W. Griffin - The shooters

"Sir?"

"With a little bit of luck, they'll know who you are, that you were Timmons's buddy."

"Timmons's family knows who I am, sir."

"Then they'll probably believe you when you tell them what happened down there."

"I think they will, sir."

"On the other hand, they may suspect we're blowing smoke. 'What's this guy doing up here when he should be in Asuncion looking for…'"

"Byron, sir," Lorimer furnished. "His name is Byron Timmons, same as his father."

"In any event, while you are delivering the after-action report, you will look at me every two seconds. If I shake my head slightly, or if you think I'm shaking my head, you will stop in midsentence and change subjects. Clear?"

"Yes, sir."

"Timmons's family will certainly have questions. Before you answer any question, you will look at me to see if I shake my head or nod. If I shake my head, your answer to that question will be something intended to assure them. It doesn't have to be true. You understand?"

"Yes, sir."

"If you cannot carry out this instruction satisfactorily, Lorimer, I will conclude that you will not be of any value to this operation and we'll drop you off at Fort Bragg on our way back here. Clear?"

"Yes, sir."

"Are you packed?"

"No, sir. I sort of thought I'd be staying here."

"Go pack. You may well not be coming back here. When you're packed, put your bag in my Denali and wait there."

"Yes, sir," Lorimer said. He stood up and walked-with a just-noticeable limp-out of the living room, closing the door after himself.

As soon as it had closed, Miller said, "I'd forgotten what a starchy prick you can be, Charley."

"My sentiments exactly," Torine said. "What were you trying to do, Charley, make that kid hate you? Couldn't you have cut him some slack?"

"I was actually paying him a compliment, Jake," Castillo said. "And thank you for that vote of confidence."

"Compliment?"

"Pegleg is obviously as bright as they come; at least as smart as I am. Before I called him in here, I gave a lot of thought to how I should treat someone I admire, and who is probably as dangerous as you say I am. If that offended you two…"

"Okay," Torine said. "You're right. He reminds me of a lot of fighter pilots I've known."

"I would agree with that, Jake, except I'm pretty sure Lorimer can read and write."

Torine gave Castillo the finger.

Castillo took a small sheet of notebook paper from his pocket.

"Call that number, please, Jake, and tell them when we're going to be in Chicago, and how we can get from which airport to where we're going."

"They used to have a nice little airport downtown, right beside the lake," Torine said. "Meigs Field. Supposed to be one of the busiest private aviation fields in the world. But the mayor wanted a park there, so one night he sent in bulldozers and they cut big Xs on the runways."

"Really?" Miller asked.

"Yeah. There were a dozen, maybe more, light planes stranded there. They were finally allowed to take off from the taxiways. And the mayor got his park. He's…"

"Formidable?" Miller suggested.

"In spades," Torine said.

[THREE]

Atlantic Aviation Services Operations

Midway International Airport

Chicago, Illinois 1425 2 September 2005 "There's a guy walking toward us, Tom," Castillo said, as he tripped the stair-door lever in the Gulfstream III.

"I saw him."

"Looks like an Irish cop. You want to deal with him?"

McGuire gave Castillo the finger, then pushed himself off the couch on which he'd ridden-slept-from Baltimore, and walked to the door.

The man, a stocky six-footer with a full head of red hair, came up the stair as soon as it was in place.

"I'm Captain O'Day," he announced, as if supremely confident that no one could possibly mistake him for, say, an airline captain or anything but what he was, a Chicago cop. "I'm looking for a Colonel Costello."

Castillo came back into the cabin from the cockpit, and was putting on his green beret.

"Well, you weren't hard to find," O'Day said. "God, you've got more medals than Patton!"

Castillo shook his hand.

"It's Castillo, Captain."

"Sorry. You don't look like a Castillo."

"I'm in disguise. Say hello to another Texican, Tom McGuire of the Secret Service."

"If you're…whatever he said…McGuire, then I'm a…"

"Irish cop?" Castillo said, innocently.

"He's a real wiseass, isn't he?" O'Day asked, smiling.

"And he's barely warmed up," McGuire said.

"People are waiting for you. How many are going?"

"Five," McGuire said.

"I knew that. That's why I called for another car," O'Day said.

He gestured for everyone to get off the Gulfstream.

There were two cars, both solid black and brand-new, and looking like any other new Ford Crown Victoria except for little badges on the trunk reading POLICE INTERCEPTOR and, just visible behind the grille, blue and red lights.

"You can ride in front with me, Colonel," O'Day said. "I guess you're senior."

"Actually, Captain, the skinny guy's a full colonel," Castillo said. "But only in the Air Force, so that doesn't count."

"Go to hell, Costello," Torine said.

O'Day took a cellular telephone from his shirt pocket, pushed an autodial key, then after a moment said, "On the way. There's five of them. Maybe twenty minutes." He pressed the END key and put the phone back in his shirt pocket.

"How far is police headquarters?" Castillo asked, several minutes later.

"Why?"

"Isn't that where we're going?"

"No, it isn't," O'Day said, and changed the subject. "I'll forget what you tell me in thirty seconds. But what's the real chances of getting young Byron Timmons back from those bastards? And not hooked on something?"

"You heard about that, huh?"

"His father and I go back a long way," O'Day said. "He showed me Junior's letters. A good kid. I shouldn't have said that. Young Byron's a good man."

"All I can tell you is that we're going to try like hell," Castillo said. "With a little luck…"

"Yeah. I get the picture," O'Day said. "I was afraid of that. Thanks."

A few minutes later, Castillo realized they were not headed downtown. Instead, they were moving through a residential area, and he guessed from that that they were going to the Timmons home. Proof seemed to come several minutes after that, when they turned one more corner and then stopped before a simple brick house on a side street.

There was a police patrol car parked half up on the sidewalk, and three more cars-unmarked but rather obviously police cars-parked in the driveway beside the house.

"Here we are," he said. "I don't envy you, Colonel."

Castillo got out of the car and waited for the second car, which was carrying McGuire, Munz, and Lorimer. He wordlessly indicated that he and Lorimer would follow Captain O'Day up to the door and the others were to follow.

Before the door chimes finished playing "Home Sweet Home," the door was opened by a gray-haired, plump, middle-aged woman wearing a cotton dress and a pink sweater.

She looked at Castillo and then at Lorimer.

"You're Eddie," she said. "I've seen your pictures."

"Yes, ma'am," Lorimer said.

"Is it okay if I kiss you?" she asked.

"Yes, ma'am."

She hugged and kissed him.

"Honey," she called. "Junior's buddy Eddie is here."

A large man in the uniform of a police captain walked up to them and put out his hand.

"I'm Junior's-Byron's-dad."

"Yes, sir, I know," Lorimer said. "I've seen your pictures, too."

Captain Byron Timmons, Sr., looked at Castillo.

"Sir," Lorimer said, "this is Colonel Castillo."

Timmons crushed Castillo's hand in his massive hand.

"Colonel, I can't tell you how happy I am to see you," he said. "The President told the mayor that if anybody can get my son back from those bastards, you're him."