Fulbright turned to de la Santiago. "How long will it take you to check him out in a B-26?"
"Colonel, I'm not current in a B-26."
"That's not what I asked. Let me explain the situation to you. Until midnight I have the services of one, only, Air Force guy who is a qualified B-26 IP. Right now, of the pilots available to me for this operation, I have two with current ATRs. Guess who ?"
"No one else is B-26 qualified?" de la Santiago asked, genuinely surprised.
"Used-to-be-qualified," Fulbright said. "Some of the Americans flew twenty-sixes in Korea, that's ten years plus ago. Some of the Cubans-I'll give you a list, maybe you'll know somebody - flew them before the bearded bastard came out of the mountains. None of them have done any flying to speak of since.
You flew B-26s in Cuba, and you've got a current ATR, so by default you're the head IP. Getting the picture?"
"Yes, Sir," de la Santiago said.
"So I repeat the question," Fulbright said. "How long will it take you to get Portet checked out in a B-26?" De la Santiago thought it over for a moment before replying.
"Jacques is a good pilot," he said finally, thoughtfully. "Not even, getting into ground school, I'd like eight, ten, twelve- hours in the air with him."
"And how long do you think it will take our one Air Force IP to check you out?"
"These are D models?"
"Ks," Fulbright said. "They've got 2500-horse Pratt and Whitneys and some really nice avionics. They're essentially brand-new airplanes, rebuilt from the wheels up."
"God, I'd like a week!" de la Santiago said.
"You've got until midnight," Fulbright said. "When you walked in, I was on the phone begging to keep the IP. The Air Force told me to go fuck myself. They want nothing to do with us. And not only because I stole these airplanes from them."
"I will do what I can," de la Santiago said.
"Take Portet with you," Fulbright said. "Maybe some of it will rub off on him."
"Yes, Sir."
"You have any civilian clothing, Portet?"
"Yes, Sir."
"OK. Get into it. I mean right now. Go into the latrine and change before anybody who already hasn't seen you as a PFC does. I don't want to see you in a uniform again. If anybody asks, you're an employee of Supportaire, Inc. If anybody gets really curious, refer them to me."
"Can I do that?" Jack asked. "Fly and wear civvies?"
"My boy," Colonel Richard Fulbright said, "you are now assigned to an operation directed by Colonel Richard Fulbright." He raised his hand as a priest raises his in a blessing. "With Fulbright, All Things Are Possible," he intoned sonorously. Now go forth and do good."
Jack chuckled and then laughed.
"By the time you get back," Fulbright went on, "I'll have ID cards and the rest of the crap ready for you. There's a pickup outside. He'll take you to the" field, and our very self-righteous, holier-than-thou Air Force IP. Don't tell the sonofabitch anything but your name. Your first name." Jack looked at him and saw that he was dead serious.
"We're operating out of the same strip, as a note of historical interest," Fulbright said, "on which Jimmy Doolittle trained his people to fly B25s off aircraft carriers in War Two."
"Really?" Jack asked, impressed. General Jimmy Doolittle was one of his father's few heroes. He had often heard the story of Doolittle's bombing raid on Japan in the early days of World War II. Doolittle hadn't done much physical damage, but he had dealt a real blow to Japanese pride and morale, and at the same time given American morale a badly needed boost after it had been severely damaged by the Pearl Harbor attack.
"An operation not unlike this," Fulbright said. "The essential difference being that if Doolittle had been caught, all they would have done was behead him. If we get caught, we'll really be up shit creek without a paddle." Fulbright was smiling brightly, as if proud of his wit. But Jack saw in his eyes that he was serious about that, too.
(Four)
Villa San Regrets Cannes: Antibes, France 16 July 1964
Helene (Mrs. Porter) Craig's smile was a little strained when she saw her first grandchild being carried down the stairs of the Air France DC-8 at Cannes by an enormous coal-black female in an ankle length, flamboyantly flowered flowing dress.
She quickly kissed her Daughter-in-law, making a quick judgment that she looked a little wan and tired, and then made it plain she wished to take the baby. The enormous black woman eyed her suspiciously and didn't hand the blanket-wrapped infant over until she had looked at Ursula and Ursula had nodded.
"He's precious," Helene Craig said. "Just precious."
"He's also dirty and hungry," Ursula said. "Mother Craig, these are our friends, Hanni and Jeanine Portet. And Jiffy's best friend, Mary Magdalene."
Helene Craig decided she liked the Portet woman and her daughter. They looked wholesome and were well dressed, and the little girl made a polite curtsy.
"I'm so grateful you could make the time to come With Ursula," Helene Craig said, "and I'm very happy to finally meet you."
"There was no way," Hanni Portet said, "that Jeanine was going to let her godson out of sight." Helene Craig smiled. She hadn't been exactly thrilled that the baby had been christened in the Congo without her presence. But, as her husband had pointed out, it was now done, and he understood the whole idea was to get the child dipped rather than make a social event of it.
"Hello, honey," Porter Craig said, wrapping his arm around Ursula's shoulders. "It's good to see you." Hanni's reaction to the Craig's was that Geoff didn't look at all like his father or mother-except for his eyes. She hoped Jiffy would not grow up to look like his grandparents.
"Give your baggage stubs to my husband-"
"Who I wish everyone would call Porter," Porter Craig interjected with a smile.
"-and the houseman will take care of the luggage."
"We'll need diapers," Ursula protested. "Jiffy already smells."
"Jiffy?" Porter Craig asked.
"Mary Magdalene has trouble, with 'Geoff,'" Hanni explained. "It was Jeefe and then Jiffy."
Mary Magdalene, Helene Craig decided, must be the African woman.
"There's diapers and everything else I thought you might need at the house," Helene said. "It's been a long time, but I think, I got everything."
There was a Bentley and a Peugeot station wagon outside the terminal. Ursula took the baby from her mother-in-law and got in me back of the Bentley, followed by the Craigs and Hanni Portet.
Mary Magdalene and Jeanine would wait until the luggage was claimed and ride to the house in the Peugeot.
"That's quite a nurse," Helene said as the Bentley moved off.
"She raised Jeanine," Hanni said. "Good solid woman."
"She's wonderful," Ursula said.
Helene Craig had just decided she would say nothing else about the African woman when her husband said, "I'd hate to have her mad at me."
"So would I," Hanni laughed. "She comes from a warrior tribe. Once someone grabbed her purse at the market. She ran him down, knocked him on his back, and then broke a liter bottle of Perrier over his head."
Helene Craig smiled wanly.
"I'm surprised she didn't kill him," Porter Craig said.
"So was Mary Magdalene," Hanni laughed.
"It's beautiful here," Ursula said quickly.
"I'm sorry Geoff couldn't get away," Porter Craig said.
"Well,' he's a soldier." Ursula said. "He just can't take off whenever he wants.'"
"What exactly is he doing'?" Helene Craig' asked.
"'He's flying a lot."
"I think it's really unfair that they wouldn't let him out of the Army when he came home from Vietnam," Helene Craig said.
"He likes what he's doing."
"How is he going to fend with you gone, honey?" Porter Craig said.
"In great hardship," Hanni laughed.
"He calls the Portets' 'The Resort,'" Ursula said. "It has a swimming pool and a tennis court. And People to fetch beer for h
im."
"You were very kind to take them in the way you have," Helene Craig said.
"They did the" same for my stepson in Alabama," Hanni said.
"And it really is a joy to have a baby in the house. When he wakes up crying at night, I know he's not mine, and I can just roll over and go back to sleep."
"Well," Porter Craig said, "we intend to do now what we can to repay you. We've, taken the house for the rest of the summer, and if it gets too warm here, the bank has a place in Norway where it never gets above seventy."
"Oh, we can't stay all summer!" Ursula protested.
"We'll see," Helene Craig said" and patted her daughter-in-law's hand.
(One)
Stanleyville, Democratic Republic of the Congo 17 July 1964
Pappy Hodges made a very slight adjustment to the 'trim-'tab wheel of the L-23 Twin-Beechcraft and turned to his copilot.
"Do you have to smoke that fucking thing? It smells like "a smoldering rope."
"You are looking at one of the world's most widely traveled cigars," Geoff Craig replied. "Rolled between the thighs of some Cuban belle, it was transported to the Orient, there to be purchased by my cousin Craig and brought to the United~ States.
Then it was flown from Florida here as a suitable gift to mark the birth of his first nephew, at God alone knows what cost to the taxpayers. I respectfully put it to you, Major, Sir, that such a cigar is entitled to stink a little."
"You left out illegal," Pappy chuckled. "It's illegal, to import Cuban cigars into the United States."
"Cousin Craig doesn't allow patriotism or the law to interfere with the simple pleasures of his life."
"And he probably gave them to you because he couldn't stand the stink either. But give me one anyway," Pappy said. "Maybe if I smoke one myself, it will mask the noxious odor." Geoff unwrapped a cigar, handed it to Pappy; and then extended a cigar lighter.
Pappy puffed appreciatively.
"I gotta admit it tastes better than it 'smells,'" he said; "But I guess it would have to, wouldn't it?"
Geoff chuckled.
XVI
(One)
Quarters #1 Fort Rucker, Alabama 1935 Hours 25 July 1964
When the doorbell rang, the Bellmons had just sat down to dinner. A look of displeasure flashed across General Robert F. Bellmon's face.
"See who that is, Bobby, please," Barbara Bellmon said to her son. "Tell them we're eating." Bobby was Second Lieutenant Robert F. Bellmon IV, USMA '64, a tall, well-built young man who bore a strong resemblance to his father. In deference to his father's belief that no matter what color it was or what was printed on it, a T-shirt was an undershirt, and gentlemen did not sit at table in their underwear, he was wearing a light cotton, gray, zipper jacket with WEST POINT lettered across the back over his USMA Fencing Team T-shirt. He laid down his knife and fork, rose from the table, and went to the door.
A young man stood there in a light-blue knit polo shirt and khaki trousers. General Bellmon had another sartorial opinion regarding khaki pants. He didn't care what civilians did, khaki trousers were part of the uniform and. should not be worn as part of civilian attire.
There was no question in Bobby Bellmon's mind who the young man was. There were not that many flaming-red Jaguar convertibles around. This was the sonofabitch-it had become clear from overheard whispered conversations-who was fucking his sister.
"Yes?" Bobby Bellmon said. "Can I help you?"
"I'd like to see Marjorie, please," Jack Portet said.
"We're having dinner."
"Would you please tell her I'm here?" Jack said. As he looked a: Marjorie's brother's face, there was no question in Jack's mind that Bobby had heard about him and that he disapproved of what he had heard. "My name is Portet." Perversely, he added, "PFC Portet, Sir."
"Just a moment, please," Bobby Bellmon said, closed the door in Jack's face, and returned to the dining room.
"It's Marj's friend," he said. "PFC Portet."
""Where is he?" Barbara Bellmon asked.
"Outside the door. I told him to wait." Barbara Bellmon glanced at her daughter, saw the look on her face, and quickly got to her feet. Oh, Bobby!" she said in exasperation.
"I'm sorry, Jack," they heard her say a moment later, "Bobby didn't know who you were. Come on in and sit down and I'll set a place for you."
When they appeared at the door, Jack said, "Good evening. I'm sorry to burst in this way." He looked at Marjorie and their eyes locked, but neither of them spoke.
"How are you, Jack?" General Bellmon said.
The telephone rang.
"Bobby, get that," General Bellmon ordered.
"I didn't expect to see you tonight," Marjorie said finally.
"General Bellmon's quarters," Bobby said to the telephone. "Lieutenant Bellmon speaking, Sir."
"Make a place for him, Marjorie," Barbara ordered. "I'll get a plate and silver."
"I'm not hungry, thank you," Jack said.
"I'm sorry, General Bellmon is busy at the moment," Bobby said to the telephone. "May I take a message?"
"Nonsense," General Bellmon said. "Sit down. There's more than enough."
"Thank you, Sir," Jack said, and went and stood close to Marjorie. She touched his arm.
"Dad, it's the AOO," Bobby said. The Aerodrome Officer of the Day. "He said to tell you that a Florida aircraft has just landed and has been put inside the SCATSA hangar."
"Tell him thank you," General Bellmon ordered.
"General Bellmon says thank you, Major," Bobby Bellmon said.
"I guess you're involved with that, Jack?" General Bellmon asked.
"Yes, Sir."
"What's a Florida aircraft?" Bobby Bellmon asked.
"I don't think you've formally met Bob," have you, Jack?" General Bellmon said, rather obviously ignoring the question. "This is our son, who is about to start flight school. And, Bob, this is Marjorie's friend. You should get to know him. He's quite a pilot."
Bobby Bellmon forced a smile on his, face and offered Jack his hand, "I'm pleased to meet you."
"How do you do?"
Barbara Bellmon came out of the kitchen with a plate of meat loaf and vegetables. "Sit" I said. You couldn't have timed your arrival better. We just sat down. And I will refrain from saying, 'Next time, call.'"
"Something's wrong," Marjorie said thoughtfully. "What is it, Jack?"
"Nothing's wrong."
"Yes, there is."
"I've got to go away for a little while. I wanted to ask you to take care of the car for me."
"Go away where?" The telephone rang.
"Bobby," Marjorie said, "tell whoever that is to call back in five minutes."
"That will depend on who is calling," Bobby said as he reached for the phone. "General Bellmon's quarters. Lieutenant Bellmon speaking, Sir." There was a response and then Bobby looked at Jack, extending the phone to him. "It's for you."
Jack took the phone from him and spoke his last name. "OK, Luis," he said. "Call the tower and have them relay to Atlantic Area Control that we made- a precautionary landing at Cairns, and tell them we'll be airborne again in about thirty minutes. You better top off the tanks while you're at it. I'll be out there as soon as I can."
"'Precautionary landing'?" General Bellmon quoted. "Something wrong with your airplane, Jack?"
Jack met his eyes. "No, Sir. There's nothing wrong with the airplane."
"I want to know what's going on;" Marjorie said.
"So do I," Bobby Bellmon added.
"It may well be none of our business," General Bellmon said.
"I asked the copilot to bring the airplane here and pick me up," Jack said, "so I could drop the car off There wasn't time to do it any other way."
"Before what?" Marjorie asked almost angrily. "I want-you to tell me what's going on!"
"A pilot got sick," Jack said. "Actually, we found out he's an alcoholic when he fell off the wagon. There's just nobody else available. 1 have to fill in for him."
"
And you're going to the Congo!" Marjorie said.
Jack looked at her and shrugged. "It can't be helped, honey."
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