this thing with Supo doesn’t work out, then he’ll just have to go back.”
Noki came in a moment later and served breakfast. Since the Portet houseguests were Americans, he had naturally prepared what he thought was the—somewhat barbaric—American breakfast: orange juice, toast, hash brown potatoes, and ham and eggs.
Felter attacked everything, including the ham, with relish.
He’s Jewish. Lowell tells me he takes it seriously. Ham?
Felter looked up and met Jack’s eyes. A chunk of ham dripping with egg yolk was on his fork.
“Nothing like steak and eggs for breakfast, is there, Jack?” he asked with a straight face.
Christ, Jack thought. He can read minds!
Noki drove them in Hanni’s Ford to the Air Simba hangar, where the embassy’s L-23 was parked and maintained. Air Simba was the Beech Aircraft Corporation’s recommended maintenance facility for both the former French and Belgian Congos and for the northwestern third of South Africa. Air Simba billed Beechcraft for whatever they did to the Army’s airplane, and for hangar rent, and eventually the bill worked its way through the corporate and military bureaucracies, and there was a check.
He felt a moment’s flicker of regret that Air Simba was shortly going to belong to one of Mobutu’s cronies, but he knew his father was right about cutting his losses and getting out.
Dr. Dannelly and a short, squat, very black Congolese were already in the office, waiting for them.
“This is Mr. Hakino of the Defense Ministry,” Dr. Dannelly introduced him in French. “The President thought it would be a good idea for him to go with us. Is that going to be a problem?”
“We are honored to have the chief with us,” Father replied in Swahili.
“Let me get the weather and the keys to the airplane and we’ll get going,” Jack said in Swahili.
The weather report was of near-perfect flying weather en route and in Stanleyville. Jack knew from experience that the weather report could be trusted not quite as far as he could see, but every once in a while, when there was an enormous storm, Léopoldville sometimes heard about it, and might pass on the information. It was worth the call.
The keys to the L-23 were not in the office key locker where he expected to find them, but when he looked out the window down to the hangar floor, he saw the door of the airplane was open, and decided that Noki had called ahead and said M’sieu Jacques would be flying it, and that someone was making sure it was ready.
When they went down to the hangar floor, Jack quickly learned that Noki had not been involved. There was an Army aviator standing by the nose of the airplane, in a flight suit bearing wings, the golden oak leafs of a major, a name patch—ANDERSON—and the patch of the Army Aviation Center at Fort Rucker.
The major walked toward them, smiling. After a moment, Jack remembered to salute. Major Anderson returned it.
“You’re the people I’m going to take to Stanleyville today?” he asked.
“Not quite,” Father Lunsford said, smiling and offering his hand. “My name is Lunsford.”
“Anderson,” the major said. “Not quite?”
“We’re going to Stanleyville,” Lunsford said. “But we already have a pilot.” He pointed at Jack. “He’ll fly it.”
“I don’t even know who he is,” Major Anderson said.
“His name is Portet,” Lunsford said.
Major Anderson looked at First Lieutenant Portet, who was a Green Beret, wearing aviator’s wings, parachutist’s wings, and what Anderson thought were Belgian parachutist’s wings, and decided that Captain Portet must have two sons, the other one being the one who was drafted a year before.
Jack looked around for Felter. He was nowhere in sight. Dr. Dannelly and Mr. Hakino of the Congolese Defense Ministry were watching the exchange with interest.
“Let me start from square one,” Major Anderson said. “My name is Major John D. Anderson. I am an assistant military attaché at the embassy. I am also the senior Army aviator assigned to the embassy. My orders were to be here at 0730 prepared to fly Colonel Felter and another American officer to Stanleyville. How am I doing so far?”
“Well, are you sure you got your orders straight?” Lunsford asked. “Is it possible that you were told to prepare the airplane for a flight to Stanleyville?”
“Is Colonel Felter here?” Major Anderson asked.
Lunsford looked around and found Felter, who was at a stand-up desk against the hangar wall with a telephone in his hand. He pointed at him.
“That’s Colonel Felter?” Major Anderson asked in disbelief. He had not expected an Army colonel, or