'Why the fancy footwork on my last question, Jack?' Holtzman asked.
'Bob, if you know it was fancy footwork, then you know why.' Ryan motioned to the sign over the mirror, then decided to tap it to make sure everyone caught the message.
'I know that when the last government fell, it was us who developed the information on the bribery scandal,' Holtzman said.
Jack gave him a look but nothing else. Even no comment would have been a substantive comment under these circumstances.
'That killed Goto's first chance to become Prime Minister. He was next in line, remember?'
'Well, now he's got another. His patience is rewarded,' Ryan observed.
'If he can get a coalition together.'
'Don't give me that,' Hunter leaned toward the mirror to finish cleaning her nose off. 'You've read the stuff he's been telling their papers, same as I have, he will get a cabinet formed, and you know what arguments he's been using.'
'Talk is cheap, especially for somebody in that business,' Jack said. He still hadn't quite made the leap of imagination to include himself 'in that business.' 'Probably just a blip, one more politician with a few too many drinks under his belt who had a bad day at the office or the track.'
'Or the geisha house,' Kris Hunter suggested. She finished removing the makeup, then sat on the edge of the counter and lit a cigarette. Kristyn Hunter was an old-fashioned reporter. Though still on the sunny side of fifty, she was a graduate of Columbia's School of Journalism and had just been appointed chief foreign correspondent for the Chicago Tribune. Her voice was as dry as dust. 'Two years ago that bastard put a move on me. His language would shock a Marine, and his suggestions were…shall we say, eccentric. I presume you have information on his personal habits, Dr. Ryan?'
'Kris, never, ever, not even once will I discuss what personal stuff, if any, we have on foreign officials.' Jack paused. 'Wait. He doesn't speak English, does he?' Ryan closed his eyes, trying to remember what his briefing documents had said on that point.
'You didn't know? He can when it pleases him, but he doesn't when it doesn't. That day, it didn't. And his translator that day was a female, about twenty-seven. She didn't even blush.' Hunter chuckled darkly. 'I sure as hell did. What does that tell you, Dr. Ryan?'
Ryan had few doubts about the information that had come out of Operation SANDALWOOD. Despite that, it was very nice to hear this from a completely independent source. 'I guess he likes blondes,' Jack said lightly.
'So they say. They also say that he has a new one now.'
'This is getting serious,' Holtzman noted. 'Lots of people like to fool around, Kris.'
'Goto loves to show people how tough he is. Some of the rumors about Goto are downright ugly.' Kris Hunter paused. 'I believe them, too.'
'Really?' Ryan asked with the utmost innocence. 'Woman's intuition?'
'Don't be sexist,' Hunter warned, too seriously for the mood of the moment.
Ryan's voice turned earnest. 'I'm not. My wife has better instincts for judging people than I do. I guess it helps that she's a doc. Fair enough?'
'Dr. Ryan, I know you know. I know the FBI has been looking very discreetly at a few things out in the Seattle area.'
'Is that so?'
Kris Hunter wasn't buying. 'You don't keep secrets about this sort of thing, not if you have friends in the Bureau like I do, and not if one of the missing girls is the daughter of a police captain whose next-door neighbor is S-A-C of the FBI's Seattle Field Division. Do I need to go on?'
'Then why are you sitting on it?'
Kris Hunter's green eyes blazed at the National Security Advisor. 'I'll tell you why, Dr. Ryan. I was raped in college. I thought the bastard was going to kill me. I looked at death. You don't forget that. If this story comes out the wrong way, that girl and maybe others like her could end up dead. You can recover from rape: I did. You can't recover from death.'
'Thanks,' Ryan said quietly. His eyes and his nod said even more.
'And he's the next head of that country's government.' Kris Hunter's eyes were even more intense now. 'He hates us, Dr. Ryan. I've interviewed him. He didn't want me because he found me attractive. He wanted me because he saw me as a blond-and-blue symbol. He's a rapist. He enjoys hurting people. You don't forget the look in the eyes once you've seen it. He's got that look. We need to watch out for this guy. You tell the President that.'
'I will,' Ryan said as he headed out the door.
The White House car was waiting just outside. Jack had something to think about as it headed for the Beltway.
'Softball,' the Secret Service agent commented. 'Except for after.'
'How long you been doing this, Paul?'
'Fourteen fascinating years,' Paul Robberton said, keeping an eye on things from the front seat. The driver was just a guy from the General Services Administration, but Jack rated a Secret Service bodyguard now.
'Fieldwork?'
'Counterfeiters. Never drew my weapon,' Robberton added. 'Had a few fair-sized cases.'
'You can read people?'
Robberton laughed. 'In this job, you'd better hope so, Dr. Ryan.'
'Tell me about Kris Hunter.'
'Smart and tough as nails. She's right: she was sexually assaulted in college, a serial rapist. She testified against the mutt. It was back when lawyers were a little…free with how they treated rape victims. You know—did you encourage the rat, stuff like that. It got ugly, but she rode it out and they convicted the bum. He bit the big one in prison, evidently said the wrong thing to an armed robber. Pity,' Robberton concluded dryly.
'Pay attention to what she thinks, you're telling me.'
'Yes, sir. She would have been a good cop. I know she's a pretty fair reporter.'
'She's gathered in a lot of information,' Ryan murmured. Not all of it good, not yet pulled together properly, and colored by her own life experiences, but sure as hell, she had sources. Jack looked at the passing scenery and tried to assemble the incomplete puzzle.
'Where to?' the driver asked.
'The house,' Ryan said, drawing a surprised look from Robberton. In this case, 'the house' didn't mean 'home.' 'No, wait a minute.' Ryan lifted his earphone. Fortunately he knew the number from memory.
'Hello?'
'Ed? Jack Ryan. You guys busy?'
'We are allowed Sunday off, Jack. The Caps play the Bruins this afternoon.'
'Ten minutes.'
'Fair enough.' Ed Foley set the phone back in its place on the wall.
'Ryan's coming over,' he told his wife. Damn it.
Sunday was the one day they allowed themselves to sleep. Mary Pat was still in her housecoat, looking unusually frowzy. Without a word she left the morning paper and walked off toward the bathroom to fix her hair. There was a knock at the door fifteen minutes later.
'Overtime?' Ed asked at the door. Robberton came in with his guest.
'I had to do one of the morning shows.' Jack checked his watch. I'll be on in another twenty minutes or so.'
'What gives?' Mary Pat entered the room, looking about normal for an American female on a Sunday morning.
'Business, honey,' Ed answered. He led everyone to the basement recreation room.
'SANDALWOOD,' Jack said when they got there. He could speak freely here. The house was swept for bugs every week. 'Do Clark and Chavez have orders to get the girl out yet?'
'Nobody gave us the execute order,' Ed Foley reminded him. 'It's just about setup, but—'
