‘Can we trust him？‘
‘He‘s not the one who burned KINGPIN。 Cas； we have Jim Angleton looking at that。 It was his idea to bring Ritter onboard。 I‘m new here； people。 Ritter knows the bureaucracy here better than I do。 He‘s an operator； I‘m just an analyst…type。 And his heart‘s in the right place。 He damned near lost his job protecting a guy … he had an agent working inside GRU； and it was time to get him out。 The decision…weenies upstairs didn‘t like the timing； with the arms talks going on； and they told him no。 Ritter brought the guy out anyway。 It turned out his man had something State needed； and that saved Ritter‘s career。‘ It hadn‘t done much for the martini…mixer upstairs； Greer didn‘t add； but that was a person CIA was doing rather well without。
‘Swashbuckler？‘ Maxwell asked。
‘He was loyal to his agent。 Sometimes people here forget about that；‘ Greer said。
Admiral Podulski looked up the table。 ‘Sounds like our kind of guy。‘
‘Brief him in；‘ Maxwell ordered。 ‘But you tell him that if I ever find out some civilian in the building fucked up our chance to get these men out； I will personally drive down to Pax River； personally check out an A…4； and personally napalm his house。‘
‘You should let me do that； Dutch；‘ Cas added with a smile。 ‘I‘ve always had a better hand for dropping things。 Besides； I have six hundred hours in the Scooter。‘
Greer wondered how much of that was humor。
‘What about Kelly？‘ Maxwell asked。
‘His CIA identity is "；Clark"； now。 If we want him in； we can utilize him better as a civilian。 He‘d never get over being a chief； but a civilian doesn‘t have to worry about rank。‘
‘Make it so；‘ Maxwell said。 It was convenient； he thought； to have a naval officer seconded to CIA； wearing civilian clothes but still subject to military discipline。
‘Aye aye； sir。 If we get to training； where will it be done？‘
‘Quantico Marine Base；‘ Maxwell replied。 ‘General Young is a pal from the old days。 Aviator。 He understands。‘
‘Marty and I went through test…pilot school together；‘ Podulski explained。 ‘From what Kelly says； we don‘t need that many troops。 I always figured KINGPIN was overmanned。 You know； if we bring this off； we have to get Kelly his Medal。‘
‘One thing at a time； Cas。‘ Maxwell set that aside； looking back to Greer as he stood。 ‘You will let us know if Angleton finds out anything？‘
‘Depend on it；‘ Greer promised。 ‘If there‘s a bad guy inside； we‘ll get his ass。 I‘ve fished with the guy。 He can pull a brook trout out of thin air。‘ After they left he set an afternoon meeting with Robert Ritter。 It meant putting Kelly off； but Ritter was more important now； and while there was a rush on the mission； it wasn‘t all that great a rush。
Airports were useful places； with their bustling anonymity and telephones。 Kelly placed his call； as he waited for his baggage to appear … he hoped … in the proper place。
‘Greer；‘ the voice said。
‘Clark；‘ Kelly replied； smiling at himself。 It seemed so James Bond to have a cover name。 ‘I‘m at the airport； sir。 Do you still want me in this afternoon？‘
‘No。 I‘m tied up。‘ Greer flipped through his daybook。 ‘Tuesday。。。 three…thirty。 You can drive in。 Give me your car type and license number。‘
Kelly did that； surprised that he‘d been bumped。 ‘You get my notes； sir？‘
‘Yes； and you did a fine job； Mr Clark。 We‘ll be going over them Tuesday。 We are very pleased with your work。‘
‘Thank you； sir；‘ Kelly said into the phone。
‘See you Tuesday。‘ The line clicked off。
‘And thanks for that； too；‘ Kelly said after he hung up。 Twenty minutes later he had his bags and was walking off to his car。 About an hour after that he was in his Baltimore apartment。 It was lunchtime； and he fixed a couple of sandwiches； chasing both down with Coca…Cola。 He hadn‘t shaved today； and his heavy beard made a shadow on his face； he saw in the mirror。 He‘d leave it。 Kelly headed into the bedroom for a lengthy nap。
The civilian contractors didn‘t really understand what they were up to； but they were being paid。 That was all they really required； since they had families to feed and house payments to make。 The buildings they had just erected were well to the right of spartan： bare concrete block； nothing in the way of utilities； built to odd proportions； not like American construction at all except for the building materials。 It was as though their size and shape had been taken from some foreign construction manual。 All the dimensions were metric； one worker noted； though the actual plans were noted in odd numbers of inches and feet； as American building plans had to be。 The job itself had been simple enough； the site already cleared when they‘d first arrived。 A number of the construction workers were former servicemen； most ex…Army； but a few Marines as well； and they were at turns pleased and unfortable to be at this sprawling Marine base in the wooded hills of northern Virginia。 On the drive into the construction site they could see the morning formations of officer candidates jogging along the roads。 All those bright young kids with shaved heads； one former corporal of the 1st Marines had thought this very morning。 How many would get their missions？ How many would deploy there？ How many would e home early； shipped in steel boxes？ It was nothing he could foresee or control； of course。 He‘d served his time in hell and returned unscratched； which was still remarkable to the former grunt who‘d heard all too often the supersonic crack of rifle bullets。 To have survived at all was amazing enough。
The roofs were finished。 Soon it would be time to leave the site for good； after a mere three weeks of well…paid work。 Seven…day weeks。 Plenty of overtime on every working day he‘d been here。 Somebody had wanted this place built in a hurry。 Some very odd things about it； too。 The parking lot； for one。 A hundred…slot blacktopped lot。 Someone was even painting the lines。 For buildings with no utilities？ But strangest of all was the current job that he‘d drawn because the site foreman liked him。 Playground equipment。 A large swing set。 A huge jungle gym。 A sandbox； plete with half a dump truck‘s load of sand。 All the things that his two…year…old son would someday cavort on when he was old enough for kindergarten in the Fairfax County Schools。 But it was structural work； and it required assembly； and the former Marine and two others fumbled through the plans like fathers in a backyard； figuring which bolts went where。 Theirs was not to reason why； not as union construction workers on a government contract。 Besides； he thought； there was no understanding the Green Machine。 The Corps operated according to a plan that no man really figured out； and if they wanted to pay him overtime for this； then that was another monthly house payment earned for every three days he came here。 Jobs like this might be crazy； but he sure liked the money。 About the only thing he didn‘t like was the length of the mute。 Maybe they‘d have to do something equally crazy at Fort Belvoir； he hoped； finishing the last item on the jungle gym。 He could drive from his house to that place in twenty minutes or so。 But the Army was a little more rational than the Corps。 It had to be。
‘So what‘s new？‘ Peter Henderson asked。 They were dining just off The Hill； two acquaintances from New England； one a Harvard graduate； the other from Brown； one a junior aide to a senator； the other a junior member of the White House staff。
‘It never changes； Peter；‘ Wally Hicks said resignedly。 ‘The peace talks are going nowhere。 We keep killing their people。 They keep killing ours。 I don‘t think there‘s ever going to be peace in our time； you know？‘
‘It has to； Wally；‘ Henderson said； reaching for his second beer。
‘If it doesn‘t …‘ Hicks started to say gloomily。
Both had been seniors at the Andover Academy in October 1962； close friends and roommates who had shared class notes and girlfriends。 Their real political majority had e one Tuesday night； however； when they‘d watched their country‘s president give a tense national address on the black…and…white television in the dormitory lounge。 There were missiles in Cuba； they‘d learned； something that had been hinted at in the papers for several days； but these were children of the TV generation； and contemporary reality came in horizontal lines on a glass tube。 For both of them it had been a stunning if somewhat belated entree into the real world for which their expensive boarding school ought to have prepared them more speedily。 But theirs was the fat and lazy time for American youth； all the more so that their wealthy families had further insulated them from reality with the privilege that money could buy without imparting the wisdom required for its proper use。
The sudden and shocking thought had arrived in both minds at the same instant： it could all be over。 Nervous chatter in the room told them more。 They were surrounded by Targets。 Boston to the southeast； Westover Air Force Base to the southwest； two other SAC bases； Pease and Loring； within a hundred…mile radius。 Portsmouth Naval Base； which housed nuclear submarines。 If the missiles flew； they would not survive； either the blast or the fallout would ge