He was a slight man, with a swarthy skin, a full head of thick black hair, and a neatly manicured pencil-line mustache. He was wearing powder-blue trousers, a flamboyantly colored shirt of many colors, and an ex-USAF leather flight jacket, to which had been sewn a cloth patch reading CUBA, a painted-on-leather squadron insignia, and a leather patch with embossed Cuban pilot’s wings over “E. de la Santiago, Capitaine, Forces Aero de Cuba.”
Jack finally freed himself, and he and Geoff shook hands.
“The face I remember, but the name . . .” Enrico said.
“We used to see each other at Kamina,” Geoff said. “In the Congo.”
“Oh, yes. You were flying one of these,” Enrico said, indicating the L-23. “It is very good to see you again.”
“I like your jacket,” Geoff said.
“A painful souvenir of times past,” Enrico said, and shrugged.
“I hope we didn’t get you in real trouble,” Geoff said to the air commando.
“No problem,” he replied. “I’ll figure some way to really fuck you up sometime.”
“Thank you,” Enrico said to him.
“I’m sorry I ran you off before,” the air commando said. “I really didn’t know your friends were coming.”
“Don’t be silly.”
“Okay, put the captain’s bag in your little airplane, wind it up, and get it out of here,” the air commando said.
He saluted, and held it, until Enrico realized the salute was intended for him. Then he came to attention and returned the salute.
Jack pulled the throttles back from TAKEOFF power, skillfully synchronized the engines, set a course for Rucker, set the trim for a slow climb, and turned to Enrico.
“So what’s up?”
Enrico just perceptibly nodded in Geoff’s direction, wordlessly asking, Can I talk in front of him?
“You ever hear the phrase ‘Operation Earnest’?” Jack asked.
Enrico shook his head, no.
“Okay. But you can say anything in front of Geoff,” Jack said. “What’s going on?”
“I don’t know what’s going on,” Enrico said. “Let me tell what happened. I took a C-46 from Kamina to Léopoldville. Your air force flies supplies into Léopoldville; I think they’re worried about sending them into Kamina. Anyway, when I got to Léopoldville, there was a man waiting who took me to the American Embassy, to the military attaché, an Army colonel. He gave me a note from Colonel Felter. It said that he needed me to go after Che Guevara, and was I willing to do so? And if I was, would I accept appointment as a U.S. army warrant officer? The colonel, the one in the embassy, said I had to make up mind right away.”
“And obviously, you decided to answer ‘yes’ to both questions, ” Geoff said.
“There wasn’t much of a choice for me between bombing and strafing ignorant black savages wearing soldier’s uniforms, and having a chance to kill Señor Guevara slowly and painfully.”
Both Jack and Geoff were surprised, and made a little uncomfortable, by the icy intensity of de la Santiago’s answer.
“You don’t like him, huh?” Geoff said, jokingly, after a moment.
“The perverted obscenity personally murdered my grandfather, with my grandmother and my mother watching,” de la Santiago said.
“Jesus!” Geoff said.
“Why perverted?” Jack asked.
“He is a doctor of medicine,” Enrico said. “He took an oath to God never to take life. Is the murder of an innocent man, in front of his wife and his daughter by a doctor of medicine, not perverted behavior?”
“Well, I can’t argue with that reasoning,” Geoff said.
“So you agreed,” Jack said. “Then what?”
“When the USAF C-130 left Léopoldville that same afternoon, I was on it,” Enrico went on. “We came here. I was met by a warrant officer named Finton, who told me that I would be taken to Fort Bragg on Saturday, by you.” He paused, smiled at Jack, and went on. “When you came back from your wedding trip.”
“Yeah,” Jack said. “December thirty-first.”
“I knew when I first saw you two that it would happen. You have my prayers for a long and happy marriage.”
“Thank you,” Jack said. “Have you heard anything about your wife and children?”
De la Santiago held up both hands helplessly.
“They are in the hands of God,” he said.
“Sonofabitch,” Geoff muttered.
“What will happen to me at Fort Bragg?” Enrico asked.
“I haven’t a clue,” Jack said. “I guess you’ll find out on Saturday. ”
“I’ll give you this advice, de la Santiago . . .”
“I would be honored if you would call me by my Christian name.”
“Okay. Thank you. I’m Geoff. The advice is, don’t go around telling anybody you want to kill Guevara—”