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As soon as it had closed, Miller said, "I'd forgotten what a starchy prick you can be, Charley."
"My sentiments exactly," Torine said. "What were you trying to do, Charley, make that kid hate you? Couldn't you have cut him some slack?"
"I was actually paying him a compliment, Jake," Castillo said. "And thank you for that vote of confidence."
"Compliment?"
"Pegleg is obviously as bright as they come; at least as smart as I am. Before I called him in here, I gave a lot of thought to how I should treat someone I admire, and who is probably as dangerous as you say I am. If that offended you two…"
"Okay," Torine said. "You're right. He reminds me of a lot of fighter pilots I've known."
"I would agree with that, Jake, except I'm pretty sure Lorimer can read and write."
Torine gave Castillo the finger.
Castillo took a small sheet of notebook paper from his pocket.
"Call that number, please, Jake, and tell them when we're going to be in Chicago, and how we can get from which airport to where we're going."
"They used to have a nice little airport downtown, right beside the lake," Torine said. "Meigs Field. Supposed to be one of the busiest private aviation fields in the world. But the mayor wanted a park there, so one night he sent in bulldozers and they cut big Xs on the runways."
"Really?" Miller asked.
"Yeah. There were a dozen, maybe more, light planes stranded there. They were finally allowed to take off from the taxiways. And the mayor got his park. He's…"
"Formidable?" Miller suggested.
"In spades," Torine said.
[THREE]
Atlantic Aviation Services Operations
Midway International Airport
Chicago, Illinois 1425 2 September 2005 "There's a guy walking toward us, Tom," Castillo said, as he tripped the stair-door lever in the Gulfstream III.
"I saw him."
"Looks like an Irish cop. You want to deal wi
th him?"
McGuire gave Castillo the finger, then pushed himself off the couch on which he'd ridden-slept-from Baltimore, and walked to the door.
The man, a stocky six-footer with a full head of red hair, came up the stair as soon as it was in place.
"I'm Captain O'Day," he announced, as if supremely confident that no one could possibly mistake him for, say, an airline captain or anything but what he was, a Chicago cop. "I'm looking for a Colonel Costello."
Castillo came back into the cabin from the cockpit, and was putting on his green beret.
"Well, you weren't hard to find," O'Day said. "God, you've got more medals than Patton!"
Castillo shook his hand.
"It's Castillo, Captain."
"Sorry. You don't look like a Castillo."
