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"That gadget takes all the fun out of flying," Colonel Torine said. "It was much more fun when you could stick your head out into the slipstream and see if the highway was still under you." [FOUR] Keesler Air Force Base Biloxi, Mississippi 2035 25 July 2005
As Castillo sat in the jump seat while Torine lined the Globemaster up with the Keesler runway and then smoothly sat the huge airplane down, he could see, bathed in the light of maybe a dozen pole-mounted banks of high-intensity floodlights, the Boeing 747-the Air Force called it the VC-25A, which when the President of the United States was aboard became Air Force One-parked at the end of the taxiway paralleling the runway. It was being protected not only by sentries but also by a half dozen Humvees with.50 caliber machine guns.
"Three-Zero-One on the ground at three five past the hour," Torine said into his microphone. "Close me out, please. And taxi instructions, please."
"Air Force Three-Zero-One, this is Keesler Ground Control. Halt in place at the termination of your landing roll. Be advised that you will be met by a follow-me vehicle. Be advised that you will be met by a vehicle which will take Major C. Castillo from the aircraft to his ground destination. Acknowledge."
"Keesler," Torine responded, "Three-Zero-One understands halt in place at termination of landing roll. Further understand follow-me vehicle will be there. Further understand Major Castillo will be taken by a second vehicle to his ground destination."
"That is correct, Three-Zero-One."
The copilot touched Torine's shoulder and then pointed out the window. An Air Force blue pickup truck with a FOLLOW ME sign mounted on the bed and a GMC Yukon were sitting side by side on a taxiway access ramp.
"Dotterman, you heard that?" Torine asked.
"I'm by the side door, Colonel."
Torine turned to Castillo.
"Why do I think your ground destination is that 747?"
"Keesler," the copilot said into his microphone. "Three-Zero-One is halted on the runway."
"We have you in sight, Three-Zero-One," ground control replied.
"Colonel," Dotterman announced, "here comes a Suburban and a Follow-Me. The Suburban sees me. He's coming up this side of the fuselage."
"That's probably a Yukon, Dotterman," Torine said.
"What's the difference?"
"I don't know," Torine confessed.
"People getting out of the whatever-the-hell-it-is," Chief Master Sergeant Dotterman reported.
When Colonel Torine started to unfasten his harness with the obvious intention of leaving his seat, Castillo got off the jump seat, folded it out of the way, and stood in the cockpit door. He felt Mrs. Masterson's eyes on him. He met them for a moment, and then looked away.
Thirty seconds later a tall, slim, Marine lieutenant colonel in dress blues, to which splendor had been added the golden aiguillettes worn by aides to the commander in chief, appeared at the head of the stairs.
He glanced at Castillo then headed straight for Mrs. Masterson.
"Mrs. Masterson, I'm Lieutenant Colonel McElroy, an aide to the President. What's going to happen next is the aircraft will taxi to a hangar. Ambassador and Mrs. Lorimer will come onboard at that time…"
"I'm Special Agent Willkie of the Secret Service," a stocky man announced in Castillo's ear. "Are you Mr. Castillo?"
Castillo was annoyed at the interruption. Mrs. Masterson had locked eyes with him again, and had been paying far more attention to him than to the President's aide.
And she wasn't angry. It wasn't a "Now you're going to get yours, you sonofabitch" look.
It was an "I need your help" look. Or a "We have to talk" look.
Or both.
What's going on?
And now this sonofabitch is in the way!
Castillo stopped himself at the last split second from pushing the Secret Service agent out of the way.
