Special Ops - By W.E.B. Griffin Page 0,30

Army as scheduled, and that my new exalted status as a commissioned officer and gentleman was my reward for helping Ol’ Porky kick the sh—soundly defeat the French.”

“Porky?” Hanni asked.

“Major General Porterman K. Waterford,” Lowell said. “His pals, of whom I was not one, called him ‘Porky.’ ”

“And then my father passed on,” Barbara said softly.

“At Baden-Baden,” Craig Lowell said. “The score was nine-two for the good guys. In the last minutes of the last chukker, Porky got his mallet on the ball, and with me keeping the Frogs out of the way for him, galloped three quarters of the way down the field, took a magnificent swat at the ball, and drove it squarely between the posts. That made it ten-two. Porky raised his hand to acknowledge the applause and fell out of his saddle dead. God, what a good way to go!”

My God, Jack thought, that’s a true story.

“Bob—he was a major—and I were at Fort Bragg when Dad died, so I didn’t meet Craig until later, at Fort Knox. He went to Greece first.”

“Leave Greece out,” Craig said. “This is supposed to be the story of the Packard.”

“I can’t leave Greece out,” Barbara said. “It’s part of the Craig Lowell saga.”

Marjorie returned. She went to Lowell, hugged him, and kissed his cheek.

“You’re a wicked, wicked man, and I love you very much.”

Obviously, she is a little plastered, not that it’s going to do me any good, and just as obviously, she’s read whatever’s on that piece of paper he gave her, Jack thought. I wonder what the hell it was?

“Greece?” Jack’s father asked. “What were you doing in Greece?”

“Eating a lot of lamb, mostly,” Craig said. He looked at Jack.

“Sandy Felter was there, and Red Hanrahan. He was our colonel.

After which the Army sent me to Fort Knox. Pick up the saga there, Barbara.”

“Okay,” she said. “Craig arrived at Fort Knox, and shortly thereafter the Greek ambassador and entourage arrived. There was a retreat parade, and the ambassador hung the largest medal I have ever seen on Craig.”

“Cut to the chase, Barbara,” Lowell said. “This is supposed to be about my prescience in buying the Packard at a distress sale price.”

She ignored him.

“It’s absolutely enormous,” she went on. “It’s called . . . the Order of St. George and St. Andrew, and it’s about the size of a saucer, and it hangs around his neck on a purple thing—a sash, I guess.”

“Well, there I was, Jack, in downtown Louisville,” Lowell interrupted, “and there in a showroom was the Packard. And I realized—I come from a family of bankers, as you know—that it would certainly, and rapidly, appreciate in value, so I naturally took advantage of the investment opportunity and bought it.”

He obviously doesn’t want to talk about the medal, Jack decided. I never heard of it, but if it was presented by the Greek ambassador, it’s not the Greek good conduct medal.

“You bought it because you were tiddly,” Barbara said, laughing. “You and Phil Parker had been drinking all afternoon in the bar at the Brown Hotel.” She paused and looked at Geoff. “You know Major Parker, don’t you, Geoff?”

“The great big black guy? Flies Mohawks?”

“Right,” she said.

“He and Craig were roommates in the student officer company, ” Barbara Bellmon explained. “So they took the car to Knox and started driving it around the post.”

“I drove it around the post,” Craig corrected her, “with the top down, and with Phil riding in the backseat, graciously returning the salutes of all who saw us.” He smiled at the memory.

“They were blissfully unaware that the post commander also had a yellow Packard convertible of which he was very proud . . .”

“He had the cheap one, the 120, two doors, straight-eight engine, with the spare tire hidden in the trunk,” Lowell said. “The one outside is a V-16, and proudly carries its spare tires in the front fenders.”

“. . . and the post commander,” Barbara went on, “naturally came to the conclusion that there were two second lieutenants in the student officer company who were ridiculing him. It was awkward for Bob. The general knew that Phil’s father had rescued Bob—”

“Which is another story, Mother,” Marjorie said. “Which you can tell everyone tomorrow. Jack and I have had a busy day, and want to go to bed.” She stopped, horrified at what she had just said.

“Presumably separately?” Lowell said, making it worse.

“Craig,” Helene Craig said indignantly, “that was uncalled-for. ”

“So you just kept the car, Colonel?” Jack asked, quickly

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