W. Griffin: Covert Warriors

“I’m going with you,” he announced in English.

“You didn’t tell me you were going to do this, goddamn you,” Castillo said, gesturing at the convoy.

Colonel James D. Ferris looked where Castillo had pointed. Policia Federal officers were administering what in a polite society was known as the coup de grace .

“Was this necessary?” Castillo pursued furiously.

“Dead men tell no tales, Charley. You never heard that?”

They were now at the open side door of the Black Hawk.

Hands reached to help Ferris inside.

“Good to see you, Colonel,” the face behind the hands said.

“You remember Uncle Remus, I’m sure,” Castillo said. “You want to lie down, Jim?”

“I’m all right,” Ferris said.

“Go, Dick!” Castillo shouted.

The sound of the engines changed as Dick Miller advanced the throttles and prepared to make a running takeoff.

Pope Air Force Base, North Carolina

1530 27 April 2007

In the Presidential Compartment of Air Force One, Joshua Ezekiel Clendennen was having what those close to him thought of as another shit fit.

“Where the hell is McCarthy? That sonofabitch has a remarkable ability to disappear just when I need him the most!”

The door to the compartment swung open and Defense Secretary Beiderman stepped in.

“I suppose it’s too much to hope that you know where McCarthy is,” the President snapped. “Nobody else seems to have a clue.”

“Sir, I’m afraid that I do,” Beiderman said.

“What do you mean, you’re afraid you do?”

“Mr. President, I just got the word. I’m sorry to inform you that Mr. McCarthy and Special Agent Douglas were killed about an hour ago en route to Andrews.”

“What do you mean, killed? You mean dead? Who killed them?”

“There was an accident, sir. The vehicle in which Agent Douglas was driving Mr. McCarthy to Andrews collided with a propane truck, and there was an explosion, sir. The Beltway is just about shut down, they tell me.”

“Sonofabitch!” the President said. “Dumbo was no nuclear physicist, but I liked him. He was loyal.”

“Dumbo, sir?”

“Douglas,” the President said. “I called Douglas ‘Dumbo.’ It was a term of endearment, for Christ’s sake.”

“It’s a tragedy, sir,” Beiderman said.

“So, what do I do now?” the President asked.

“About what, sir?”

“About every idiot in the press and his retarded brother out there,” the President said, gesturing out the window. “There’s at least a hundred of them, waiting for Naylor to arrive with Colonel Whatsisname.”

“Ferris, sir,” Supervisory Special Agent Mulligan said. “Colonel James D. Ferris.”

“Right. What am I supposed to say to them?”

“Sir, may I make a suggestion?” Mulligan asked.

“Why not?” the President said.

“Don’t say anything at all,” Mulligan said. “Just be standing there waiting when General Naylor’s plane lands. General Naylor will get off first and salute you, and then Colonel Ferris, and he will salute, and you say, ‘Welcome home, Colonel. We’re glad you’re back.’ And that’s all.”

Joshua Ezekiel Clendennen considered that a long moment. “I’ll be goddamned if I don’t think he’s right. I don’t have to say anything. The people will see me there, seeing me welcome Harris-”

“Ferris, sir,” Mulligan corrected him.

“-welcome Ferris home. As Commander in Chief. Nobody would pay attention to anything I had to say anyway. What’ll stick in their minds is Colonel Ferris saluting the Commander in Chief. Set that up, Beiderman.”

“Yes, Mr. President.”