The shooters pa-4

by W. E. B Griffin

  Hearing the name Magnolia House brought back fond memories for Castillo. More than a decade ago, his grandparents had stayed in the World War II-era frame housing that had been converted to a cottage for transient VIPs.

  "Thank you, sir," Castillo said.

  Castillo, Crenshaw, and Neidermeyer started to walk across the tarmac. Two neat young sergeants trotted out to them and offered to take their luggage. Neidermeyer would not part with the radio suitcase.

  When Castillo and Neidermeyer got close to the building, General Wilson spread his arms wide.

  "How are you, Charley?" he called, and wrapped him in a bear hug.

  When he let him go, he said, "Bethany talked yesterday to your grandmother, who told her you had made a couple of flying trips to the Double-Bar-C but, as usual, she had no idea where you were. So I'm really glad to see you."

  "I've been moving around a lot," Castillo said. "What are you doing here?"

  "Oh, we came to see Beth and Randy and the grandchildren. Rucker's hot, but not as hot as Phoenix, and I do like to play golf."

  "How is Beth?" Castillo asked, politely, as he put out his hand to Richardson.

  "Well, thank you," Richardson said without emotion.

  What do I call him?

  Randolph? Randy?

  "Good to see you, Randy."

  "Likewise."

  "Your grandmother," General Wilson went on, "told us your promotion finally came through. Congratulations."

  "They were scraping the bottom of the barrel," Castillo said. "This is Jamie Neidermeyer, my communicator. Jamie, General Wilson flew with my father in Vietnam. And this is Colonel Richardson. We were classmates at West Point."

  They shook hands.

  It was fairly obvious from Neidermeyer's "how do you do, sirs" as well as his general appearance that he was military. But Richardson either didn't pick up the significance of his not being identified by rank or didn't want to.

  "You're in the service, Neidermeyer?"

  Neidermeyer looked at Castillo for guidance.

  "He works for General McNab, Randy," General Crenshaw said. "At the moment, he's not wearing his uniform. When Castillo was here the last time, neither was he. He told me he was in the Secret Service. Mysterious indeed are the ways of the Special Operations Command and those in it."

  "Well, now that that's out in the open," General Wilson said, "am I sticking my nose in where it's not particularly welcome?"

  "No, sir. Not at all," Castillo said. "I'm scrounging things for General McNab, but, if you're free, I'd love to buy you and your bride dinner tonight."

  "Beth and her mother are at this moment preparing dinner," Richardson said. "She said she couldn't remember the last time she saw you."

  Odd. I remember it with great clarity.

  "The invitation of course includes you and Mrs. Crenshaw, General," Richardson went on. "And you, Mr. Neidermeyer."

  "I don't want to intrude, Richardson," General Crenshaw said.

  "It wouldn't be an intrusion at all, sir. And it would give you and the general more time together."

  Crenshaw looked at Castillo to see what he should do.

  "And you and I could talk about the terrible things we had to do as aides-de-camp to difficult generals, General," Castillo said, then smiled.

  "Who was yours?" Crenshaw said.

  "Bruce J. McNab."

  "I didn't know that," Crenshaw said. "I'd love to hear what that was like. Yes, Colonel Richardson. Mrs. Crenshaw and I gratefully accept your kind invitation to dinner."

  "General Crenshaw, could I have a moment of your and Randy's time?" Castillo asked.

  "Certainly."

  Crenshaw led them to the pilots' lounge, politely asked the two pilots there if they would mind giving them a few minutes alone, and then looked at Castillo.

  "This operation is highly classified, sir," Castillo said. "The fewer people who know I'm here, or have been here, the better. What I need is four H-Model Hueys for an operation-"

  "What kind of an operation?" Richardson interrupted.

  "If you don't know that, Randy," Castillo said somewhat impatiently, "then you can truthfully swear that I didn't tell you what I wanted them for."

  Of all the light colonels at Rucker, I get Righteous Randolph?

  Richardson nodded his understanding.

  "They have to have GPS," Castillo went on, "and they have to be in very good shape. And, I have to tell you, you probably won't get them back."

  Righteous's jaw just now about bounced off the tiled floor.

  "We have been directed to give Colonel Castillo whatever he asks for, and that he has the highest priority," General Crenshaw said.

  "How do we explain your presence if someone recognizes you?" Richardson asked.

  "The cover story is that I'm an executive assistant to the secretary of Homeland Security, and that I'm here because this was the most convenient place for me to come and rent a light aircraft-I'll get to that in a minute-and fly to Pass Christian, Mississippi, on a mission for the secretary."

  "Two things, Castillo," General Crenshaw said. "That area was badly mauled by Hurricane Katrina. I don't know if any fields down there are open. Have you considered a Black Hawk?"

  "There's an airstrip where I'm going. It's open. And a light airplane will attract less attention than an Army helicopter. Neidermeyer went on the Internet and found a Cessna 206H available for charter at the airport in Ozark-"

  "The Flying Hearse," Crenshaw interrupted, chuckling.

  "Sir?"

  Crenshaw smiled, then explained:

  "Actually, it's a T206H-turbocharged. The fellow who owns the funeral home is a flying enthusiast. Flying is expensive-that airplane cost more than a quarter million dollars-but he thought he had the solution. If he had an airplane, he could fly cadavers to where they were going to be buried and charge the same thing airlines do-twice the price of the most expensive first-class ticket. That would be a substantial contribution to the cost of his hobby. He was so enthusiastic that he didn't check to see if a coffin would fit in the airplane. They don't. So, it is reliably reported, he transports-in of course the dead of night, so to speak-the cadavers in body bags, strapped into a seat, and has a casket waiting wherever he's going. I know him. I can call and set that up for you, if you'd like. You can fly a 206?"

  "I can fly a 182 and a Citation," Castillo said. "Will that work?"

  "I don't think that will be a problem," Crenshaw said. "But he'll probably want to ride around the pattern with you. Anything else?"

  "There will be pilots and crew chiefs coming here from the 160th at Fort Campbell."

  "General McNab told me," Crenshaw said, and looked at his aide. "Find accommodations for them, Richardson. They should start arriving tomorrow. Eight pilots and four crew chiefs."

  "Yes, sir," Richardson said.

  "And some supplies from Fort Bragg," Castillo added. "Which will have to be stored somewhere secure until they can be loaded on the Hueys."

  "What kind of supplies?" Richardson asked.

  "The kind that need someplace secure to store them," Castillo said, pointedly avoiding details.

  "General McNab said they're coming by truck tonight," Crenshaw said to Richardson. "They'll probably be here by morning. Have the truck put in the MP impound lot until you can make better arrangements in the morning. And make sure the MPs are guarding the impound lot."

  "Yes, sir," Richardson said.

  "And as soon as possible, Neidermeyer has to get his radio up," Castillo said.

  He saw the questioning look on Crenshaw's face.

  "It's in the suitcase," Castillo said, nodding at it. "It doesn't take long, but I'd rather not do it here."

  "May I ask what kind of a radio?" Richardson asked.

  I am tempted to tell you, "None of your fucking business."

  But resuming hostilities with you, Righteous, would be counterproductive.

  "It's a rather amazing system developed by AFC," Castillo said. "Bounces s
ignals-voice and data, both really deeply encrypted-off satellites. When we get to Magnolia House, I'll show you how it works."

  "I'd like to see that," Crenshaw said. "I just thought of something. How are you going to pay for the Flying Hearse?"

  "American Express," Castillo said, reaching for his wallet. "Never leave home without it."

  He took his AmEx card from his wallet and handed it to Crenshaw, who examined it. He then looked at Castillo.

  "The Lorimer Charitable amp; Benevolent Fund," the general said.

  Castillo nodded and grinned. "Yes, sir."

  "I won't ask what that is," the general went on, "but will simply repeat what I said before, that mysterious indeed are the ways of the Special Operations Command and those in it." He paused. "I can call from the car on the way to the post, if you'd like. I'm driving my own car, but Richardson's got a van."

  I'll be damned if I'm stuck riding the bus with Righteous.

  "If you've room in your car, and I'm not an imposition, that'd be great, sir," Castillo said. "Thank you."

  [TWO] "Would you like a drink, Charley?" General Wilson asked when they were inside the Magnolia House. "Under the circumstances, I'm going to allow myself to have one. And I might even allow my dear friend General Crenshaw here a little taste."

  "Indeed, I would," Castillo said. "I have been a good boy all day, and it's been a very long day."

  And I just drove past the Daleville Inn, which triggered a flood of not at all unpleasantly lewd and lascivious memories.

  Neidermeyer came into the living room carrying a DirecTV dish antenna.

  "You want a drink, Jamie?" Castillo said.

  "Wait 'til I get this thing up, sir. What I need now is a stepladder or a chair, so I can stick this thing on the roof."

  "Try the kitchen," General Wilson said, and pointed, then asked, "DirecTV?"

  Neidermeyer looked at Castillo for guidance. Castillo nodded.

  "Actually, sir," Neidermeyer said seriously, "I have a much better one, but it says Super Duper Top Secret Delta Force Satellite Antenna and the colonel won't let me use it. He says it makes people curious."

  The general chuckled.

  "It took only a couple of small modifications to this," Neidermeyer said. "Mostly the installation of a repeater, so we don't need the coaxial cable to connect to the box. It ought to be up in a minute or so."

  "Need any help, Jamie?" Castillo said.

  "No, sir. Thank you."

  Richardson came in as Castillo, Crenshaw, and Wilson touched glasses.

  "Your man is installing a cable TV dish on the roof," Richardson announced.

  "And any minute now, we can get Fox News," General Crenshaw said with a straight face.

  Castillo chuckled, and Richardson shot him a look, wondering what that was about. Then Richardson turned his attention back to the general.

  "Sir, the field-grade OD has been advised of the truck coming from Bragg. They'll be expecting it at the gate, and there will be an MP escort to guide it to the MP impound lot, where it will be under guard until Colonel Castillo tells me what he wants to do with it."

  "First thing in the morning, Randy," General Crenshaw said, "go out to Hanchey Field and take over a hangar large enough for four H-models. Arrange for the MPs to guard it, then move this equipment into it. That sound about right, Castillo?"

  "Yes, sir, that sounds fine."

  "Sir," Richardson said, "am I to sign a receipt for this equipment?"

  "Good question," Castillo said. "I didn't think about that. Well, when the truck gets here"-he stopped as Neidermeyer came back in the house, then went on-"Neidermeyer here will happily get out of bed and sign for it. Right, Jamie?"

  "The stuff from Bragg?"

  Castillo nodded. "Tonight it goes into an MP lot. In the morning, Colonel Richardson will have it moved to a guarded hangar at Hanchey-one of the airfields."

  "Yes, sir. Am I going with you tomorrow, sir?"

  "You and the magic box."

  "Sir, it might be a good idea if we had our own wheels."

  "I didn't think of that," Crenshaw said. "What would you like?"

  "Sir, vans are pretty inconspicuous. And I don't think we need a driver."

  "Randy?" the general said.

  "I'll have one here in fifteen minutes, sir."

  "This should take me about ninety seconds, sir," Neidermeyer said to Castillo, and walked out of the room.

  Richardson walked to a telephone on a credenza, took a small notebook from his pocket, found what he was looking for, and dialed a number.

  "Colonel Richardson, Sergeant. General Crenshaw desires that a van be sent immediately to the Magnolia House. A driver will not be required.

  "Yes, Sergeant, I'm aware that it's unusual. But that is the general's desire."

  He listened a moment and said, "Thank you," and hung up.

  For Christ's sake, Righteous!

  You're a lieutenant colonel. You can give orders for a lousy van all by yourself.

  You didn't have to hide behind Crenshaw's stars.

  Castillo caught General Wilson's watching eye.

  And that wasn't lost on him, either.

  "A van has been laid on, sir," Richardson announced.

  "Thank you."

  Neidermeyer walked back into the living room and handed a handset to Castillo.

  "They say twenty-five feet max with no wire, but give it a try."

  Castillo looked at the handset, saw H. R. MILLER, JR. on its small screen, pushed the loudspeaker button, and said, "So I shamed you into not taking off early?"

  "Where are you, Charley?"

  "In Magnolia House at Rucker. And guess who's with me?"

  "No, thanks."

  "General Wilson and Randy Richardson."

  "You're on loudspeaker?"

  "Yeah."

  "Good evening, sir. Dick Miller, sir. Hey, Righteous, how they hanging?"

  "Hello, Dick," General Wilson said. "Good to hear your voice."

  Restraining a smile, Wilson added softly to General Crenshaw: "That's Dick Miller's son. He's also a classmate of Randy's."

  "Hello, Miller," Richardson said without enthusiasm.

  "Anything happen?" Castillo asked.

  "I made the deposit to the bank where you were earlier," Miller said. "That airplane's back from you know where. The pilot thereof is crashing in suburbia. He says if you need to go anywhere in the next twenty-four hours, take a bicycle. The copilot's on his way you know where, and the plane that took him will bring J. Edgar Hoover, Jr., back here. That's about it."

  "In the morning, I'm going to Mississippi to see the ambassador. Then back here."

  "How are you going to get to Mississippi?"

  "I rented a T206H."

  "You'll be flying right over what used to be Pascagoula and Biloxi."

  "Yeah, I guess."

  "I've been watching that on the tube right now. Incredible. The storm surge picked up a couple of those floating casinos and dumped them two, three hundred yards-maybe more-inland. There are slot machines all over. No damage at Rucker?"

  "I didn't see any. Nothing like that."

  "Okay, Chief. Keep in touch."

  Castillo pushed the OFF button.

  "I'll hang this up, Jamie. Make yourself a drink. And while you're at it, see what Colonel Richardson will have."

  As he left the living room, he heard Richardson say somewhat piously, "Nothing for me, thank you."

  [THREE] 1040 Red Cloud Road

  Fort Rucker, Alabama 1735 4 September 2005 "There it is, Jamie," General Wilson said. "One Zero Four Zero."

  He and Castillo were in the second-row bench seat of the Army Dodge Caravan, Max having decided he would rather ride in the front passenger seat.

  Neidermeyer slowed the van almost to a stop as they approached the house. It was a single-family frame one-story building, identical to the ones on its left and right as far as Castillo could see.

  Castillo vaguely remembered that lieutenant colonel
s and better-or was it majors and better?-got separate houses. Lower ranks had to share an interior wall.

  Hanging from two eighteen-inch-high posts next to the driveway was a sign: LTC R. W. RICHARDSON, AV.

  The carport was full with a Pontiac sedan and a civilian Dodge van. Behind them, on the drive, was a Buick sedan with Arizona license plates and a Mercury sedan pulled up behind the Dodge.

  "It looks like the Crenshaws are here," General Wilson.

  "Maybe I'd better park on the street," Neidermeyer said.

  "It's against the law," Wilson said. "Pull in behind the Mercury."

  "Why is it against the law?" Castillo asked.

  "About the time of Custer's Last Stand, a child darted out between two cars parked on the street and was run over. You just can't have that sort of thing, and so they passed a law. I tried to change it when I was post commander and was dissuaded by a regiment of outraged mothers."

  "What do you do if you have more people coming to dinner than you have room in your driveway?"

  "You politely ask your neighbors if the extras can park in their drive," Wilson said. "If your neighbor outranks you, or your wives have been scrapping, you're out of luck."

  Neidermeyer pulled the van in behind the Mercury.

  The house front door opened. Mrs. Harry F. Wilson looked out at the van.

  "What do you say I get out and stagger up to the door?" General Wilson said.

  "General, please don't do that to me," Castillo said with a grin.

  General Wilson slid the back door open, got out, and walked to the door, holding up an index finger.

  "Max, you stay," Castillo said in Hungarian, and followed Wilson.

  "What's this mean?" Bethany Wilson asked, more than a little suspiciously, holding up her own index finger.

  "It's the answer to your question, dear. 'How many drinks did Charley feed you?'"

  "Very funny," she said. "Hello, Charley, how are you?"

  Castillo held up three fingers.

  "Haven't changed a bit, have you, handsome?" she asked, and kissed his cheek.

  Neidermeyer was by then standing outside the van.

  "Mrs. W., this is Jamie Neidermeyer," Castillo said.

  "Hello, Jamie," she said.

  "He and Charley are tied together," General Wilson said. "He's got a radio in that suitcase."

  "Hello, Charley," Mrs. Randolph Richardson said from behind her mother. "How nice to see you again."