have secure communications anyway, right?”
Isaacson nodded.
“Well, if that’s it, Don Juan, I’ll take the sergeant over to Nebraska Avenue.”
“I wish you’d knock off with the Don Juan.”
“I know,” Isaacson said, smiling.
Charley looked at the Lear. They were almost finished fueling it and Fernando was doing the walk-around.
