Patriot Games

eyes. Tony Wilson was at her side and gave Jack a surreptitious wink. That was no surprise. Jack shook hands with another ten or so people before the cop got him into the elevator.

'Next time you guys find me wounded in the street,' Ryan said, 'let me die there.'

The policeman laughed. 'Bloody ungrateful fellow you are.'

'True.'

The elevator opened at the lobby and he was grateful to see that it had been cleared except for the Duke of Edinburgh and a gaggle of security people.

'Good evening, My Lord.' Ryan tried to stand, but was waved back down.

'Hello, Jack! How are you feeling?' They shook hands, and for a moment he was afraid that the Duke himself would wheel him out the door. That would have been intolerable, but the police officer resumed his pushing as the Duke walked alongside. Jack pointed forward.

'Sir, I will improve at least fifty percent when we make it through that door.'

'Hungry?'

'After hospital food? I just might eat one of your polo horses.'

The Duke grinned. 'We'll try to do a little better than that.'

Jack noticed seven security people in the lobby. Outside was a Rolls-Royce… and at least four other cars, along with a number of people who did not look like ordinary passersby. It was too dark to see anyone prowling the roofs, but they'd be there, too. Well, Ryan thought, they've learned their lessons on security. Still a damned shame, though, and it means the terrorists have won a victory. If they make society change, even a little, they've won something. Bastards. The cop brought him right to the Rolls.

'Can I get up now?' The cast was so heavy that it ruined his balance. Ryan stood a little too fast and nearly smashed into the car, but caught himself with an angry shake of the head before anyone had to grab for him. He stood still for a moment, his left arm sticking out like the big claw on a fiddler crab, and tried to figure how to get into the car. It turned out that the best way was to stick the cast in first, then rotate clockwise as he followed it. The Duke had to enter from the other side, and it turned out to be rather a snug fit. Ryan had never been in a Rolls before, and found that it wasn't all that spacious.

'Comfortable?'

'Well—I'll have to be careful not to punch a window out with this damned thing.' Ryan leaned back and shook his head with an eyes-closed smile.

'You really are glad to be out of hospital.'

'My Lord, on that you can wager one of your castles. This makes three times I've been in the body and fender shop, and that's enough.' The Duke motioned for the driver to pull out. The convoy moved slowly into the street, two lead cars and two chase cars surrounding the Rolls-Royce. 'Sir, may I ask what's happening this evening?'

'Very little, really. A small party in your honor, with just a few close friends.'

Jack wondered what 'a few close friends' meant. Twenty? Fifty? A hundred? He was going to dinner at… Scotty, beam me up! 'Sir, you know that you've really been too kind to us.'

'Bloody rubbish. Aside from the debt we owe you—not exactly what one would call a small debt, Jack. Aside from that, it's been entirely worthwhile to meet some new people. I even finished your book Sunday night. I thought it was excellent; you must send me a copy of your next one. And the Queen and your wife have got on marvelously. You are a very lucky chap to have a wife like that—and that little imp of a daughter. She's a gem, Jack, a thoroughly wonderful little girl.'

Ryan nodded. He often wondered what he had done to be so lucky. 'Cathy says that she's seen about every castle in the realm, and thanks a lot for the people you put with her. It made me feel much better about having them run all over the place.'

The Duke waved his hand dismissively. It wasn't worth talking about. 'How did the research go on your new book?'

'Quite well, sir.' The one favorable result of his being in the hospital was that he'd had the time to sift through all of it in detail. His computer had two hundred new pages of notes stored in its bubble chips, and Ryan had a new perspective on judging the actions of others. 'I guess I've learned one thing from my little escapade. Sitting in front of a keyboard isn't quite the same as looking into the front end of a gun. Decisions are a little different from that perspective.' Ryan's tone made a further statement.

The Duke clapped him on the knee. 'I shouldn't think that anyone will fault yours.'

'Maybe. The thing is, my decision was made on pure instinct. If I'd known what I was doing—what if I had done the wrong thing on instinct?' He looked out the window. 'Here I am, supposed to be an expert on naval history, with special emphasis on how decisions are made under stress, and I'm still not satisfied with my own. Damn.' Jack concluded quietly: 'Sir, you don't forget killing somebody. You just don't.'

'You oughtn't to dwell on it, Jack.'

'Yes, sir.' Ryan turned back from the window. The Duke was looking at him much the same way his father had, years before. 'A conscience is the price of morality, and morality is the price of civilization. Dad used to say that many criminals don't have a conscience, not much in the way of feelings at all. I guess that's what makes us different from them.'

'Exactly. Your introspection is a fundamentally healthy thing, but you should not overdo it. Put it behind you. Jack. It was my impression of Americans that you prefer to look to the future rather than the past. If you cannot do that professionally, at least try to do it personally.'

'Understood, sir. Thank you.' Now if I could just make the dreams stop. Nearly every night Jack relived the shoot-out on The Mall. Almost three weeks now. Something else they didn't tell you about on TV. The human mind has a way of punishing itself for killing a fellow man. It remembers and relives the incident again and again. Ryan hoped it would stop someday.

The car turned left onto Westminster Bridge. Jack hadn't known exactly where the hospital was, just that it was close to a railway station and close enough to Westminster to hear Big Ben toll the hours. He looked up at the gothic stonework. 'You know, besides the research I wanted to do, I actually wanted to see part of your country, sir. Not much time left for that.'

'Jack, do you really think that we will let you return to America without experiencing British hospitality?' The Duke was greatly amused. 'We are quite proud of our hospitals, of course, but tourists don't come here to see those. Some small arrangements have been made.'

'Oh.'

Ryan had to think a moment to figure where they were, but the maps he'd studied before coming over came back to him. It was called Birdcage Walk—he was only three hundred yards from where he'd been shot… there was the lake that Sally liked. He could see Buckingham Palace past the head of the security officer in the left front seat. Knowing that he was going there was one thing, but now the building loomed in front of him and the emotional impact started to take hold.

They entered the Palace grounds at the northeast gate. Jack hadn't seen the Palace before except from a distance. The perimeter security didn't seem all that impressive, but the Palace's hollow-square design hid nearly everything from outside view. There could easily be a company of armed troops inside—and who could tell? More likely civilian police, Ryan knew, backed up by a lot of electronic hardware. But there would be some surprises hidden away, too. After the scares in the past, and this latest incident, he imagined that this place was as secure as the White House—or even better, given greater space in and around the buildings.

It was too dark to make out many details, but the Rolls pulled through an archway into the building's courtyard, then under a canopy, where a sentry snapped to present-arms in the crisp three-count movement the Brits used. As the car stopped, a footman in livery pulled the door open.

Getting out was the reverse of getting in. Ryan turned counterclockwise, stepped out backwards, and pulled his arm out behind. The footman grabbed his arm to help. Jack didn't want the help, but this wasn't a good time to object.

'You'll need a little practice on that,' the Duke observed.

'I think you're right, sir.' Jack followed him to the door, where another servant did his duty.

'Tell me, Jack—the first time we visited you, you seemed far more intimidated by the presence of the Queen than of me. Why is that?'

'Well, sir, you used to be a naval officer, right?'