By Order of the President (Presidential Agent 1)

“I did remember, didn’t I, Mr. Copilot, to put the wheels down?”

“Gear is down and locked, sir,” Castillo reported.

“Well, then, let’s see if we can’t get this tired old bird on the ground without too many pieces falling off.”

Ninety seconds later, Colonel Torine said, “Well, the thrust reversers seem to work. Now, let’s see if the brakes do.”

The second half of the runway was lined with vehicles, bright yellow firefighting vehicles, ambulances, wreckers, bulldozers, and Humvees—a large number of Humvees— all equipped with .50 caliber machine guns, all of which were trained on Costa Rican 407.

“I expect this is the modern version of the tumultuous welcome Roman legionnaires got when they returned to Rome after having vanquished the savages in far-off places,” Torine said as the 727 began to slow very suddenly.

Torine threw the master buss switch.

“I wonder if it will ever fly again?” he asked. “The last flight of an airplane is always a little sad.”

“Why won’t it fly again?” Castillo asked, then, “Do you think we should try to get this crap off our face before we go out there and wave to the fans?”

“Jesus, I forgot all about it. Hell no, leave it on. It’ll give them something to talk about.”

He unstrapped himself and stood up and then gestured to Castillo to precede him from the cockpit.

When Castillo opened the door, now waving Torine ahead of him, movable stairs had been rolled up to the front door. When he stepped onto the platform at the top, he saw that their reception committee consisted of three high-ranking dignitaries: the secretary of Homeland Security, the Honorable Matthew Hall; General Allan Naylor, USA, the commanding general of Central Command; and his deputy commander, General Albert McFadden, USAF.

Behind them was about a platoon of USAF Security Forces, half of them mounted in Humvees.

Colonel Torine saluted as he went down the stairs. Naylor and McFadden returned it.

“Jake, is that thing liable to blow up anytime soon?” General McFadden called.

“It may collapse of old age, sir,” Torine replied, “but blow up? No, sir, I don’t think so.”

Castillo followed him down the

stairs. As soon as his feet touched the runway, one of the Security Forces, a major, headed for the stairs.

“I don’t think you want to go in the airplane just yet, Major, ” Castillo said and stepped into his path.

The Security Force major gave him a withering look, examined Castillo’s flight suit, and snapped, “Please step to one side, Mr. Shine.”

Charley remembered that in addition to the grease on his face, he was wearing Shine’s flight suit.

Since I was, before this happened, a major (promotable), I probably outrank you, you pompous shit. But fuck it.

He made an After you, Gaston bow to the major and stepped out of his way. The Security Force major ran up the stairs.

Castillo saluted Generals Naylor and McFadden. They returned it.

“I can’t tell you how delighted I am that you pulled this off,” Matt Hall said. “Welcome home, Charley. Colonel Torine.”

“The president has asked me to convey his congratulations to you both,” General Naylor said. “He is also concerned with collateral damage to the airport. I therefore think we should go somewhere where you can make a preliminary after-action report and then see about getting you cleaned up.”

“A fuel truck, sir, burned at the airport,” Colonel Torine said. “That’s about the sum of it.”

“There were no casualties?” Naylor asked, surprised.

“None on our side, sir,” Castillo said. “And none on the bad guys’ that we left at the airport.”

“I don’t understand,” Naylor said.