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"How old are they?" Castillo mused. "Seventy-five, anyway. Pushing eighty."
"Then they ought to have enough sense to stand down," Svetlana said. "If they're that old."
"And do what?" Berezovsky said. "The American general Patton said it, Svet. The only good death for a soldier is to die from the last bullet fired in the last battle."
Castillo said, "How about me having a heart attack on the ninth green, or whatever they call it, of Golf and Polo, and then you having one
trying to load me into the golf cart? That way, we could go out together and wouldn't have to look for a job. Or play golf."
"I think I'd rather take that last bullet," Berezovsky said. "Even though it no longer seems we have that option."
"Or we could go fishing in that lake with Aleksandr, fall out of the boat and drown," Castillo said.
"Your William Colby went out that way," Berezovsky said.
"Who?" Svetlana said.
"He was a director of Central Intelligence," Berezovsky said.
"And he fell out of his canoe," Castillo said. "And drowned."
"I think I'd prefer the bullet," Berezovsky said.
"Me, too," Castillo said. "All things considered. God knows I can't see myself on a golf course."
"The both of you make me sick!" Svetlana said furiously. "May God forgive you both!"
She stormed out of the library.
"What the hell's the matter with her?" Castillo asked.
"She's a woman," Berezovsky said. "I suspect your learning about women is going to be an interesting experience for you. Painful, but interesting."
[SEVEN]
1250 8 January 2006
Casey's Gulfstream V--which Castillo thought was both beautiful and probably carried the most advanced avionics in the world--touched smoothly down, turned at the end of the strip, and taxied back to the hangar.
The stair door opened and Aloysius Francis Casey, Ph.D., came down the steps carrying an open laptop computer. He was wearing clothing not often seen in South Boston: a Stetson hat, Western World ostrich-skin boots, a sheepskin-lined denim jacket, and matching trousers.
He saluted. Castillo returned it.
"We cheated death again," Casey announced triumphantly, then nodded at the computer. "This little sonofabitch was right on the money."
He handed the laptop to Lester Bradley.
"You can carry this. I wouldn't want a Marine to rupture himself trying to carry anything heavier."
"Yes, sir," Bradley said. He looked at the screen. "Dr. Casey, why does this show we're in Dallas?"
Casey took a quick, shocked look at the screen.
"You little sonofabitch, you got me!" Casey said approvingly.
A man wearing the shoulder boards of a first officer came down the stairs carrying a large cardboard box, followed by a man wearing the four-stripe shoulder boards of a captain and also carrying a large cardboard box.
"That's the delicate stuff," Casey barked. "Be careful with it."
