By Order of the President (Presidential Agent 1)

“I don’t suppose we’d see a hell of a lot more up the rear stairway,” Castillo said.

“Probably less, Major,” Sergeant Orson said. “The angles there are a bear.”

“Don’t call him ‘Major,’ Orson,” McNab said. “We don’t want anybody to know that he’s one of us. Didn’t you see him skiing down the hill?”

Orson chuckled.

“Let’s have another look at the whole airplane,” Torine said.

McNab typed on the keyboard again and a few moments later an image of the 727 from the side appeared. And this shot showed other movement. A

n open-bodied Ford ton-and -a-half truck, loaded high with thin cardboard boxes, moved in jerking movements toward the airplane and two men moved jerkily toward the 727, obviously intending to open the cargo doors.

“Well, there’s your flowers, Charley,” McNab said.

“Which means they’re getting ready to go,” Castillo said.

“And what would you suggest we do about that?” McNab asked. “Keeping in mind the president wants this done quietly, which would seem to rule out telling one of the gunships to put a couple of rockets in it.”

“Why don’t we steal it back?” Colonel Torine asked.

“How would you propose that we do that?” McNab asked. “Can you fly that thing by yourself, Jake?”

“With Charley in the right seat, I can,” Torine said and looked at Castillo.

“How can we do that quietly?” Castillo asked.

“Quietly is a relative term,” McNab said. “Not very quietly would be to put a couple of rockets in it, which would leave a burned-out airplane for the television cameras of the world to see proof of our arrogant invasion of friendly Costa Rica. A little less quietly would be having the Air Force take it out after it gets in the air. A lot of airplanes—and who knows who else—are going to hear our pilot order the airplane to return here or get shot down. How the hell are we going to be able to deny that if he has to shoot it down?”

Torine grunted.

McNab added, “There’s a flight of F-15s on their way from Eglin, by the way. Hell, they may even be here, out over the Pacific.”

“They’ve probably built some sort of framework over the fuel bladders,” Castillo said.

“What?” McNab asked.

“There’s thirteen fuel bladders in the passenger compartment, ” Castillo said. “They’ll have to be hidden from the customs guys at Tampa. So they will cover them with flowers. Hence, a framework.”

“Okay, so?” McNab said.

“Which means they will have to be placed on that framework by the guys who stole the airplane, not by ground handlers, who would want to know what’s up with the fuel bladders.”

“Major,” Sergeant Orson said, “when Sergeant Stedder was getting into position he said it looked to him as if there was a crew of four.”

“They must have brought two guys to help carry the flowers up the back stairs,” Torine said. “And protect the airplane. ”

“Making a total of four we have to take out if we’re going to take over the airplane. Figure it’s going to take them forty minutes to load all those flowers, six boxes at a time, up the front and back stairways.”

“So that’s how much time we have,” McNab agreed.

“We don’t know all they have is two more guys,” Castillo said. “The sergeant said he saw four. There could be more.”

“And they all have to be taken out, right?” Torine asked.

McNab grunted. “Odds are, we can’t have a little chat with them and explain the futility of their position. We have to take them out quickly and then get that airplane off the ground quickly.”

“How is Gray Fox equipped for snipers, sir?” Castillo asked.