Covert Warriors (Presidential Agent 7)

Both Naylor and Beiderman were about convinced that Naylor had just pushed the President over the edge.

Clendennen’s face tightened and whitened, and he opened his mouth as if to speak and then changed his mind. When he finally spoke, he apparently had himself under control.

“I don’t know why I’m arguing with you about this, General,” the President said. “The decision whether to involve the Vice President in this is mine—and mine alone—to make. I have decided not to tell him. Clear?”

“Yes, sir.”

“There is a precedent,” Clendennen then said, reasonably. “I don’t think anyone would argue that my trying to get Colonel Ferris back from those who hold him captive is anywhere near as important as the atomic bomb. Still, President Roosevelt didn’t think Vice President Truman had the need to know we had the atom bomb and elected not to tell him. And I don’t think Vice President Montvale has the need to know about what we’re about to do, and I have elected not to tell him. Any questions, General?”

“No, sir,” Naylor said.

“Okay. Now let’s get to the nuts and bolts of this operation. How are we going to get this civilian, what’s his name again?”

“D’Alessandro, Mr. President,” O’Toole furnished. “Victor D’Alessandro.”

“How are we going to get this man D’Alessandro from where he is—and by the way, where is he? Shouldn’t he be here?—to the Oaxaca State Prison?”

After a moment, O’Toole realized the President’s question was not rhetorical.

“Sir, I would recommend the use of a Black Hawk to get Mr. D’Alessandro from where he is—El Paso—to the prison,” O’Toole said.

“Why not fly him there in a regular airplane?” the President challenged. “There’s an airport right by it.”

He picked up the ruler again and pointed at the map with it. “Right here. How the fuck do you pronounce that again?”

Clemens McCarthy correctly pronounced Xoxocotlán for the President.

“What is that, Inca? Incan?” the President asked.

“That’s certainly what it sounds like, Mr. President,” McCarthy said.

The President turned to O’Toole.

“I’m waiting, General.”

“Sir?”

“For you to tell me why Whatsisname is better off flying to the prison in a helicopter instead of using an airplane to fly to the airport with the unpronounceable name

.”

“Yes, sir. Sir, for the same reason I gave before. It will permit him to reconnoiter the area; he can do that better in a Black Hawk.”

“Yeah, I suppose he can,” the President conceded. “Now, where are we going to get the helicopter?”

“I would suggest, sir, that since we’re going to use Night Stalker birds to carry the Gray Fox—”

“‘Night Stalker birds’?” the President interrupted. “What the hell are they? Is that?”

“It’s how we refer to the rotary wing aircraft—the helicopters—assigned to the 160th Special Operations Aviation Regiment, sir.”

“I see that I’m going to have to get used to the terminology you people use. I’m the Commander in Chief, and I should know it, but sometimes I think you and General Naylor are speaking a foreign language.”

“I can see where it might be a little confusing, sir,” O’Toole said.

“Okay. I’ve got several questions. What kind of a helicopter are we talking about?”

“UH-60Fs, sir. They’re specially modified Black Hawks for missions like this.”