McKibben had changed clothes for his meeting with The General; now, instead of his usual drab military uniform, he had on cleated golf shoes, a white golf glove, and a sky-blue alligator shirt with matching slacks.
“Yes,” he was saying into a cellular phone, “very good. Proceed.”
He hung up and walked around the electric golf cart, to where The General was standing. “SI-OP reports they’re underway; an armed chopper left Barn-404 five minutes ago.”
“Four-oh-four?” The General gazed off down the green. “Where the hell is that?”
McKibben addressed the back of The General 's head. “It’s in Washington State, sir. Near Chief Joseph.”
The General nodded. “Ah.” He stabbed a yellow tee into the ground. “Why 404?”
“It’s closest to Chief Joseph, sir.”
“Chief Joseph?”
“In Washington State, sir
