Debt of Honor

'You know we're not going to discuss that,' Jack said in reply.

'That's a nuclear-weapons platform,' another voice said. 'Did we—'

'No. The strike was carried out with precision-guided conventional munitions. Next card, please,' Ryan said to the man at the easel. 'As you can see here, the valley is largely intact…' It was easier than he'd expected, and perhaps better that he'd not had much time to worry about it, and Ryan remembered his first time delivering a briefing in the White House. It had been harder than this one, despite the blaze of TV lights now in his face.

'You destroyed a dam?'

'Yes, we did. It was necessary to be completely certain that these weapons were destroyed and—'

'What about casualties?'

'All of our aircraft are on their way back—might already be there, but I haven't—'

'What about Japanese deaths?' the reporter insisted.

'I don't know about that,' Jack replied evenly.

'Do you care?' she demanded, wondering what sort of answer she'd get.

'The mission, ma'am, was to eliminate nuclear arms targeted on the United States by a country that has already attacked U.S. forces. Did we kill Japanese citizens in this attack? Yes, we did. How many? I do not know. Our concern in this case was American lives at risk. I wish you would keep in mind that we didn't start this war. Japan did. When you start a war you take risks. This is one risk they undertook—and in this case they lost. I am the President's National Security Advisor, and my job description is to help President Durling safeguard this country first of all. Is that clear?' Ryan asked. He'd allowed just a little anger to enter his reply, and the indignant look on the reporter's face didn't prevent a few nods from her colleagues.

'What about asking the press to lie in order to—'

'Stop!' Ryan commanded, his face reddening. 'Do you wish to place the lives of American servicemen at risk? Why do that? Why the hell would you want to do that?'

'You bullied the networks into—'

'This feed is going worldwide. You do know that, don't you?' Ryan paused to take a breath. 'Ladies and gentlemen, I would remind you that most of the people in this room are American citizens. Speaking for myself now'—he was afraid to look to where the President was standing—'you do realize that the President is responsible to the mothers and fathers and wives and children of the people who wear our country's uniform for their safety. Real people are at risk today, and I wish you folks in the press would bear that in mind from time to time.'

'Jesus,' Tish Brown whispered behind Durling. 'Mr. President, it might be a good idea to—'

'No.' He shook his head. 'Let him go on.'

The Press Room became silent. Someone whispered something sharp to the standing journalist, who managed to take her seat, flushing as she did so.

'Dr. Ryan, Bob Holtzman of the Washington Post,' he said unnecessarily. 'What are the chances of ending this conflict without further violence?'

'Sir. that is entirely up to the Japanese government. The citizens of the Marianas are, as the President said, American citizens, and this country does not allow other nations to change such things. If Japan is willing to withdraw her forces, they may do so in peace. If not, then other operations will take place.'

'Thank you, Dr. Ryan,' Holtzman said loudly, effectively ending the press conference. Jack hustled toward the door, ignoring the additional questions.

'Nice job,' Durling said. 'Why don't you go home for some sleep?'

'And what is this?' the customs officer asked.

'My photographic equipment,' Chekov replied. He opened the case without an order to do so. It was warm in the terminal, the noon tropical sun beating through the wall of windows and overpowering the air conditioning for the moment. Their newest orders had been easily implemented. The Japanese wanted journalists in the islands, both to check up on the election campaign and to safeguard against American attack by their mere presence in the islands.

The customs officer looked at the cameras, gratified to see that it was all Japanese. 'And this?'

'My lighting equipment is Russian,' Ding explained in slow English. 'We make very fine lights. Perhaps one day we will sell them in your country,' he added with a smile.

'Yes, perhaps so,' the official said, closing the case and marking it with chalk. 'Where will you be staying?'

'We weren't able to make hotel arrangements,' 'Klerk' replied. 'We'll check the local hotels.'

Good luck, the official didn't say. This idea had come off half-baked, and every hotel room on Saipan, he was sure, was already filled. Well, that wasn't his problem.

'Can we rent a car?'

'Yes, over that way.' The man pointed. The older Russian looked nervous, he thought.

'You're late.'

'Well, sorry about that,' Oreza replied tersely. 'There's nothing new happening at all. Well, maybe the fighters are a little more active, but not much, and they've been pretty busy anyw—'

'You're going to get some company soon,' the National Military Command Center told him.

'Who?'

'Two reporters. They have some questions for you,' was the answer because of the renewed concern for Oreza's secure status.

'When?'

'Anytime, probably today. Everything okay with you, Chief?'

Master Chief, you turkey, Portagee didn't say. 'Just great. We saw part of the President's speech, and we're a little worried because that missile site is so close to us and—'

'You'll have enough warning. Does your house have a basement?' the voice asked,

'No, it doesn't.'

'Well, that's okay. We'll let you know, okay?'

'Fine, sir. Out.'

Does your house have a basement? No. Well, that's okay. If it's okay, why did you ask, goddamn it? Oreza deactivated the phone after taking it out of the mixing bowl and walked to the window. Two Eagles were taking off. Such a mechanical thing to watch. Something was happening. He didn't know what. Perhaps their pilots didn't either, but you couldn't tell what they were thinking from looking at their aircraft.

Shiro Sato reefed his F-15J into a right turn to clear the civilian air traffic. If the Americans attacked, they would do it as the attacks on the Home Islands had come, off island bases, supported by tankers, from a long way off. Wake was a possibility, and so were a few other islands. He'd face aircraft not unlike his own. They would have airborne radar support, and so would he. It would be a fair fight unless the bastards brought down their stealth aircraft. Damn the things. Damn their ability to defeat the Kamis! But the Americans had only a few of them, and if they flew in daylight, he'd take his chances.

At least there would be no real surprises. There was a huge air-defense radar on Saipan's highest point, and with the squadrons based on Guam, this would be a real fight, he told himself, climbing up to patrol altitude.

'So what's the big deal?' Chavez asked, playing with the map.

'You wouldn't believe it if I told you.'

'Well, take the next left, I think, by Lizama's Mobil.' Chavez looked up from the map. There were soldiers everywhere, and they were digging in, something they ought to have done sooner, he thought. 'Is that a Patriot battery?'

'Sure looks like one to me.' How the hell am I going to handle this? Clark asked himself, finding the last turn and heading into the cul-de-sac.

The house number was the one he'd memorized. He pulled into the driveway and got out, heading for the front door.

Oreza had been in the bathroom, finishing a needed shower while Burroughs handled the running count on the aircraft in and out of Kobler when the doorbell rang.

'Who are you?'

'Didn't they tell you?' Clark asked, looking around. Who the hell was this guy?

'Reporters, right?'

'Yeah, that's it.'