'Someone has made a calculation…'
'And it is not an accurate one. I think we need to find out who has done so. I think a systematic attack on American interests, an attempt to weaken America, Comrade Chairman, is really an attack against our interests. Why is China doing what she is doing, eh? Why did they force America to change her naval dispositions? And now this? American forces are being stretched, and at the same time a strike at the very heart of the American leader. This is no coincidence. Now we can stand aside and do nothing more than observe, or—'
'There is nothing we can do, and with the revelations in the American press—'
'Comrade Chairman,' Bondarenko interrupted. 'For seventy years, our country has confused political theory with objective fact, and that was almost our undoing as a nation. There are objective conditions here,' he went on, using a phrase beloved of the Soviet military—a reaction, perhaps, to their three generations of political oversight. 'I see the patterns of a clever operation, a coordinated operation, but one which has a fatal flaw, and that flaw is a misestimation of the American President. Do you disagree?'
Golovko gave that a few seconds of thought, noting also that Bondarenko might just be seeing something real—but did the Americans? It was so much harder to see something from the inside than the outside. A coordinated operation? Back to Ryan, he told himself.
'No. I made that mistake myself. Ryan appears much less than what he is. The signs are all there, but people don't see them.'
'When I was in America, that General Diggs told me the story of the time terrorists attacked Ryan's house. He took up arms and defeated them, courageously and decisively. From what you say, it appears he is also highly effective as an intelligence officer. His only flaw, if one may call it that, is that he is not politically adept, and politicians invariably take that for weakness. Perhaps it is,' Bondarenko allowed. 'But if this is a hostile operation against America, then his political weaknesses are far less important than his other gifts.'
'And?'
'Help the man,' the general urged. 'Better that we should be on the winning side, and if we do not help, then we might be on the other. Nobody will attack America directly. We are not so fortunate, Comrade Chairman.' He was almost right.
44 INCUBATION
RYAN AWOKE AT DAWN, wondering why. The quiet. Almost like his home on the Bay. He strained to listen for traffic or other sounds, but there were none. Moving out of the bed was difficult. Cathy had decided to have Katie in with them, and there she was in her pink sleeper, looking angelic as toddlers did, still babies at that age whatever others might say. He had to smile,
then made his way to the bathroom. Casual clothes had been set out in the dressing room, and he put them on, with a pair of sneaks and a sweater, to head outside. The air was brisk, with traces of frost on the boxwoods, and the sky clear. Not bad. Robby was right. This wasn't a bad place to come to. It put a distance between himself and other things, and he needed that right now. 'Morning, sir.' It was Captain Overton.
'Not bad duty, is it?'
The young officer nodded. 'We do the security. The Navy does the petunias. It's a fair division of labor, Mr. President. Even the Secret Service guys can sleep in here, sir.'
Ryan looked around and saw why. There were two armed Marines immediately around the cabin, and three more within fifty yards. And those were just the ones he could see. 'Get you anything, Mr. President?'
'Coffee'll do for a start.'
'Follow me, sir.'
'Attention on deck!' a sailor shouted a few seconds later, when Ryan went into the cook shed—or whatever they called it here.
'As you were,' the President told them. 'I thought this was the Presidential Retreat, not boot camp.' He picked a seat at the table the staff used. Coffee appeared as if by magic. Then more magic happened.
'Good morning, Mr. President.'
'Hi, Andrea. When did you get in?'
'Around two, helicopter,' she explained.
'Get any sleep?'
'About four hours.'
Ryan took a sip. Navy coffee was still Navy coffee. 'And?'
'The investigation is under way. The team's put together. Everybody's got a seat at the table.' She handed over a folder, which Ryan would get to read before his morning paper. Anne Arundel County and Maryland State Police, Secret Service, FBI, ATF, and all the intelligence agencies were working the case. They were running IDs on the terrorists, but the two whose documents had so far been checked turned out to be non-persons. Their papers were false, probably of European origin. Big surprise. Any competent European criminal, much less a terrorist organization, could procure phony passports. He looked up.
'What about the agents we lost?'
A sigh, a shrug. 'They all have families.'
'Let's get it set up so that I can meet with them… should it be all at once or one at a time?'
'Your choice, sir,' Price told him.
'No, it has to be what's best for them. They're your people, Andrea. You work that out for me, okay? I owe them my daughter's life, and I have to do what's right for them,' POTUS said soberly, remembering why he was in this quiet and peaceful place. 'And I presume that they will be properly looked after. Get me the details on that, insurance, pensions, and stuff, okay? I want to look that over.'
'Yes, sir.'
'Do we know anything important yet?'
'No, not really. The terrorists who've been posted, their dental work definitely isn't American, that's it for now.'
Ryan flipped through the papers he had. One preliminary conclusion leaped off the page at him: 'Eleven years?'
'Yes, sir.'
'So this is a major operation for somebody—a country.'
'That's a real possibility.'
'Who else would have the resources?' he asked, and Price reminded herself that he'd been an intelligence officer for a long time.
Agent Raman came in and took his seat. He'd heard that observation, and he and Price traded a look and a nod.
The wall phone rang. Captain Overton walked over to get it. 'Yes?' He listened for a few minutes, then turned. 'Mr. President, this is Mrs. Foley at CIA.'
The President went to take the call. 'Yeah, Mary Pat.'
'Sir, we had a call a few minutes ago from Moscow. Our friend Golovko asks if he can be of any assistance. I recommend a 'yes' on that.'
'Agreed. Anything else?'
'Avi ben Jakob wants to talk to you later today. Ears-only,' the DDO told him.
'About an hour, let me get woke up first.'
'Yes, sir…. Jack?'
'Yeah, MP?'
'Thank God about Katie,' she said, mother to father, then going on as mother alone: 'If we can get a line on this, we will.'
'I KNOW YOU'RE our best,' Mrs. Foley heard.
'We're doing okay right now.'
'Good. Ed and I will be in all day.' She hung up.
'How's he sound?' Clark asked.
