The Shooters (Presidential Agent 4)

Dinner-the whole evening-went better than Castillo thought it would.

Beth was a good hostess.

Why am I surprised?

She learned the profession of Officer's Lady from her mother, who may as well have written the book.

And more than that, Beth was gracious.

She seated Jamie Neidermeyer next to her and across from General Crenshaw, and went out of her way to make him comfortable.

And the kids were remarkably well behaved, even the little one.

Castillo was seated between Mrs. Wilson and Mrs. Crenshaw, who struck him as another first-class officer's lady.

Even Max behaved. He lay outside the sliding glass door to the patio, his head between his front paws, just watching and neither whining nor suggesting that he would really like something to eat.

General Wilson, a little happy but not drunk after two glasses of wine, regaled everybody with stories of Warrant Officer Junior Grade Jorge Castillo, who, Colonel Castillo decided, must have driven his commanding officer nuts.

One of the stories, which Castillo had not heard, was of a middle-of-the-night moonlight requisitioning flight in which a mess-hall-sized refrigerator and a generator to power it were, as General Wilson gaily related, "liberated from a QM dump and put to work for the 644th Helicopter Company."

He sipped his wine, then with a huge grin said: "For the better part of the next day, the old man was torn between socking it to Jorge and me for misappropriation of government property-or enjoying the cold beer. Cold beer won in the end."

Castillo glanced at Richardson, who clearly was not as amused with the story as was his son, whose face showed he thought the idea of stealing things with a helicopter sounded great.

Then Castillo's eyes met Beth's, and he wondered if she was thinking of what had happened in the Daleville Inn.

Hell yes, she is.

That would be natural.

But that was a very long time ago.

The last thing I'd do is try to resurrect anything.

A little after eight-thirty, just after Castillo had turned down a glass of brandy-"I have to fly in the morning"-there was a familiar faint beep and, a moment later, Neidermeyer reached into his lap and came up with the radio handset.

He looked at it, then stood up, said, "Excuse me. It's for you, sir," and leaned across the table to hand it to Castillo.

The legend read GEN MCNAB.

"Yes, sir?" Castillo said into the handset.

"I've got the truck driver on a landline. He's fueling at Benning. Who do I tell him to see when he gets to Rucker?"

"General Crenshaw has named Colonel Richardson as his action officer, sir. But Neidermeyer-and maybe me-will meet the truck at the gate."

"Driver and two shooters," McNab said. "Make sure they're taken care of."

"Yes, sir, of course."

Castillo was aware that everyone was looking at him.

"Crenshaw taking good care of you?" McNab went on.

"Couldn't ask for anything more, sir. As a matter of fact, I'm sitting across Colonel Richardson's dinner table from him. And General Wilson."

"I don't have the time to wander down memory lane. Give them my compliments," McNab said, and a faint change in the background noise told Castillo that McNab had broken the connection.