“On hearing that decision, he went to the flight line and, in direct disobedience to the general’s order, took over— stole—a Black Hawk helicopter and flying it alone—it has a two-pilot crew—went to the crash site and rescued everyone there.”
“Jesus!” the commissioner said, looking at Castillo.
“One of the two seriously wounded officers Major Castillo rescued was Dick,” General Miller said.
“With all respect, sir,” Castillo blurted, “they were wrong. I knew I could do it. It wasn’t anywhere near as foolhardy as you make it sound.”
“Major, you are a West Pointer,” General Miller said evenly, measuring each word. “You knew full well the meaning of the oath you took to obey the orders of the officers appointed over you. It did not mean obedience to only such orders as you happen to agree with; it meant cheerful and willing obedience to any and all orders.”
Castillo said nothing.
“On the other hand,” General Miller went on, trying but not quite keeping his voice from quavering, “it is equally clear to me that I am deeply indebted to you for saving my son’s life. Since I have not previously had the opportunity, permit me to thank you now. My wife and I, and Dick’s brother and sisters, are deeply in your debt, Major Castillo.”
General Miller stood. “Thank you, Commissioner, for allowing me this opportunity in your office, in your presence, before an old friend.”
“Sir,” Castillo said, softly, “Dick would have done the same thing for me.”
“Yes, I daresay he would. That brings us back to what I said about you two being a gasoline can and a match.”
He started for the door, then turned.
“Mrs. Miller would be pleased if your schedule would permit you to take dinner with us,” he said and then went through the doorway.
The commissioner shook his head.
“Your dad does have a way of capturing your attention, doesn’t he?”
“Sir, I had no idea he was going to come up here with us,” Miller said.
“I suspected that,” the commissioner said. “May I ask you a question, Major Miller?”
“Certainly, sir.”
“What did he mean when he said ‘euphemistically describe as a “liaison capacity”’?”
Castillo hesitated.
“Sorry I asked,” the commissioner said.
I can’t let him think that I’m not telling him everything, Castillo thought, then said slowly, “Sir, I was with a Delta Force detachment. We were looking for Usama bin Laden.”
“You were commanding the Delta Force detachment, Charley,” Miller corrected him. “There’s a difference.”
The commissioner shook his head in amazement, or disbelief, and then smiled.
“Funny, you don’t look like Sylvester Stallone,” he said. “Okay, let’s get to it. What can the Philadelphia Police Department do for the Department of Homeland Security?”
“Sir,” Castillo began, “on May twenty-third, a 727 aircraft belonging to Lease-Aire, Inc., of Philadelphia, was stolen from the airport in Luanda, Angola . . .”
“Apparently, Secretary Hall thinks this incredible story is credible enough to send you here to warn me about this,” the commissioner said. “I presume the governor and the mayor have been notified?”
“Sir, that’s not why I was sent here,” Castillo said. “What Dick and I are to do is find out what we can—if there is anything to find out—about a possible connection between somebody in Philadelphia and the people we think stole the airplane.”
“You’re telling me the mayor and the governor have not been notified?” the commissioner asked, incredulously.
“Sir, we don’t know that the airplane was stolen by terrorists, and, even if that is the case, that they intend to use it as a flying bomb here. What we’re doing is trying to find out what happened to it. Every agency of the federal government with any interest in this at all is trying very hard, using all their assets, to find out what happened to that airplane.”
“But you think, don’t you, that it was stolen by terrorists of some sort, Somalians or somebody else?”