W. Griffin - By Order of the President

"Circumstantial or not, that sounds solid," Kennedy said. "The one thing the bureau is good at is making IDs. They can do that with a computer; no original thought required." He paused as if gathering his thoughts and then went on, "And, knowing this, it would be reasonable to assume several more things. They may not know how close we are to them, but they know we're looking for the airplane. So how would intelligent pilots get a 727 to Philadelphia?"

"It's your off-the-wall scenario, Howard. You tell me."

Kennedy had just opened his mouth to speak when there was a faint musical rendition of the opening bars of Strauss's Weiner Blut. Pevsner took a cellular telephone from his trousers pocket. He spoke in Russian.

"Yes? "TI? That's all he got-"

"Call him back and make sure that's all he got."

He punched the hang up key and put the telephone back in his pocket and looked between Castillo and Kennedy.

"I'm making up my mind whether I should tell you what that was," Pevsner said. "I'm concerned that Charley might act impulsively."

Everyone waited while he made up his mind. It took no longer than thirty seconds, but it seemed longer.

"The pilot of an aircraft that had to make an unscheduled stop-a warning light on the instrument panel suggested a hydraulic pressure problem-at El Vigia," Pevsner said, finally, "reports that while the problem was being attended to he happened to see a 727 aircraft in a hangar. Registration numbers and other painting were going on. Unfortunately, all he could see was the TI prefix. He said it was still dark."

"Damn!" Charley said. "What's 'TI' mean?"

"And that they were pulling masking tape from freshly painted red, white, and blue stripes on the vertical stabilizer," Pevsner added.

"When was this?" Charley asked.

"About four hours ago," Pevsner said. "He had to wait until he got to Bolivia-La Paz-before he could call."

"TI is the Costa Rican registration suffix," Colonel Torine said. "This pilot, Mr. Dondiemo:"

"If you call me 'Mister,' " Pevsner said with a smile, "I'll think you're suggesting I call you 'Colonel.' "

"Not at all, sir. Alex. How reliable is this pilot? Does he work for you?"

"He flies for an air cargo company with which I have a certain relationship. All of their pilots are reliable. As a matter of fact, now that I think about it, this one's an American."

"So they're painting red, white, and blue stripes on the vertical stabilizer of a Costa Rican 727, so what?" Charley said.

"El Vigra is not a maintenance facility, Charley," Kennedy said. "But if you want to change an airplane's identity without anybody seeing you or asking questions:"

"Okay," Castillo said, looking out the window at the ocean view then turning to the others, "Let's go with our 727 now flying Costa Rican colors. How does that fit in with your off-the-wall scenario?"

"I think it fits in very nicely, now that I've a moment to think," Kennedy said. "Okay, let's pick up the scenario:"

He stopped when Sergeant Sherman, trailed by the large East European Charley thought of as the guy who suckered me in the men's room came into the apartment.

"Pretty soon, Major," Sherman said as he sat down at the table where he'd put the control box and the special laptop computer. He plugged in the tan cable.

"One possibility, Charley," Kennedy went on, "that you might wish to consider is that these people are going to substitute the airplane they've stolen for an airplane that can approach Philadelphia without causing suspicion; an airplane that routinely goes to Philadelphia."

"Jesus," Charley said.

"For the sake of argument, let's say a 727 belonging to a Costa Rican airliner. All that they would have to do would be make sure that the bona fide Costa Rican airplane wasn't in United States airspace at the same time."

"How would they do that?" Castillo asked, and the answer, Sabotage the clean airplane, quietly sabotage the clean airplane, came to him as he spoke.

"How do you think a mechanic in, say, San Jose, Costa Rica," Pevsner asked, slowly, "would react to an offer often thousand dollars to do something to an aircraft that would take it out of service for twenty-four hours? Not blow it up, nothing that would cause suspicion, just take it temporarily out of service for a day?"

"What was Marlon Brando's line in The Godfather, 'Make him an offer he can't refuse'?" Kennedy asked. "In this case, he would probably have the choice between taking the ten thousand, doing what he was asked to, or having his wife and children disemboweled."

Castillo looked over at Sergeant Sherman, who sat wearing a small headset in front of the control device.

"Sherman, how we doing?" Castillo asked.

Sherman held his left hand above his head, the fingers extended.

One by one, he folded them.

"All green, sir," Sherman said.

Castillo walked to him and picked up a small telephone handset.

"Are we into Philadelphia?" he asked.

"Major Miller's at City Hall," Sherman said. "He's on a secure line to the arsenal base."

"Get him on," Castillo ordered.

Sherman pushed several buttons. "Line's green, encryption green," he said.

"Sergeant Schneider," Betty's voice came very clearly down from the satellite.

"Castillo here. Can you get Miller on here?"

"Hold one, Major," Sergeant Schneider said.

"Charley?" Miller asked a moment later.

"Right."

"Did you get the word they've located the 727 in Suriname?"

"No, they haven't. It's not in Suriname and never has been."

"What?" Miller asked, incredulously. "Charley, just before Secretary Hall and the commissioner went in to see the mayor-that's where we are, City Hall-he had a call from the CIA-from the DCI himself-that the airplane's at a field called 'Zandery' in Suriname. That's what he's telling the mayor."

"Well, the CIA is wrong again."

"McNab has been ordered to neutralize it," Miller said. "He's already at Hurlburt, about to go wheels-up."

"Listen carefully, Dick. This is what I need from you. Go out to the airport and find out what airplanes regularly land-I don't mean on schedule, just all the time-from Costa Rica and get back to me. Find out what Costa Rican airline regularly goes to Philadelphia."

"Were you listening, Charley? Did you hear what I said? The CIA has found the airplane. Confirmed. They even have a visual."

"That's not the one we're looking for. Now, goddammit, do what you're told! Now!"

He touched Sergeant Sherman's shoulder.

"Get General McNab on here."

[FIVE]

Major H. Richard Miller, Jr., looked around the small room off the outer office of the mayor of the City of Philadelphia. There were three other people in it. Sergeant Betty Schneider of the Philadelphia Police Department and Supervisory Special Agents Joel Isaacson and Thomas McGuire of the United States Secret Service.

"Interesting question," Isaacson said, dryly. "Who do you believe? The director of Central Intelligence or Don Juan?"

"I'll go with Don Juan," Agent McGuire said.

"He sounded very sure of himself," Sergeant Schneider said.

"Don Juan is always very sure of himself," Isaacson said. "Which is not the same thing as saying he's always right."

"I don't have the faintest idea where to get that information at the airport. Or that they'll give it to me without a lot of hassle."

"I'll go out there with you, Sergeant," Tom McGuire said. "Maybe my badge, plus my Irish charm, will be useful."

"You think I should barge in the mayor's office and tell Secretary Hall?" Miller asked.

"Not without more to go on than what Don Juan told you, I don't," Isaacson said. "But I think you should do what Don Juan wants done."

"Anytime you're ready, Sergeant," Tom McGuire said.

"I just had a wild hair," Sergeant Schneider said, thoughtfully.