'How do they think we learned anything? Oh, we can't fix it, so let 'em all die with dignity. Give up. That's not what they taught me here.'
'I know.'
She sniffed and wiped her eyes on his shirt. 'Okay, back under control now. I'm off duty for eight hours.'
'Where are you sleeping?'
A deep breath. A shudder. 'Maumenee. They have some cots set up. Bernie's up in New York, helping out at Columbia. They have a couple hundred cases there.'
'You're pretty tough, Doctor.' He smiled down at his wife.
'Jack, if you find out who did this to us…'
'Working on it,' POTUS said.
'KNOW ANY OF these people?' The station chief handed over some photos he'd shot himself. He handed over a flashlight, too.
'That's Saleh! Who was he, exactly? He didn't say and I never found out.'
'These are all Iraqis. When the government came down, they flew here. I have a bunch of photos. You're sure of this one?'
'Quite sure, I treated him for over a week. The poor chap died.' MacGregor went through some more. 'And that looks like Sohaila. She survived, thank God. Lovely child—and that's her father.'
'What the hell?' Chavez asked. 'Nobody told us that.'
'We were at the Farm then, weren't we?'
'Back to being a training officer, John?' Frank Clayton grinned. 'Well, I got the word, and so I went out to shoot the pictures. They came in first class, by God, a big ol' G. Here, see?'
Clark looked at it and grunted—it was almost a twin to the one they were using for their round-the-world jaunt. 'Nice shots.'
'Thank you, sir.'
'Let me see that.' Chavez took the photo. He held the light right up against it. 'Ninja,' he whispered. 'Fucking ninja…'
'What?'
'John, read those letters off the tail,' Ding said quietly.
'HX-NJA… my God.'
'Clayton,' Chavez said, 'is that cellular phone secure?'
The station chief turned it on and punched in three digits. 'It is now. Where do you want to call?'
'Langley.'
'MR. PRESIDENT, CAN we talk to you now?'
Jack nodded. 'Yeah, sure, come on.' He needed to walk some, and waved for them to follow. 'Maybe I should apologize for Cathy. She's not like that. She's a good doc,' SWORDSMAN said tiredly. 'They're all pretty stressed out up there. The first thing they teach 'em here, I think it goes pnmum non nocere, 'First of all, do no harm. It's a pretty good rule. Anyway, my wife's had a couple of hard days in there. But so have all of us.'
'It is possible that this was a deliberate act, sir?'
'We're not sure, and I can't talk about that until I have good information one way or the other.'
'You've had a busy time, Mr. President.' The reporter was local, not part of the Washington scene. He didn't know how to talk to a President, or so others might think. Regardless, this one was going out live on NEC, though even the reporter didn't know that.
'Yeah, I guess I have.'
'Sir, can you give us any hope?'
Ryan turned at that. 'For the people who're sick, well, the hope comes from the docs and the nurses. They're fine people. You can see that here. They're fighters, warriors. I'm very proud of my wife and what she does. I'm proud of her now. I asked her not to do this. I suppose that's selfish of me, but I said it anyway. Some people tried to kill her once before, you know. I don't mind danger to me, but my wife and kids, no, it's not supposed to happen to them. Not supposed to happen to any of these people. But it did, and now we have to do our best to treat the sick ones and make sure people don't get sick unnecessarily. I know my executive order has upset a lot of people, but I can't live with not doing something that might save lives. I wish there were an easier way, but if there is. nobody's told me about it yet. You see, it's not enough to say, 'No, I don't like that. Anybody can do that. We need more right now. Look, I'm pretty tired,' he said, looking away from the camera. 'Can we call it a day for now?'
'Yes, sir. Thank you, Mr. President.'
'Sure.' Ryan turned away, walking south, just wandering really, toward the big parking garages. He saw a man smoking a cigarette there, a black man about forty, in defiance of the signs that prohibited the vice within sight of this shrine of medical learning. POTUS walked up to him, heedless of the three agents and two soldiers behind him.
'Got a spare?'
'Sure.' The man didn't even look up as he sat on the edge of the brick planter, looking down at the concrete. His left hand held out the pack and a butane lighter at arm's length. By unspoken consent they didn't sit close together.
'Thanks.' Ryan sat down about four feet away from the man, reaching to hand the items back.
'You, too, man?'
'What do you mean?'
'My wife's in there, got the sickness. She work with a family, nanny, like. They're all sick. Now she is, too.'
'My wife's a doc, she's up there with 'em.'
'Ain't gonna matter, man. Ain't gonna matter at all.'
'I know.' Ryan took a long pull and let it out.
'Won't even let me in, say it too dangerous. Takin' my blood, say I gotta stay close, won't let me smoke, won't let me see her. Sweet Jesus, man, how come?'
'If it was you who was sick, and you knew that you might give it to your wife, what would you do?' He nodded with angry resignation.
'I know. The doctor said that. He's right. I know. But that don't make it right.' He paused. 'Helps to talk.'
'Yeah, I guess it does.'
'The fuckers did this, like they say on TV, somebody did this. Fuckers gotta pay, man.'
Ryan didn't know what to say then. Somebody else did. It was Andrea Price: 'Mr. President? I have the DCI for you.'
That turned the man's head. He looked at Ryan in the yellow-orange lighting. 'You're him.'
'Yes, sir,' Jack answered quietly.
'You say your wife is workin' up there?'
A nod. A sigh. 'Yeah, she's been working here for fifteen years. I came in to see her, and see how it is, how it's going. I'm sorry…'
'What'd'ya mean?'
'They won't let you in, but they let me in.'
He grimaced. 'Guess you gotta see, eh? Tough what happened with your little girl last week. She okay?'
'Yeah, she's fine. At that age, well, you know how it is.'
'Good. Hey, thanks for talking with me.'
'Thanks for the smoke,' the President said, standing and walking to Agent Price. He took the phone. 'Ed, it's Jack.'
'Mr. President, we need you back. We have something you need to see,' Ed Foley told him. He wondered how he would explain that the evidence was hanging on the wall of a conference room in CIA Headquarters.
'Give me an hour, Ed.'
'Yes, sir. We're getting it organized now.'
Jack hit the END switch on the phone and handed it back. 'Let's move.'
