"Geoff!" Ursula said furiously, her face coloring.
"Hello, Geoff," Colonel Sanford T. Felter said, walking into the kitchen from the living room. "I hope you don't mind me coming here uninvited." Geoff, smiling, walked to Felter with his hand extended.
"Don't be silly, Colonel," he said. "It's good to see you, Sir."
"I saw you at the funeral," Felter said, "but you got away before I had a chance to speak to you."
"You were surrounded by the brass," Geoff said. "Ursula been feeding you?"
"Yes, indeed."
"Jack, this is Colonel Sandy Felter," Geoff said. "I'd say he's a friend of the family, but that's a little inadequate. He and my cousin Craig have been buddies since they were second lieutenants."
"We've met," Felter said, giving his hand to Jack Portet. "Or at least we've talked on the telephone."
Jack, taken aback, was about to say something but Felter cut him off. "Since Craig Lowell was a second lieutenant," Felter corrected Geoff Craig with a smile. "When we met, my talents had already been recognized and I was wearing a silver bar."
"I didn't know you knew Jack," Geoff said.
"I know a good deal about Jack," Felter said. "For example that he's been teaching you how to fly fixed-wing airplanes."
"I gather that's come to the attention of our Supreme Leader?" Geoff said. "You didn't come here to drop a word to the wise in my ear, did you by any chance?"
"Actually, I came here to ask you how you'd feel about an assignment as an assistant military attache-a flying attache-in the Congo," Felter said.
"I thought we had a deal, Colonel," Jack said coldly.
"What the hell?" Geoff asked, confused.
"The deal was you didn't go to the Congo," Felter said to Jack. "Geoff's not part of that deal."
"Is somebody going to explain what the hell's going on?" Geoff demanded.
"I'm just a little curious, too, Uncle Sandy," Marjorie said suspiciously, "about how come you know Jack."
"'Uncle Sandy'?" Jack asked, softly and incredulously.
"How much time do we have?" Felter asked Ursula, speaking German.
"I made a leg of lamb," Ursula replied, also in German. "It'll be another forty minutes. The Bellmons and the Hodges are due any minute now."
"What did they say, Jack?" Marjorie demanded suspiciously.
"I'm apparently about to meet your father and mother."
"I thought that's what she said. And now I really want to know what's going on."
"That will give us a few minutes to talk, Geoff," Felter said.
"I really am here on business, I'm afraid." Geoff looked at him and then at Ursula. Ursula's face showed surprise and concern.
"What kind of business?" she asked softly in English.
"Nothing to worry about," Felter said.
"As Lord Cardigan said to the Light Brigade," Geoff said.
"'Just canter down the valley toward Balaklava, fellows. Nothing to worry about.'" Felter laughed. It was obvious to Marjorie that neither Ursula nor Jack Portet understood the reference to the suicidal charge of the Light Brigade at Balaklava. But Marjorie did. And she had known all of her life that Colonel Sanford T. Felter was in the upper echelons of Intelligence. She wondered first what Felter wanted from Geoff, and then she felt sorry for Ursula. And then she was surprised at the enormous relief she felt when she realized that whatever was going on, it had nothing to do with Jack.
Then Felter added, "You too, Jack, if you don't mind."
"We can use the office," Geoff said.
"That'll be fine," Felter smiled at Ursula. "The Army has to find replacements for the people who died in the plane crash, Ursula. They were about to be assigned as assistant military attaches to the embassy in Leopoldville. I think Geoff qualifies. That's what I want to talk to him about."
"Oh," Ursula said, clearly not sure what that meant.
Marjorie glanced at Jack. He was looking at Felter from eyes that were cold and suspicious.
And then the three of them disappeared down a corridor.
Jack expected to find a bedroom converted to an office by the installation of a small desk pushed against a wall. What he found looked as businesslike, but was far more elegant than the office of the-President of the First National Bank of Ozark.
A large, gleaming mahogany desk held a leather blotter pad, a multibutton telephone, and a dictating machine. The chair behind it was high backed and upholstered in light-brown leather.
Against the wall was a matching credenza, and at one end of the desk a small table held a typewriter. An IBM Selectric, to judge by the plastic cover. There was a conference table, one end butted against the desk, holding another telephone. There was space for five people, each to be seated in smaller versions of the chair behind the desk. There were filing cabinets, each with a combination lock:, a small refrigerator, and a bar. Behind the desk was a picture of a very handsome mustachioed young officer having a medal pinned to his blouse by General of the Army Douglas MacArthur. Beneath that photograph a frayed, battered, grease-spotted battalion guidon had been framed. On the guidon were sewn on lettering, 73RD HVY TANK, and someone had added, apparently with a grease pencil, the legend TASK FORCE LOWELL.
"What the hell is this place, anyway?" Jack asked.
"When my cousin Craig used this house as a bachelor pad," Geoff replied, chuckling, "he didn't like the office the Army gave him at Rucker. He worked out of here."
"It looks as if he walked out of here five minutes ago," Felter said.
"I don't use it," Geoff said. "I'd feel I was intruding; sometimes think this is the only home he has."
"That's MacArthur giving him the Distinguished Service Cross," Felter said, walking to and pointing at the photograph.
"And the guidon is the one he flew from his tank when he made the breakout from the Pusan Perimeter. They teach that operation at both the Armor School and Command and General Staff;"
"I'm awed," Jack said."
"Here is the Colonel as a young man," Geoff said matter of factly, pointing at one of the photographs on the wall.
Jack went and looked. Despite a bushy, wax-tipped mustache, the photograph showed an obviously very young Lieutenant Craig W. Lowell. He had an M 1 Garand rifle cradled in his arms like a hunter. At first Jack thought the photograph was a joke, posed for laughs, but then he realized that it was no joke. Lowell's foot, like a hunter's foot on a prized lion, was resting on the shoulder of a man lying on the ground. The man's eyes and mouth were open and there was a bullet hole almost in the exact center of his forehead.
"Greece," Colonel Felter said softly. "He was nineteen. When he was wounded and evacuated to the hospital in Germany, I found that roll of film in his things and, sent it home to my wife to have it developed. I've always wondered what they thought at the Rexall Drug Store when they saw that snapshot."
There were other photographs. Felter was in some of them.
One showed Lowell with a good-looking blonde beside him and a baby in his arms, standing beside Lieutenant Colonel and Mrs. Robert F. Bellmon. And, Jack saw, a pert-nosed little girl who had grown into Marjorie.
"His wife was killed by a drunk driver,"" Geoff said, "the day he got a battlefield promotion to major and the DSC. How's that for a blow in the ass." "My God," Jack said. Felter pointed to a photograph of Lieutenant Colonel Lowell standing with Sergeant Geoffrey Craig wearing a green - beret, holding Ursula's hand.
"I took that," Felter said. "The day Geoff and Ursula were married. "
Jack looked at Geoff, who said, "Only for en famille discussion/the real story of how I met Ursula is that shortly after I was drafted, I found myself in the Fort Jackson, South Carolina, stockade, about to be locked up forever for breaking my basic training Platoon Sergeant's jaw."
"Really?" Jack asked politely, not sure that his leg wasn't being pulled.
"Really," Geoff said, nodding his head. "My father was somewhat hysterical and got in touch with Cousin Craig. Cousin Craig arrived weari
ng all of his medals to awe the local brass. A deal was struck and I was offered the choice between Leavenworth and becoming a Green Beret. So I went to Bragg, and met Ursula. And then, knowing that Ursula-not to mention me being in Special Forces-would send my father back into hysteria, Cousin Craig went with me to New York for the great 'Hi, Pop, meet the little woman' scene. We got married the next day. Colonel Felter gave the bride away. He was standing in for Ursula's brother, who was off doing something mysterious for the mysterious Colonel Felter."
"You do get around, Colonel, don't you?" Jack remarked.
Geoff chuckled.
"I just remembered, Uncle Sandy," Geoff said, "that Cousin Craig once told me that if you ever came to me and said that you had a little job for me, that I was to jump out the nearest window."
"Which brings us to the business at hand," Felter said.
"I think I'm going to have a drink," Geoff said. "Jack?"
"Please," Portet said "Sandy?" Geoff asked.
"I'll have a glass of wine-with the lamb," Felter said.
Geoff made the drinks and handed one to Jack.
"From this point," Felter said, "this conversation is classified Top Secret -Eagle."
"I don't have an Eagle endorsement," Geoff said." I don't even know what Eagle-is."
"You do now," Felter said.
"Eagle is the covering operation for the Congo."
"You do?" Geoff asked Jack. "Know all about this?"
"He knows what he has the need to know," Felter said.
"Which isn't much," Jack said, and then turned to Felter.
"Colonel, I don't mean to be" rude, but just who the heft are you?"
"He won't tell you," Geoff said. "That's classified."
"No," Felter said. "It's not." He took his wallet, technically a large Moroccan leather passport case, from his blouse and handed Jack a plastic-coated, photographically reduced-in-size copy of his appointment as Counselor to the President.
"Show it to Geoff when you're finished," Felter said.
"I'm impressed," Jack said. "I suppose that's the whole idea."
"What I don't understand is how a friend of Cousin Craig's can be that close to a Democrat," Geoff said as he handed it back to Felter.
Felter ignored the remark.
"Captain Kegg and Captain Askew were working for me," Felter said.
Geoff looked at Jack and said, "None of this seems like a surprise you, Jack."
"I've been filling in the blanks in the Jeppesen information," Jack said. The Jeppesen Company provides, with weekly updates, information concerning airfields and their facilities around the world. "Private strips, that sort of thing, about the Congo, and trying to get them-was trying-to get them prepared for flying over there."
"He and Pappy Hodges," Felter said. "And now that Kegg and Askew. . . are no longer available, we're going to send Pappy: And you, if you want the assignment."
Geoff didn't reply.
"I've already located another airplane," Felter said. "It should be here by now. SCATSA will install the necessary-avionics and auxiliary fuel tanks so it can be ferried over there. As soon as SCATSA finishes, you'll take it over there. Seventy..two hours, something like that. I realize that's short notice, but it should be an interesting assignment, Geoff, and I'm in a position to offer it to you." Geoff did not respond.
"Dependents to follow as soon as possible," Felter added.
"I'll bet it will be an interesting assignment. But why me?"
"You speak French, for one thing. You're well traveled. You'd fit in with the embassy crowd. And, as I say, I'm in a position to do you a favor."
"Oh, bullshit!" Geoff said. "I asked why me? I'm not a spy."
"All I want from you is to keep your eyes and ears open. I want you to be my eyes and ears on the spot. No espionage. I want to make that clear. I'm not sending you in there as an agent. That's the truth."
"If you want to tell me what's going on, what I'd be getting myself-and more, important, Ursula-into, I'll listen. Otherwise you can stick this job up your ass."
Jack's eyes widened. Lieutenants just do not talk to colonels that way, even if the colonel is called Uncle Sandy.
Felter's face showed no reaction.
"I have given you no reason to distrust me, Geoff," he said.
"Or to talk to me like that."
"That's not the case, I'm sorry to say," Geoff said levelly.
"What do you' mean by that?" Felter asked coldly. Jack saw that Felter was getting angry.
"You told us that Karl-Heinz was going to the jungle warfare school in Panama," Geoff said. It was an accusation.
Jack saw that whatever that meant, Colonel Felter had been surprised.
"What makes you think he's not in Panama?" Felter asked after a moment's hesitation.
"A friend of mine got on a UTA flight out of Brussels to Leopoldville," Geoff said. "And there was Karl-Heinz. On his way to Johannesburg, South Africa." Felter didn't reply.
Jack plunged ahead, warming to his challenge: "And what are we doing with at least three A-Teams in the Belgian Congo?" A Special Forces A-Team consisted. of two commissioned officers and eight to ten enlisted men, all of them at least sergeants.
"Your friend talks too much," Felter said, coldly angry. "And so, apparently, does Karl-Heinz."
"Don't worry about it," Geoff said. "The security of what I gather is Operation Eagle is intact. Karl-Heinz gave him the 'you-don't-know-me' eye in the airport in Brussels, and then when he found out they were one the same plane, on the planer I mean, there was time for him to tell my friend he hadn't, seen him."
"Obviously it's not intact," Felter said, "if you know about it."
"I didn't hear the word Eagle until just now," Geoff said.
"And Karl-Heinz hasn't opened his mouth."
"Your friend ran off at his, obviously," Felter said.
"Well, we were in 'Nam together and I guess he figured I wouldn't get on the horn to the Russian Embassy and guess what, fellas?"
"Have you told Ursula?" Felter asked quietly.
"No," Geoff said. "I didn't want her to worry."
"I was going to tell you, and ask you to tell Ursula, about Karl-Heinz tonight," Felter said. "And to impress upon her the, necessity to keep quiet about it."
"Were you really?" Geoff asked sarcastically.
"So far as Karl-Heinz is concerned," Felter said, "We believe that Michael Hoare's services as a mercenary will-be-required," Felter said. "If that happens I want somebody with him who can tell me what's going on."
"In other words he's a spy? Or an agent? Or whatever you call people like that?"
"Yes, he is."
"And the A-Teams? What are they doing?"
"For the moment, gathering intelligence," Felter said."
"What you and Pappy Hodges will be doing is moving them around."
"For what purpose?" Geoff asked. "I mean, what are they looking for?"
"Evidence "that the Chinese communists are moving into the Congo, or the Russians, or Chinese or Russian surrogates from any of a half dozen places," Felter said. "And to provide the STRICOM officer in the Congo with more information than he can gather by himself incase we have to intervene. The cognizant officer at McDill, incidentally, is a lieutenant colonel named Lowell."
Geoff's eyebrows rose at that, but he didn't respond directly.
"In other words you think something is, going to happen?" he asked.
"I have a gut feeling," Felter said. "No hard intelligence."
"Then why all the goddamned secrecy?"
"There are those, in Leopoldville, all over Africa, and unfortunately in high places in Washington, who would regard what I think It is necessary to do over there as outrageous interference in the internal affairs of a sovereign nation," Felter said.
"But not LBJ, I gather?" Geoff said thoughtfully.
Felter did not respond to that.
"Does that satisfy your curiosity, Geoff?"
"One more question. How does J
ack fit in all this? Is he going to be there too?"
"No," Jack said flatly.
"It seems to me that you could do this a lot better than either Pappy or me," Geoff said.
"Yes, he could," Felter said. "But he won't go."
"What do you know that I don't?" Geoff asked Jack.
"I live in the Congo. My family lives in the Congo. When my two years are up, I'm going back there to live. I couldn't do that if I showed up there in a uniform or at the embassy. Then I would be a colon, an American colon maybe, but a colon. And so would my family."
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