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sense in wasting fuel.”
    Travis shook his head. “If you say so.”
    He climbed the staircase and ducked to enter the plane. Once inside, he had just enough headroom to stand upright.
    The corporal motioned into the cabin. “Take any seat you like.”
    Travis looked at her nameplate. “Thanks, Corporal White.”
    He walked past a galley where a specialist was preparing something that smelled delicious. The corporal helped him stow his duffel, and he took a seat in a comfortable leather armchair. Before long, the plane rolled down the runway and leaped into the air.
    Once they reached cruising altitude, Corporal White came into the cabin with a cup of coffee for Travis and made sure he was comfortable. They chatted for a few minutes, then she returned to the galley and finished preparing breakfast for Travis and the crew. After he ate, the corporal offered him a choice of movies to watch, which kept him occupied for a couple of hours. When the movie was over, he read for a while, then got up to stretch and walk around.
    The specialist he’d seen in the galley, he learned, operated the plane’s communications systems. During the course of the flight, he also met all three warrant officers who served as cockpit crew—a pilot, copilot, and flight engineer. He hadn’t felt so pampered in a long time.
    About an hour before landing, Corporal White served sandwiches to Travis and the crew, after which Travis settled back into the cushy chair and dozed off. He awoke when the corporal gently shook his shoulder and asked him to fasten his seatbelt for landing. Twenty minutes later, at only eight thirty in the morning local time, the sleek jet touched down at Andrews Air Force Base outside Washington, DC. It taxied in and stopped outside a hangar near the end of one of the runways. Travis thanked the crew profusely, retrieved his bag, and exited the plane.
    A corporal in fatigues stood at the bottom of the stairs. He straightened and saluted as Travis descended.
    “Captain Barrett, sir.”
    Travis saluted back. “At ease, soldier.”
    “I have transportation for you, sir.” The corporal led the way to a jeep parked a few yards away. Travis threw his duffel in back and climbed in. The corporal started it up and accelerated quickly. Driving around the corner of the hangar, he headed for another large building behind it.
    “When’s my transport out?” Travis shouted over the wind rush.
    “You have a little less than an hour, sir,” the corporal said. “Plenty of time.”
    He slowed the jeep and pulled up in front of a door that looked small in the side of the huge building. Then Travis noticed that the door was cut into a much larger door—one of a set of two on rolling tracks. Another hangar after all.
    “What’s this?” Travis said.
    “Small detour, sir. Inside. I’ll wait out here for you, sir.”
    Travis searched the soldier’s face, but it was expressionless. He shrugged and got out, walked to the door, and opened it.
    The interior of the cavernous building was dark. Travis stood just inside the door for a moment to let his eyes adjust to the gloom. He spotted a pool of light off to one side, nearly a hundred feet away, and walked toward it. The thud of his boots on the hard concrete floor echoed dully. A lone figure leaned against a workbench at the edge of the lighted circle. When Travis drew close enough to recognize the man, he stopped short in surprise and stiffened to attention, snapping a sharp salute.
    “General Turnbull, sir. Good morning. I didn’t expect to see you, sir.”
    Brigadier General Jack Turnbull returned Travis’s salute. He was an inch or two shorter than Travis, but more imposing somehow. His brush-cut sandy hair was turning gray at the temples, revealing his true age of fifty-two, but he appeared to be in the same physical condition as Travis—broad-shouldered and muscular—despite being nearly twice his age.
    “Good morning, captain.” The general smiled, showing white,