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“For the sake of argument, let’s say a 727 belonging to a Costa Rican airliner. All that they would have to do would be make sure that the bona fide Costa Rican airplane wasn’t in United States airspace at the same time.”
“How would they do that?” Castillo asked, and the answer, Sabotage the clean airplane, quietly sabotage the clean airplane, came to him as he spoke.
“How do you think a mechanic in, say, San José, Costa Rica,” Pevsner asked, slowly, “would react to an offer of ten thousand dollars to do something to an aircraft that would take it out of service for twenty-four hours? Not blow it up, nothing that would cause suspicion, just take it temporarily out of service for a day?”
“What was Marlon Brando’s line in The Godfather, ‘Make him an offer he can’t refuse’?” Kennedy asked. “In this case, he would probably have the choice between taking the ten thousand, doing what he was asked to, or having his wife and children disemboweled.”
Castillo looked over at Sergeant Sherman, who sat wearing a small headset in front of the control device.
“Sherman, how we doing?” Castillo asked.
Sherman held his left hand above his head, the fingers extended.
One by one, he folded them.
“All green, sir,” Sherman said.
Castillo walked to him and picked up a small telephone handset.
“Are we into Philadelphia?” he asked.
“Major Miller’s at City Hall,” Sherman said. “He’s on a secure line to the arsenal base.”
“Get him on,” Castillo ordered.
Sherman pushed several buttons. “Line’s green, encryption green,” he said.
“Sergeant Schneider,” Betty’s voice came very clearly down from the satellite.
“Castillo here. Can you get Miller on here?”
“Hold one, Major,” Sergeant Schneider said.
“Charley?” Miller asked a moment later.
“Right.”
“Did you get the word they’ve located the 727 in Suriname? ”
“No, they haven’t. It’s not in Suriname and never has been.”
“What?” Miller asked, incredulously. “Charley, just before Secretary Hall and the commissioner went in to see the mayor—that’s where we are, City Hall—he had a call from the CIA—from the DCI himself—that the airplane’s at a field called ‘Zandery’ in Suriname. That’s what he’s t
elling the mayor.”
“Well, the CIA is wrong again.”
“McNab has been ordered to neutralize it,” Miller said. “He’s already at Hurlburt, about to go wheels-up.”
“Listen carefully, Dick. This is what I need from you. Go out to the airport and find out what airplanes regularly land—I don’t mean on schedule, just all the time—from Costa Rica and get back to me. Find out what Costa Rican airline regularly goes to Philadelphia.”
“Were you listening, Charley? Did you hear what I said? The CIA has found the airplane. Confirmed. They even have a visual.”
“That’s not the one we’re looking for. Now, goddammit, do what you’re told! Now!”
He touched Sergeant Sherman’s shoulder.
“Get General McNab on here.”
