Presidential Agent 2 - The Hostage by W. E. B. Griffin

Author:W. E. B. Griffin
Language: eng
Format: azw3
Published: 2006-12-26T03:47:50+00:00

[FOUR]

As Castillo came out of Ambassador Silvio’s office, Corporal Lester Bradley, USMC, popped to attention and said, “There are two Air Force officers to see you, sir. I asked them to wait in the outer office.”

“Thank you, Corporal,” Castillo said and went into the outer office, where he found Colonel Jake Torine and the light bird pilot of the Gulfstream—if he had ever heard his name, Castillo couldn’t remember it now— sitting in the row of chairs against the wall. Both were in civilian clothing: sports jackets and slacks.

“I was just about to call you,” Castillo said, shaking Torine’s hand.

“We heard what happened,” Torine said. “How’s that female Secret Service agent doing? Betty?”

“Betty took three hits. She’s in surgery now.”

“Nice girl,” Torine said. “Is she going to be all right?”

“Jesus Christ, I hope so,” Castillo said. “I’m going to the German Hospital from here.”

“Any change in the plan for tomorrow?”

“No. Mrs. Masterson has decided she’s going ahead with the whole dog-and-pony show. Jake, just now I remembered, or think I did, something about an ambulance configuration for the Gulfstream.”

Torine shrugged, indicating he didn’t know either, and then asked, “Walter?”

“Yes, there is an emergency ambulance configuration for the C-37,” the lieutenant colonel confirmed.

“Installed on the one you’re flying, Colonel?” Charley asked.

“Yes, there is.”

“Tell me about it, please.”

“May I ask why you’re asking?”

“What, is it classified or something, Walter?” Torine asked, sarcastically.

“Yes, sir, as a matter of fact it is. The configuration of all Eighty-ninth Presidential Airlift Group aircraft is classified—”

“Jesus Christ!” Torine exploded. “And you’re worried Castillo doesn’t have the proper clearance—or maybe it’s me?”

For a moment, Charley thought the light bird was goingto say just that. But then, as Castillo studied him, he thought, This chicken-shit light bird has only now decided that a full bird colonel sent on Presidential Orders as pilot in command of a Globemaster more than likely has the proper security clearances, and since he was senior, if he said it was all right to describe the configuration of the Gulfstream, any breach of security would fall on his shoulders.

“Three of the seats on the left side of the cabin can be placed in a horizontal position,” the light bird began. “There is a mattress and sheets—rubber and the ordinary kind—stored behind the galley. Behind the paneling by the sheets is some other medical equipment. A blood pressure device, things like that. And an oxygen feed, connected to the aircraft’s main oxygen supply.”

“What’s on your mind, Charley?” Torine asked.

Castillo didn’t reply directly.

“Colonel, you came direct from Washington,” Castillo said. “Can I extrapolate that to mean you can go direct Jorge Newbery-Philadelphia?”

“Are you a pilot, Major Castillo?”

Aha! Somebody’s tipped him—and I think I know who—that he’s dealing with a lowly major. That’s why he doesn’t want me to know the secrets of the Gulfstream.

“Yes, I am,” Castillo said.

“With some experience in long-distance, jet-long-distance, flight?”

“I know for a fact that he flew the right seat of a 727 from Costa Rica to MacDill, and worked the radios and everything,” Torine said, smiling at Charley.

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