The Hunters (Presidential Agent 3)

“What’s up, Charley?” Torine’s voice came over the speaker.

“If Dick gave the guy who came with the Gulfstream a cashier’s check for the airplane as soon as the Riggs Bank opens, how soon could you get it to Budapest?”

“You mean handle the paperwork later?”

“Right.”

“If he goes along with the cashier’s check, it would take me maybe an hour and a half to go wheels-up at Baltimore. I can’t make it nonstop. I’d have to refuel someplace, maybe Rhine-Main—”

“That’s now Frankfurt International. Hadn’t you heard? No more Rhine-Main.”

“And didn’t that make you feel old?” Torine replied. “Figure nine hours total flight time, an hour to refuel. Figure twelve hours from the time Dick gives the owner’s guy the check, presuming he’s willing to go along. If he’s not?”

“Give him the check anyway and don’t tell him where you’re going on your final test flight.”

“One more problem. I’ll have to bring Fernando along to fly the right seat. He’s not going to like that.”

“Do you really need someone in the right seat?”

Torine hesitated before replying, “You know, I’ve never landed an airplane anywhere where someone counted the pilots. You have a reason you don’t want Fernando to come?”

“I want Fernando to go home to Texas and keep the home fires burning.”

“Okay, Charley. Not a problem.”

Fernando’s voice came over the loudspeaker: “I’ll fly the goddamned airplane to Budapest, Gringo, and then go home.”

“You’re sure?”

“I’m sure.”

“Thanks,” Castillo said. “Both of you. I’ll get us rooms at the Gellért.”

“See you in the wee hours tomorrow,” Torine said and hung up.

“Anything else before I have my breakfast, Charley?” Miller asked.

“You ever get the avionics for the Ranger?”

“They’re on their way to Buenos Aires.”

“Okay. Great. I’ll be in touch, Dick.”

“Do I tell the ambassador where you’re going?”

“You might as well. He’ll know anyway.”

“Run that past me again?”

“I’m going to use his aerial taxi to get me there,” Castillo said. “He’ll know.”

“I don’t quite understand that, but, what the hell. I probably don’t have the Need to Know. Watch your back, buddy.”

Castillo switched off the telephone and went back into his computer case, retrieved a business card, and held it in his hand as he punched in numbers on the telephone.

“Now what?” Otto Görner asked.

“I’m calling an aerial taxi to take me to Budapest.”