'I'm not sure I'm right for DDI,' Ryan opened.
'Why do you say that?' Judge Moore asked.
'Something's happening that you aren't telling me about. If you don't trust me, I shouldn't have the job.'
'Orders,' Ritter said. He was unable to hide his discomfort.
'Then you look me straight in the eye and tell me it's all legitimate. I'm supposed to know. I have a right to know.' Ritter looked to Judge Moore.
'I wish we were able to let you in on this, Dr. Ryan,' the DCI said. He tried to bring his eyes up to meet Jack's, but they wavered and fixed on a spot of wall. 'But I have to follow orders, too.'
'Okay. I've got some leave coming. I want to think a few things over. My work is all caught up. I'm out of here for a few days, starting in an hour.'
'The funeral's tomorrow, Jack.'
'I know. I'll be there, Judge,' Ryan lied. Then he left the room.
'He knows,' Moore said after the door closed.
'No way.'
'He knows and he wants to be out of the office.'
'So what do we do about it if you're right?'
The Director of Central Intelligence looked up this time. 'Nothing. That's the best thing we can do right now.'
That was clear. Cutter had done better than he knew. In destroying the radio encryption codes needed to communicate with the four teams, KNIFE, BANNER, FEATURE, and OMEN, he'd eliminated the Agency's ability to affect the turn of events. Neither Ritter nor Moore really expected the National Security Adviser to get the men out, but they had no alternative that would not damage themselves, the Agency, and their President - and, incidentally, their country. If Ryan wanted out of the way if things came apart - well, Moore thought, maybe he had sensed something. The DCI didn't blame him for wanting to stay clear.
There were still things he had to tie up, of course. Ryan left the building just after eleven that morning. He had a car phone in his Jaguar and placed a call to a Pentagon number. 'Captain Jackson, please,' he said when it was picked up. 'Jack Ryan calling.' Robby picked up a few seconds later.
'Hey, Jack!'
'How's lunch grab you?'
'Fine with me. My place or yours, boy?'
'You know Artie's Deli?'
'K Street at the river. Yeah.'
'Be there in half an hour.'
'Right.'
Robby spotted his friend at a corner table and came right over. There was already a place set for him, and another man was at the table.
'I hope you like corned beef,' Jack said. He waved to the other man. 'This is Dan Murray.'
'The Bureau guy?' Robby asked as they shook hands.
'Correct, Captain. I'm a deputy assistant director.'
'Doing what?'
'Well, I'm supposed to be in the Criminal Division, but ever since I got back I've been stuck supervising two major cases. You ought to be able to guess which ones they are.'
'Oh.' Robby started working on his sandwich.
'We need some help, Rob,' Jack said.
'Like what?'
'Like we need you to get us somewhere quietly.'
'Where?'
'Hurlburt Field. That's part of -'
'Eglin, I know. Hurlburt's where the Special Operations Wing works out of; it's right next to P-cola. Whole lot of people been borrowing Navy airplanes lately. The boss doesn't like it.'
'You can tell him about this,' Murray said. 'Just so it doesn't leave his office. We're trying to clean something up.'
'What?'
'I can't say, Rob,' Jack replied. 'But part of it is what you brought to me. It's a worse mess than you think. We have to move real fast, and nobody can know about it. We just need a discreet taxi service for the moment.'
'I can do that, but I want to clear it with Admiral Painter.'
'Then what?'
'Meet me at Pax River at two o'clock, down the hill at Strike. Hell, I've wanted to do a little proficiency flying anyway.'
'Might as well finish your lunch.'
Jackson left them five minutes later. Ryan and Murray did the same, driving to the latter's house. Here Jack made a phone call to his wife, telling her that he had to be out of town for a few days and not to worry. They drove away in Ryan's car.
Patuxent River Naval Air Test Center is located about an hour's drive from Washington, on the western shore of the Chesapeake Bay. Formerly one of the nicer plantations of antebellum Maryland, it was now the Navy's primary flight-test and evaluation center, fulfilling most of the functions of the better-known Edwards Air Force Base in California. It is the home of the Navy's Test Pilot School, where Robby had been an instructor, and houses various test directorates, one of which, located a mile or two downhill from the main flight line, is called Strike. The Strike Directorate is concerned with fighter and attack planes, the sexy fast-movers. Murray's FBI identification was sufficient to get them on base, and after checking in with the Strike security shack, they found a place to wait, listening to the bellow of afterburning jet engines. Robby's Corvette arrived twenty minutes later. The new captain led them into the hangar.
'You're in luck,' he told them. 'We're taking a couple of Tomcats down to Pensacola. The Admiral called ahead, and they're preflighting the birds already. I, uh -'
Another officer came into the room. 'Cap'n Jackson? I'm Joe Bramer,' the lieutenant said. 'I hear we're heading down south, sir.'
'Correct, Mr. Bramer. These gents are going with us. Jack Murphy and Dan Tomlinson. They're government employees who need some familiarization with Navy flight procedures. Think you can rustle up some poopy suits and hard hats?'
'No problem, sir. Be back in a minute.'
'You wanted covert. You got covert,' Jackson chuckled. He pulled his flight suit and helmet from a bag. 'What gear you guys bringing along?'
'Shaving kits,' Murray replied. 'And one bag.'
'We can handle that.'
Fifteen minutes later, everyone climbed up ladders to board the aircraft. Jack got to fly with his friend. Five minutes after that, the Tomcats were taxiing to the end of the runway.
'Go easy, Rob,' Ryan said as they awaited clearance for take-off.
'Like an airliner,' Jackson promised. It wasn't quite that way. The fighters leapt off the ground and streaked to cruising altitude about twice as fast as a 727, but Jackson kept the ride smooth and level once he got there.
'What gives, Jack?' he asked over the intercom.
'Robby, I can't -'
'Did I ever tell you all the things I can make this baby do for me? Jack, my boy, I can make this baby sing. I can turn inside a virgin quail.'
'Robby, what we're trying to do is rescue some people who may be cut off. And if you tell that to anyone, even your Admiral, you might just screw things up for us. You ought to be able to figure it out from there.'
'Okay. What about your car?'
'Just leave it there.'
'I'll get somebody to put the right sticker on it.'
'Good idea.'
