"Yes, sir."
"Well, perhaps you'll have a chance to say 'hello' tomorrow."
"Yes, sir."
"If there's time. Since we are not going to talk business at dinner and our time later tonight will be short, I suspect we'll really be busy tomorrow."
"Yes, sir."
"And maybe by then you'll have come up with some suitable explanation, Colonel."
Explanation? Castillo thought. For what exactly?
That damn list is long--and complicated.
"I'm not sure I follow, sir. An explanation for what?"
McNab helped himself to some of the seared-rare ahi tuna appetizer. He chewed slowly, clearly enjoying the delicacy, then swallowed. "I told you on the phone that I was starving."
And here we are. Eating.
"Yes, sir?"
"Then why the hell did you send the Suburban all the way to Hurlburt to then haul us back here to Pensacola?"
"But, sir--"
"We right now could be finished with our meals at the McGuire's in Destin."
Damn!
There's a McGuire's in Destin?
"There's a McGuire's in Destin, sir?"
"Not ten miles east of the O Club," McNab said, shaking his head, "I was so informed by the lovely hostesses here. And you have the nerve to call yourself a seasoned world traveler."
He looked past Castillo and suddenly grinned.
"Ah, there we are," McNab said as Berezovsky handed him a glass of wine. "Now, where the hell's the big menu I remember so fondly?"
[NINE]
The Malaga Suite
Portofino Island Resort & Spa
Pensacola Beach, Florida
2125 6 January 2006
"Get on the horn, Peter, and have room service bring us coffee," General McNab ordered as he slumped onto a rattan couch. "Lots of coffee. I ate so much I'm half asleep, and this may go on for some time."
"Yes, sir," Lieutenant Colonel Peter Woods said.
"And then, if you'd like, you can hit the sack," McNab said.
"Sir?"