The table was now set for lunch, and there were two rolling steam carts standing against one wall. Pappy Hodges, Father Lunsford, Geoff Craig, Enrico de la Santiago, and Johnny Oliver were sitting at the table.
“You didn’t have to wait for us,” Felter said as he led Lowell and the Portets into the room. “Help yourselves, and let’s get this started. We have a lot to talk about.”
He led by example by raising the chrome domes of the steam tables and picking up a plate. There was a tureen of clam chowder, bowls of vegetables, and platters of baked ham and roast beef.
Everybody but de la Santiago had, so to speak, gone through the chow line when Chief Warrant Officer W-4 James L. Finton came into the room. He was a lithe, sharp-featured man in his early forties, wearing a gray suit, a crisp white shirt, and a dark blue necktie.
Without a word, he went to the windows, closed the drapes, and then went to the steam tables. He bent over, raised the linen drapes on one table, peered under the table intently, and then repeated the process on the second table. Finally, he took a plate and helped himself to food.
“ASA swept this room at ten, Colonel,” he announced as he sat down. “Anyone been in here alone since?”
Felter shook his head, no.
“Then I would say we’re secure,” Finton said.
“Thank you,” Felter said.
Finton bowed his head, put his fingertips together, and closed his eyes. He was obviously saying grace.
Then he opened his eyes and reached for his knife and fork.
Felter laid down his soup spoon and dabbed at his mouth with a napkin.
“I’m going to go over where we are and where we’re going,” he said. “I suppose Argentina’s as good a place as any to start. Lowell and Lunsford did a good job down there; the Argentines are on board. The next step is to get the L-23 down there. Finton is working on finding us a Spanish-speaking Army aviator who will be the pilot down there, diverting, it is to be hoped, attention from de la Santiago. We also need one with a Top Secret security clearance—not for Top Secret/Earnest; this guy will be told as little as possible about that, but because it’s a requirement for anyone assigned to an embassy. So the pilot may not be immediately available. Oliver, Portet, and de la Santiago will fly it down there, taking with them Warrant Officer Zammoro from Bragg, Master Sergeant Thomas, and one of Father’s guys . . .”
He paused and looked at Lunsford.
“Sergeant First Class Otmanio,” Lunsford furnished.
“. . . who, it turns out, speaks Spanish Harlem Spanish,” Felter finished. “Zammoro was a major in the Cuban army, making it possible he’s friendly with some Argentine army officers. As a young officer, he went to a couple of schools down there. Which is why he’s going. He may stay, but right now, the only ones we know that are going to stay down there are de la Santiago and Otmanio.”
He paused again.
“Questions?”
There were no questions.
“So what we need from you, Pappy, is to make sure the L-23 is all right to make the trip. And lay out the flight plan. And we have to get de la Santiago rated as an L-23 pilot, the sooner the better.”
“Can we talk about that?” Pappy asked.
Felter made a come-on-with-it gesture with his hand and returned to his clam chowder.
“These hurry-up, rate-them-yesterday, screw-the-regulations, Mickey Mouse pilot-qualification courses of yours are about to blow up in your face,” Pappy said.
“How’s that, Pappy?” Lowell asked. “What we’ve been trying to do is comply with the regulations. And none of these people learned to fly last week. So what’s the problem?”
“Geoff learned to fly last week,” Pappy said.
“You’re saying he’s not qualified?” Felter asked.
“Can he fly twin-engine airplanes? Yeah, he can. But he was sent to Rucker to learn to fly helicopters. Students are expressly forbidden to take private instruction. Geoff started taking private fixed-wing lessons about the day after he got to Rucker, and people know about that. They also know that half the time, Lowell’s Cessna is at the Ozark airport, and that Geoff is flying it, which is also against the rules. Students are forbidden to fly private aircraft while they’re students. And those rules were always enforced. Until now.”
“Well, that’s water under the dam, isn’t it?” Lowell asked. “I thought you were about to give him his L-23 check ride?”