“Get everybody off, sir!”
“Abandon ship! Break out the survival gear! Send out message: damaged and sinking, give our position!”
“Captain Rosselli! Flash traffic coming in.”
Ryan looked up. He'd had his drink, followed by something colder and carbonated. Whatever the message was, the naval officer could handle it.
“You Mr. Ryan?” a man in a suit asked. Two more were behind him.
“Dr. Ryan, yeah.”
“Secret Service, sir, the President ordered us to come here and arrest you.”
Jack laughed at that. “What for?”
The agent looked instantly uncomfortable. “He didn't say, sir.”
“I'm not a cop, but my dad was. I don't think you can arrest me without a charge. The law, you know? The Constitution. 'Preserve, protect, and defend.'”
The agent was in an instant quandary. He had orders from someone he had to obey, but he was too professional to violate the law. “Sir, the President said…”
“Well, tell you what. I'll just sit right here, and you can talk to the President on that phone and find out. I'm not going anywhere.” Jack lit another cigarette and lifted another phone.
“Hello?”
“Hey, babe.”
“Jack! What's going on?”
“It's okay. It got a little tense, but we have it under control now, Cath. I'm afraid I'm going to be stuck here for a while, but it's okay, Cathy, honest.”
“Sure?”
“You worry about that new baby, not about anything else. That's an order.”
“I'm late, Jack. Just a day, but—”
“Good.” Ryan leaned back in his chair, closed his eyes, and smiled blissfully. “You want it to be a girl, eh?”
“Yes.”
“Then I guess I do, too. Honey, I'm still busy here, but, honest, you can relax. Have to run. Bye.” He replaced the phone. “Glad I remembered to do that.”
“Sir, the President wants to talk to you.” The senior agent handed the phone towards Ryan.
What makes you think I want to talk to him? Jack nearly asked. But that would have been unprofessional. He took the phone. “Ryan here, sir.”
“Tell me what you know,” Fowler said curtly.
“Mr. President, if you give me about fifteen minutes, I can do a better job. Dan Murray at FBI knows everything I do, and I have to make contact with two officers. Is that okay, sir?”
“Very well.”
“Thank you, Mr. President.” Ryan handed the phone back and placed a call to the CIA Operations Center. “This is Ryan. Did Clark make the pickup?”
“Sir, this is an unsecure line.”
“I don't care — answer the question.”
“Yes, sir, they're flying back now. We don't have a comm link to the aircraft. It's Air Force, sir.”
“Who's the best guy to evaluate the explosion?”
“Wait.” The Senior Duty Officer passed that along to the Science and Technology man. “He says Dr. Lowell at Lawrence-Livermore.”
“Get him moving. The nearest air base is probably Travis. Get him something fast.” Ryan hung that line up and turned to the senior Hot Line officer.
“There's a VC-20 just took off from Mexico City inbound for Andrews. I have two officers and two — two other people aboard. I need to establish a comm link to the aircraft. Get someone to set that up, please.”
“Can't do it here, sir, but you can in the conference room on the other side.”
Ryan stood. “Come with me?” he said to the Secret Service agents.
It could hardly have been more bitter, Qati thought, but a moment later he realized that this wasn't true. He had faced death for a year now, and death by any cause was still death. Had he escaped — but he had not escaped.
“Okay, let's talk.”
“I do not understand,” Qati said in Arabic.
“I have a little trouble with that accent,” Clark replied, feeling very clever. “I learned the language from a Saudi. Please speak slowly.”
Qati allowed himself to be shaken momentarily by the use of his native tongue. He decided to reply in English to show his own cleverness. “I will never tell you a thing.”
“Sure you will.”
Qati knew that he had to resist as long as he could. It would be worth the price.
43
THE REVENGE OF MOEDRED
Dubinin had little choice in the matter. As soon as he was certain that the American torpedo was dead, he ran up his satellite antenna and broadcast his report. The American Orion dropped active sonobuoys all around him but did not attack, confirming his impression that he had committed a crime little different from murder. As soon as the signal was receipted, he turned about and headed for the direction of the explosion. A seaman could do nothing else.
PRESIDENT FOWLER:
I REGRET TO INFORM YOU THAT A SOVIET SUBMARINE, AFTER BEING ATTACKED, COUNTERATTACKED AN AMERICAN SUBMARINE, POSSIBLY DAMAGING IT. I T WOULD APPEAR THAT THIS HAPPENED SHORTLY BEFORE I BROADCAST MY DISENGAGEMENT ORDER. I OFFER NO EXCUSE FOR THIS MISTAKE. T HE INCIDENT WILL BE INVESTIGATED, AND IF THE FACTS WARRANT, THE CAPTAIN OF OUR SUBMARINE WILL BE PUNISHED SEVERELY.
“Well?”
“Mr. President, I think we acknowledge, thank the man, and let this one slide, sir,” Jack replied.
“I agree. Thank you.” The line went dead again.
“That was my boat!” Rosselli snarled.
“Yeah,” Ryan said. “Sorry to hear it. I've spent time aboard subs, with Bart Mancuso, as a matter of fact. Know him?”
“He's the squadron commander out at Bangor.”
Ryan turned. “Oh? I didn't know. I'm sorry, Captain, but what else can we do?”
“I know,” Rosselli said quietly. “With luck, maybe they can get the crew off…”
Jackson was nearly out of fuel and ready to turn back. Theodore Roosevelt had an Alpha Strike spotted and ready to take off when the new orders came in. The battle group immediately increased speed to open the distance between the American and Russian formations. It didn't seem to Jackson like running away. The Hawkeye called a warning that the Russian ships had turned west — perhaps into the wind to launch aircraft. But though four fighters were aloft, they orbited the battle group, which continued west. Their search radars were up, but their missile
