AllFreeNovel
Share Us
Inasmuch as Castillo thought it would be unwise to return Corporal Bradley to his embassy duties—where his gunnery sergeant would naturally be curious to learn under what circumstances the Yukon had been torched—he was impressed into the OOA on the spot.
The day that OOA ceased to exist, the President of the United States had asked Castillo, “Is there anything else I can do for you before you and your people start vanishing from the face of the earth?”
Castillo told him there were three things. First was that Corporal Bradley be promoted to gunnery sergeant before being honorably discharged “for the good of the service.”
The second thing Castillo had asked of the President was that Colonel Berezovsky and Lieutenant Colonel Alekseeva be taken off the Interpol warrants outstanding for them. When they had disappeared from their posts in Berlin and Copenhagen with the obvious intention of defecting, the Russian government had said their motive had been to escape arrest and punishment for embezzlement.
The third thing Castillo asked was that he and everybody connected with him and OOA be taken off the FBI’s “locate but do not detain” list.
The President had granted all three requests: “You have my word.”
The first thing Castillo thought when he heard that the President had dropped dead was that his word had died with him. The chances that President Clendennen—especially with Director of National Intelligence Montvale whispering in his ear—would honor his predecessor’s promises ranged from zero to zilch.
The retirements of Major H. Richard Miller, Jr., Avn, USA, who had been the OOA’s chief of staff, and First Lieutenant Edmund “Peg-Leg” Lorimer, MI, USA, had posed no problem, although neither had twenty years of service.
Miller, a United States Military Academy classmate of Castillo’s, had suffered grievous damage to his leg when his helicopter had been shot down in Afghanistan. Lorimer had lost a leg to an improvised explosive device in the same country. They would receive pensions for the rest of their lives.
As Castillo & Co. had begun to fulfill their part of the agreement with POTUS—disappearing from the face of the earth—they had made their way to Las Vegas, where they were the guests of Aloysius Francis Casey—president, chief executive officer, and chairman of the board of the AFC Corporation.
Castillo had first met Casey when Castillo had been a second lieutenant, freshly returned from the First Desert War working as aide-de-camp to just-promoted Brigadier General Bruce J. McNab at Fort Bragg when Casey showed up there. Casey announced that he had been the communications sergeant on a Special Forces A-Team in the Vietnam War and, further, told McNab and his aide-de-camp that he had done well after being discharged. Not only had Casey earned a Ph.D. from the Massachusetts Institute of Technology, but he had started up—and still owned more than ninety percent of—the AFC Corporation, which had become the world’s leading developer and manufacturer of data transmission and encryption systems.
Aloysius Casey, Second Lieutenant Castillo had immediately seen, was not troubled with excessive modesty.
Casey said that he attributed his great success to Special Forces—specifically what he had learned about self-reliance and that there was no such thing as impossible.
And he said he had decided it was payback time. He was prepared to furnish Delta Force, free of charge, with his state-of-the-art communications and encryption equipment.
“It’s three, four years ahead of anything anybody else has,” Casey had announced. McNab had sent Castillo with Casey to Las Vegas—on AFC’s Learjet—that same day to select what AFC equipment Delta Force could use immediately, and to brainstorm with Casey and his senior engineers on what advanced commo equipment Delta could use if somebody waved a magic wand and created it for them.
The latter devices had begun to arrive at Delta Force’s stockade at Fort Bragg about two months later.
When OOA had been set up, Castillo had naturally turned to Casey—who now called him “Charley” rather than, as he had at first, “The Boy Wonder”—for communications and cryptographic equipment, and Casey had happily produced it.
When Charley had bought the Gulfstream, Casey had seemed a little annoyed that Charley had asked if Casey would equip it with the same equipment. Charley at the time had thought that maybe he had squeezed the golden goose a little too hard and vowed he would not be so greedy the next time.
When they got the Gulfstream back from the AFC hangar at Las Vegas’s McCarran International Airport, it had not only the latest communications and encryption equipment installed, but an entirely new avionics configuration.
“I figured you needed it more than Boeing,” Casey said.
His annoyance with Charley was because Castillo had been reluctant to ask for his support.
“For Christ’s sake, Charley, you should have known better,” Casey said.
The Gulfstream was again in Las Vegas, not for the installation of equipment, but to get it out of sight until a decision could be made about what to do with it.
Charley had flown the Gulfstream to Las Vegas the same day he had received his last order from the President: “You will go someplace where no one can find you, and you will not surface until your retirement parade. And after your retirement, I hope that you will fall off the face of the earth and no one will ever see you or hear from you again. Understood?”
Charley had said, “Yes, sir,” and walked out of the room. After a quick stop at Baltimore/Washington International to pick up Major Dick Miller, he had flown to Las Vegas with newly promoted (verbal order, POTUS) and about to be discharged Gunnery Sergeant Lester Bradley and Mr. and Mrs. Jack Britton.
Immediately on arrival, Castillo had learned that providing equipment to Special Operations people free of charge had not been Aloysius Casey’s only contribution to the national security of the nation.
Limousines met them at McCarran, and drove them to the Venetian Hotel and Casino, where they were shown to a private elevator which carried them to a duplex penthouse.
At the foot of a curving glass-stepped staircase which led to the lower floor, Castillo saw Dmitri Berezovsky—now equipped with a bona fide Uruguayan passport in the name of Tom Barlow—Sergeant Major Jack Davidson, Aloysius Francis Casey, and about a half-dozen men Castillo could not remember having seen before sitting on a circular couch that appeared to be upholstered with gold lamé.
Casey waved him down. Max, Castillo’s hundred-plus-pound Bouvier des Flandres, immediately accepted the invitation, flew down the stairs four at a time, barked hello
at the people he knew, and then began to help himself from one of the trays of hors d’oeuvres.
