By Order of the President (Presidential Agent 1)

“I guess what the president was worried about was a lengthy occupation with a hell of a lot of guerrilla warfare,” Naylor said.

“Freddy Franks told me (a) he could have had his tanks in Baghdad in probably less than forty-eight hours and (b) he was really worried about a lengthy occupation with a hell of a lot of guerrilla warfare. I had the feeling he was more than a little relieved he didn’t have to make the decision.”

“You really think we’re going to have to do this again?”

“The only question is when,” McNab said. “Next year. Two years from now. A decade. But we’ll be here again. Saddam Hussein is a devout student of Stalin’s Keep the People In Line techniques. A real sonofabitch. We’re going to have to take him out sooner or later. Christ knows that if I could have found the sonofabitch, I would have taken him out myself. ”

“I hope you’re wrong,” Naylor said.

“The cross resting so heavily on my manly shoulders for all these years has been that I rarely am wrong,” McNab said.

“Jesus Christ, you’re impossible!” Naylor said, laughing.

“ ‘It is difficult to be modest when you’re great,’ ” McNab said. “Frank Lloyd Wright said that.”

“I’ll try to remember,” Naylor said. “Is there something I can do for you, Scotty? Or is this just a visit?”

“I thought you’d never ask,” McNab said. “First, I want to thank you for sending me Second Lieutenant Castillo. Which I just did. He almost restored my respect for Hudson High.”

“Let me have that again?”

“You haven’t heard my speech? ‘What’s Wrong with West Point’?”

“I got a copy of Donn Starry’s speech. The one he gave to the Association of Graduates? The one that began, ‘I have many memories of my four years as an inmate of this institution, none of them favorable’?”

“Ah, yes. But General Starry has always hated to say anything that might in any way offend anyone. Mine wasn’t so polite.”

“I can’t imagine you being anything but polite, Scotty. But that’s not what I was asking. You ‘just heard’ that I sent you Castillo?”

“I went to Oz Young and said, mustering up my best manners, ‘Thank you for sending me Castillo. And now I want to keep him.’ Whereupon Oz said, ‘I can’t do it. See Allan Naylor. He’s the one who sent you Castillo.’ ”

“Oz said that, did he?”

“He led me to believe that you are that splendid young officer’s mentor, or sort of a de facto loving stepfather, or both.”

“I’ve known him since he was twelve,” Naylor said, “at which age he became an orphan. I’ve sort of kept my eye on him.”

“He let me know, just now, that he has the pleasure of your acquaintance—just that, not that you have a personal thing going. He said if there was time, he would like to pay his respects.”

“He’s here?”

“At the moment, he’s my pilot. I don’t trust just anyone to haul my dune buggy around.”

“You brought your dune buggy here? Slung under a helicopter? ”

“Lieutenant Castillo at this very moment is seeing that it is loaded aboard the C-5 that will carry me to the Land of the Big PX later today.”

“You’re taking your dune buggy to the States with you?”

“I told them it was going to the museum at Bragg.”

“My God!” Naylor said, and then without thinking added, “I’d love t

o see him.”

“I told him he had until 1600. I’m sure he’ll show up here to see you.” McNab paused. “I want to keep him, Allan.”

“What for?”