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"The best we could do about the radio for Buenos Aires is to get the operator on the 2310 American Airlines flight out of Miami tonight. That'll put him there at 0620 their time tomorrow morning. The radio itself posed a problem. I didn't want to send it through their customs, and not only because I wasn't sure we could get it through their customs, so I called Secretary Cohen, when she was still on Air Force One on her way back to Washington. She promised to have someone in Miami slap the appropriate diplomatic stickers on it to whisk it through customs unopened-it's addressed to the ambassador-but that may not go as smoothly as we like. I don't have a lot of faith in the State Department."
"Again, when I get to Washington, I'll call down there and give the ambassador a heads-up that it's coming."
"He's all right? He knows what you're up to, and won't leak it?"
"He's first class, and Alex Darby-remember him?"
"The CIA station chief in Zaranj?"
Castillo nodded. "He's down there. I didn't remember him, but he remembered me. He's a good man. He'll know how to get the radio through customs and what to do with it."
"Is there anybody else you can use down there if you need shooters?" McNab asked, and then, when he saw the surprised look on Castillo's face, went on. "We can get people in there, Charley, black, but if you need them in a hurry, we'll have to infiltrate them by air. That means either with our C-22 suitably decked out as an Air Paraguay or something 727-and that's a long haul for that airplane-or with a Globemaster III, which has the range, but would be harder to hide."
"I haven't even thought of shooters down there," Castillo confessed. "I don't see where I'm going to need them. But if something came up, yeah, there's people I could use. There's a Secret Service guy, and a DEA agent. In a pinch, I could probably use some of the Marine guards."
"To play it safe, what if I send another crate down there under diplomatic cover? Weapons, night-vision goggles, some flash-bangs, et cetera? Enough for, say, six shooters?"
"Yes, sir. That would be a very good idea. I'm really embarrassed I didn't think about that."
"Even though you studied at the feet of the master, Charley, the master didn't really expect you to be perfect," McNab said.
"Colonel," Castillo asked, turning to Torine, "how would the weight of what the general's talking about affect our cross-the-drink flight?"
Torine considered the question carefully.
"That's a crate weighing about, ballpark, what? Three hundred pounds?"
"
The stuff is in the crate in two duffels," Captain Walsh furnished. "Total weight three hundred twenty pounds. Not much ammunition; we figured you could get some there. Knock off twenty pounds for the crate, we're right at three hundred."
"Another three hundred pounds gross isn't going to change much, Charley," Torine said.
"What about somebody getting curious about what's on the Lear?"
"Customs very seldom checks what a plane is carrying until you try to get it off the plane," Torine replied.
"You want to take the goodies with you now?" McNab asked.
"No, sir. I was thinking about it, but I don't think it would be a good idea. I don't think the risk of getting caught with half a dozen Car 4s is worth it."
"Okay, so that goes diplomatic," McNab said. "Anything else?"
"No, sir. Not that I can think of."
"Okay," McNab said. "That's the way we'll do it." He turned to Captain Walsh. "Go fetch the mess sergeant."
The mess sergeant appeared almost immediately.
McNab stood up. Everybody followed suit.
"Yes, sir?" the sergeant said, trying not to appear nervous. "Was everything all right, sir?"
"You look like you've been around the Army awhile…" McNab began.
"Yes, sir. I'm working on sixteen years."
"I want a straight answer. Do you like it better with all these civilians doing what GI cooks and KPs used to do? Or do you miss the old days?"
