On the way to Andrews Air Force Base, Montvale and Ellsworth consoled themselves for having to travel all the way down to Argentina by agreeing that it wouldn’t be that bad a trip. The C-37A—the Air Force designation for the Gulfstream V—on which they would fly was just about as nice an airplane as airplanes came.
It had a range greater than the 5,100-odd miles between Washington and Buenos Aires, and could cruise nonstop at Mach 0.80, or a little faster than five hundred miles per hour. There was room for eight passengers, which meant that Montvale and Ellsworth—rank hath its privileges—could make the most of the journey spread out on bed-size couches. Or they could si
t up on the couches and have a drink or two from the portable bar in one of the Secret Service agent’s luggage.
And they were sure to get one of the two Gulfstream Vs at Andrews: Ellsworth had made a point of telling the commanding officer of the presidential flight detachment that he and Montvale were traveling at the direct personal order of President Clendennen.
That, however, did not come to pass.
At Andrews, they learned that one of the two Gulfstream V jets had carried Mrs. Sue-Ellen Clendennen to Montgomery, Alabama, where the First Lady’s mother was sick in hospital.
Both Montvale and Ellsworth habitually took a look at the reports of the presidential security detail. They therefore knew the President’s mother-in-law was not in a hospital per se but rather an “assisted-living facility” and that her being sick therein was a sort of code which meant the old lady had once again eluded her caretakers and acquired a stock of intoxicants.
That was moot. They knew they were outranked by the First Lady. And the second Gulfstream V at Andrews was not available to them either, as it was being held for possible use by someone else who outranked them, the Speaker of the House of Representatives, who could be counted upon to throw a female fit of monumental proportions if a Gulfstream V was not immediately available to take her to her home in Palm Beach if she suddenly felt the urge to go there.
That left only a C-20A—what the Air Force called the Gulfstream III—from the half-dozen kept by the Air Force for VIP transport at Andrews for their flight to Buenos Aires. While just about as fast as a C-37A, the C-20A is a somewhat smaller aircraft with a maximum range of about thirty-seven hundred miles. That meant that not only was a fuel stop necessary en route to Buenos Aires, but that the couches on which Montvale and Ellsworth would attempt to sleep were neither as wide nor as comfortable as those on the Gulfstream V would have been.
They had finally gotten off the ground at Andrews just before midnight. Flight time was a few minutes under twelve hours. The fuel stop added another hour and forty-five minutes. There was a one-hour difference between time in Washington and in Buenos Aires. They would arrive, if there were no problems, at Jorge Newbery Airport in Buenos Aires at about one in the afternoon.
[ONE]
Estancia San Joaquín
Near San Martín de los Andes
Patagonia
Neuquén Province, Argentina
2130 5 February 2007
Aleksandr Pevsner took a sip of his after-dinner brandy, then took a puff on his after-dinner cigar, and then pointed the cigar at Castillo.
Castillo also had a cigar, but no brandy. In the morning he was going to have to fly the Bell Ranger to the airport at San Carlos de Bariloche, where, Pevsner had decided earlier, his Learjet would be waiting to fly them over the Andes to El Tepual International Airport in Puerto Montt, Chile. They would travel to Cozumel on a Peruaire cargo plane carrying foodstuffs for the cruise ship trade and Pevsner’s Grand Cozumel Beach & Golf Resort. Castillo would have to do that twice; there wasn’t room in the helicopter to fly everybody at once.
“I have been thinking, friend Charley ...” Pevsner announced.
“Uh-oh,” Castillo replied.
Pevsner shook his head in resignation, and then went on: “Two things: First, I think it would be useful if I went to Cozumel with you. I have contacts in Mexico that might be useful, and if you’re going to use the Beach and Golf as a base, certain arrangements will have to be made. Comments?”
“Makes sense,” Tom Barlow said.
“I agree,” Svetlana said.
“Pay attention, Marlon Brando,” Delchamps said. “Your consiglieri have been heard from.”
“This meets with your approval, Charley?”
“Who am I to argue with my consiglieri?”
But I wonder what you would have said if I had said, “That’s a lousy idea.”
“Second, I’ve been thinking that it would be best if you flew the Aero Commander to Puerto Montt. That would both save us time in the morning, and we would be less conspicuous. The latter depends, of course, on whether you can fly that airplane over the Andes. Can you?”
“Quick answer, no,” Castillo replied. “The Commander’s cabin is not pressurized, and the service ceiling is about thirteen thousand feet. There are lots of rock-filled clouds in the Andes much higher than that.”
“Actually, the average height is about thirteen thousand feet,” Pevsner said. “Could you fly around the peaks?”