By Order of the President (Presidential Agent 1)

“Correction,” Castillo said after keying his mike. “Ground control, we want to go to the UPS facility.”

Visibly surprised, Fernando didn’t say anything until after ground control had given directions.

“UPS?” he asked.

“Yeah, UPS,” Castillo said. “That’s where I’m going.”

“And I can’t ask why, right?”

“That’s right, but if you promise to keep your mouth shut . . . and I mean shut, Fernando . . . you can tag along if you’d like.”

“UPS?” Fernando repeated, wonderingly.

An armed Department of Transportation security officer was waiting warily for them when they opened the Lear’s cabin door.

“Can I help you, gentlemen?” he asked.

“Good morning,” Castillo said and took a small leather wallet from his jacket pocket and handed it to the security guard.

The security guard carefully examined the credentials, then handed the wallet back.

“Yes, sir,” he said. “Now, how can I help you?”

“You can point us toward UPS flight operations,” Castillo said.

“Ground floor, second door, of that building,” the guard said, pointing.

“Thank you,” Castillo said. “I think you’d better come along, Lopez.”

“Yes, sir,” Fernando said.

Halfway to the two-story concrete-block building, Fernando asked, “What did you show him?”

“The pictures of your rug rats Maria gave me yesterday,” Castillo said.

A man in an open-collared white shirt, with the four-stripe shoulder boards that are just about the universal identi fication of a captain of an airline, came through the second door as they walked up to it.

He smiled.

“You got past the guard, so I guess you didn’t come here to blow anything up. How can I help you?”

Castillo took a regular wallet from his hip pocket and from it first one business card and then a second. He handed the first to the man in the white captain’s shirt and the second to Fernando.

“You’d better have one of these, Lopez,” he said.

“Thank you, sir,” Fernando said, politely, and looked at it.

The card bore the insignia of the Department of Homeland Security, gave the Washington address, two telephone numbers, an e-mail address, and said that C. G. Castillo was Executive Assistant to the Secretary.

“How can I help you, Mr. Castillo?” the captain asked. He offered his hand. “I’m Jerry Witherington, the station chief here.”

“I need a favor,” Castillo said. “I need to talk to somebody who knows the Boeing 727, and, if there’s one here, I’d really like to have a tour.”

“I’ve got a lot of hours in one,” Witherington said. “This have anything to do with the one they can’t find in Africa?”

“You heard about that, did you?” Castillo said.

“I’ve been trying to figure it out since I heard about it,” Witherington said. “How the hell can you lose a 727?”