“So what?” Hanrahan said. “It’s her father-in-law’s airplane, and I really suspect she has a good idea of what’s going on.”
“And then the airplane took off for Casablanca,” Oliver finished.
“She can’t do that,” Patricia Hanrahan said.
“She did it, Mrs. Hanrahan,” Oliver said. “And I’m the dummy responsible.”
“Let’s go in the house,” Hanrahan said. “I need a drink, and I think Oliver could use one.”
“What is she, crazy?” Patricia Hanrahan said.
“On reflection, Captain,” General Hanrahan said several minutes later, “the situation is probably not as bad as it seems at first glance.”
“Oh, Red,” Patricia protested, “how could it be any worse? You’re going to have to tell Barbara Bellmon. I won’t.” She paused and then warmed to the subject. “Why didn’t you stop her, Johnny? Throw her over your shoulder if you had to?”
“You’re right,” Oliver said. “That’s what I should have done.”
“Or called the MPs,” Patricia Hanrahan said.
“May I say something?” General Hanrahan asked, and when they both looked at him, he went on. “Legally, Marjorie did nothing wrong. She is twenty-one, and enjoys all the rights of any other citizen, which means if she wants to go to Africa, she can go to Africa.”
“That’s stupid, and you know it,” Mrs. Hanrahan said.
“Possibly, but it’s a fact,” Hanrahan said.
“Bob Bellmon’s going to go right through the roof, and so is Sandy Felter, and with every right,” Patricia said.
“For the time being, we are not going to say anything to either Bob or Sandy,” Hanrahan said. “Or anybody else.”
“They’ll find out,” Patricia said. “You know they will.”
“By the time they find out, I think she’ll be back here,” Hanrahan said. “And then it can be just a funny story to tell.”
“What’s funny?”
“Marjorie flew all the way to Africa to be with Jack, and then had to fly all the way back, because she didn’t have a visa, and they wouldn’t even let her out of the airport—just flew her straight home. Ha ha.”
“I’m almost sure she doesn’t have a visa for the Congo,” Oliver said.
“The story I got was that it took Jean-Philippe Portet having to go to the Congolese ambassador personally and remind him he was a pal of General Mobutu to get visas for Felter and the others, ” Hanrahan said, and then had an unpleasant second thought: “Unless she’s been planning this all along?”
“She said she got the idea last night at dinner,” Oliver reported.
“And I know why,” Patricia said. “The picture Sandy and Jean-Philippe painted for her of Jack all dressed in white and living in a hotel on a lake. No wonder she wanted to go. Men are such damned fools!”
"On that philosophical note, Captain Oliver, I think you can go home to your wife.”
"Yes, sir,” Oliver said. “Sir, their radio is scheduled to be on the Net no later than 2400 tonight. Should I send Father a heads-up? ”
“No, you will not, repeat not, send Father a heads-up. If Father, or Jack, knew that Marjorie was coming, they would somehow arrange for the Congolese foreign minister to be waiting when the airplane landed with a visa and a bouquet of flowers.”
“Yeah,” Oliver agreed.
“They’re not going to let her into the Congo without a visa,” Hanrahan said. “She doesn’t have a visa, and I wouldn’t be at all surprised if they turned her back at Casablanca, before she even gets to the Congo.” He paused. “I’m glad you didn’t throw her over your shoulder, Johnny. That would have been hard to explain to General Bellmon, and Jack would probably try to cast . . . punch you in the nose.”
“Or both,” Oliver said. “Good evening, Mrs. Hanrahan.”
“Good night, Johnny,” Patricia Hanrahan said.
“Tell Liza I detained you,” Hanrahan said. “Everybody else on Fort Bragg thinks I’m a sonofabitch—why not Liza?”
[ FOUR ]
Stanleyville Air Field
Stanleyville, Oriental Province
Republic of the Congo
1230 14 March 1965
On the logical and universal military assumption that one never gets into much trouble giving priority to the desires of the senior commander, Major Lunsford/Lieutenant Colonel Dahdi had ordered that the L-20 Beaver—which would become Colonel Supo’s personal aircraft—be reassembled first.
It had proved less difficult than planned for, for several reasons. When Jack had first flown into Stanleyville on one of the two remaining Air Simba Boeing C-46s, he had carried with him as much heavy maintenance equipment—jacks, cranes, that sort of thing—as weight would permit, as well as five Air Simba airframe and engine mechanics, hoping that the vandalism of Air Simba’s third Boeing by the Simbas would turn out to be repairable.