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“I figured as much. Not a problem.
”
“How long is it going to take us to get back to Midland?”
Torine pointed at the ground.
“As long as it takes this one-legged junior birdman to get us down from thirty thousand feet,” Torine said. “We’ve been flying a nice big circle over North Texas.” He looked at Miller. “Junior Birdman, commence a gentle descent at this time.”
“Yes, sir, Colonel, sir. My pleasure, sir,” Miller said and reached for the trim control.
XVII
[ONE]
Aeropuerto Internacional Jorge Newbery
Buenos Aires, Argentina
1840 13 August 2005
It was a clear winter night in Argentina and as they made their approach they could see the sea of lights that was Buenos Aires. They could even pick out the bright yellow snake of lights of the superhighway running from the city to Pilar.
They had left Double-Bar-C ranch at six, after an enormous breakfast Doña Alicia had insisted on getting up to prepare for them.
Dick Miller’s disappointment at not being able to go with them—Castillo wanted him both to brief Ambassador Montvale on the “interview” of Philip J. Kenyon III and to be available at the Nebraska Avenue Complex to deal with anything that might come up—was more than a little tempered when Colonel Jake Torine got on the horn and arranged for another F-15D “training flight” to pick him up in Midland and carry him to Andrews Air Force Base outside Washington.
Castillo, concerned about Yung’s wounded hand, had thought of trying to find some way to tactfully leave him behind in the States without killing his newfound enthusiasm for the OOA but in the end had decided that he would be needed in South America, both to lend his expertise to putting the pieces together at the safe house in the Mayerling Country Club and to deal with Chief Inspector Ordóñez in Uruguay if that became necessary.
Dinner at the Double-Bar-C had turned out to be very pleasant—even Jack Doherty seemed to be having a good time—although Fernando Lopez had nearly choked on his mouthful of wine when Doña Alicia had suddenly announced, “Oh, damn old age! Why didn’t I think of this earlier? You remember Philip Kenyon, don’t you, Carlos? You were in the Boy Scouts together. We ran into him at the Petroleum Club yesterday and, if I hadn’t been asleep at the switch, we could have had him and his family here tonight. I know he would have loved to see you.”
As everyone had loaded into one of the Secret Service Yukons, Doña Alicia had handed Castillo an aluminum-foil-wrapped package of barbecued beef ribs.
“For Ricardo, Carlos,” she said, making reference to Special Agent Ricardo Solez of the Drug Enforcement Administration. “Give him my love, and tell him he can warm them on low in a microwave, but they would be better if he could find a grill of some kind.”
“I’m sure we can find a grill for him, Abuela,” Castillo had said.
On the way to the airport, they passed a Sam’s Club. Probably because of the five-pound package of ribs in his lap, food was on Castillo’s mind.
“Anyone got a Sam’s card?” he asked.
Inspector Doherty confessed that He did.
“Go back to that Sam’s Club, please,” Castillo said. “It’s already open.”
A half hour later, Castillo came out of the Sam’s Club carrying two ten-pound sacks of pancake flour and a gallon jug of Vermont maple syrup, followed by Colonel Torine, who carried plastic packages of shorts and T-shirts, a two and-half-pound bag of Hershey’s assorted miniature chocolate bars, and a lined denim jacket.
They had cleared customs and were off the ground at one minute past eight. Their first stop had been Quito, Ecuador, which was almost exactly midway between Midland and Buenos Aires. They landed there at 1335.
During a very pleasant grilled-chicken luncheon, and, looking very pleased with himself, Special Agent Yung of the FBI turned to Inspector Doherty of the FBI and said, “Before we get to Buenos Aires, Inspector, you’d better give me your pistol.”
“Why in the world would I want to do that?”
“Because otherwise the Argentine customs will take it away from you.”
“Doesn’t that apply to you, too?”
“I have a diplomatic passport,” Yung said, smugly. “You don’t.”
