Ortega glances back in the mirror, seems to ponder for a moment, then drops the Jeep down a gear and turns towards the headquarters buildings instead of back to the hangars on the flight line.<br/><br/>"Wilder was one of the Captain's cronies. I guess he had a German<em>abuela</em>because he spoke the lingo better than the rest of the lot. So he did most of the late night deliveries. I don't know exactly what the Captain's doing, but I'm not an idiot. I mean, no offense but all that good whiskey and smokes coming in, and the art, furniture being sent back States-side? None of that makes it anywhere near the Junior Ranks Club. But I bet you there's a lot of stars on his customers' shoulders, you know? A lot of gold stars, gold braid and grey hair. So it isn't that healthy for me to poke my nose into things. More gold stars than either of you, too."<br/><br/>"When the Military Police came to tell the Captain about Wilder first thing he did, he sent Sgt Blake and a couple of the guys, the cronies of the outfit, over there with a truck."<br/><br/>"I don't understand everything they pack up. I mean, jars of little fish eggs? That ain't right. But I've never seen anything dangerous."<br/><br/>"Still, if they're putting it on the planes I'm tracking? I can tell you where they land, when they take off, when they stop in Iceland and Newfoundland on the way home."<br/><br/>