Miami and Barranquilla, November 1969
Roy signed off on the plan, and I phoned Marcus. He did seem delighted at my return to work and called me his best pilot. The compliment bothered me, but I had already concluded lots of things were going to bother me, so I brushed it off. I was set to fly down with No Name Two, a.k.a. Napalm Josey because of his penchant to firebomb houses. We assumed Alvaro’s men had killed Number Four. Nobody had seen him since my last trip. Marcus was arranging my trip to Barranquilla for the day after tomorrow. Thus, I had time on my hands, and time with Jamie, neither of which I wanted now.
Jamie returned home upbeat, or at least pretending to be upbeat. She had made the Florida and federal arrangements. Only the most senior agency officials were briefed on takedown details; one leak and Marcus would flee the country.
She flung her purse down in its usual chair, apparently bought for that purpose, and plopped down on the sofa. “I don’t like admitting I’m wrong, but I think your plan is the best one for you. I’m still scared, James. You’re so important to me. But, I also want the old James back. I’m not in the mood to talk more about this. Let’s watch TV.” We selected Laugh-in for a comfortable evening after all.
I didn’t like any of Sterling’s goons, particularly this psycho. But we nodded to each other in the boarding line. After nestling into my seat, I turned to a book as usual. I noticed, however, my ability to remember the previous page deteriorated. Near the end of the flight, I was simply gazing at some page. As we taxied past the welcome sign, my stomach did a flip-flop. Somehow, I needed to prepare for worse.
After exiting the jet way, three people stood together, one with the familiar Sixkiller sign. Number Two and I walked up to them.
“I wanted to welcome you personally,” began one in nearly flawless English. “I am Pedro Sandoval, the interim production manager here in Barranquilla. Mr. Sterling has said only good things about you. Only a brave man would return, and so soon. This will be a smooth and businesslike transaction.”
“Your English is perfect. It’s my turn to be impressed.”
He continued. “I graduated from the University of Texas with an MBA. I’ve never seen this airstrip or the planes, and would like to be familiar with all aspects of the operation. You and Marcus may be interested in knowing the room you spent two terrible days in no longer exists as such. We partitioned the space into normal offices. Those who worked in there before have been…well, terminated.”
The loading was routine. Oddly, having Sandoval at the airfield, asking a mix of good and stupid questions helped me relax. For him, this was more information for his job. I did the usual preflight of the airplane, said goodbye to Sandoval and his two assistants, and departed Barranquilla for the last time. My knees had been a little weak on the ride out with three strangers, but now I felt fine. With clear weather, the normally forbidding expanse of open sea welcomed me.
I avoided Papa Doc in Haiti and the Mig jets in Cuba. Matthew Town lay straight ahead. At least one of the two line boys, with nothing else to do most of the time, listens on the radio for the standard incoming traffic calls by aircraft. If they hear the word Comanche, it’s an easy hundred dollars. I chatted with Rupert for a few minutes and told him I found a position with better hours. I paid the tab, got my usual free soda, and said goodbye. The line boy helped me into my seat. He appeared crushed after I explained about my new job.
“The others sometimes forget,” he said.
I fumbled for advice, especially since there would be no more tips. “Did you keep most of the money?”
“Yes.”
“Save as much as possible, be frugal, and work hard. Good things often come to an end.”
He gave me a sad smile and waved goodbye.