By Order of the President (Presidential Agent 1) - Page 197

At two minutes past eleven, a Learjet taxied into a space beside the Huey.

As Castillo got out of the Huey to walk toward the Lear, an Air Force colonel and an Air Force lieutenant colonel— the latter wearing the brassard of the Air Officer of the Day—came out of the base operations building obviously headed for the Lear.

Both gave Lieutenant Castillo a “What the hell do you want?” look as he saluted.

The door of the Learjet unfolded and a very small, pale-faced man in a baggy black suit got out.

The Air Force colonel put on a smile and put out his hand.

“Mr. Casey? Welcome to Pope Air Force Base.”

Casey nodded and took the hand.

“We don’t know why you’re visiting us but we’re honored to have you here.”

“I’m here to see Special Forces,” Casey interrupted. He pointed at Castillo. “Is that you?”

“Yes, sir,” Castillo said. “I’m General McNab’s aide. The general is sorry that he couldn’t be here . . .”

“Is McNab a little Scot?” Casey interrupted again.

“About this high?” He held his hand up, estimating. “Mean little bastard?”

“General McNab is about that tall, sir,” Castillo said.

“When do I get to see him? He was supposed to be told I’m coming.”

“Sir, the general hopes you’ll have lunch with him . . .”

Casey checked his watch. “It’s a couple of minutes after eleven. When’s lunch?”

“At thirteen hundred, sir. One. At the officers’ club.”

“That’s two hours. What does he think I’m supposed to do in the meantime?”

“Sir, the general thought you might like a tour . . .”

“In that?” Casey asked, pointing at the Huey.

“Yes, sir. Are you familiar with the Huey, sir?”

“I’ve got a couple of them,” Casey said and started walking toward the helicopter.

Castillo made a “wind it up” gesture to Kilian, saluted the Air Force officers, and trotted after Mr. Aloysius Francis Casey.

By the time he got to it, Casey was inside, fastening his seat belt.

Castillo took a headset from a hook and extended it to the wiry Irishman.

“If you’d like to put this on, sir, I could give you a briefing as we fly.”

“Like a tour bus guide, right? ‘And on our left ...’ You’re going to fly?”

“Yes, sir.”

“How much time do you have in one of these?”

“A little over six hundred hours, sir.”

Tags: W.E.B. Griffin Presidential Agent Thriller
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