53 SNIE
BEFORE FLYING HOME, everyone had to be decontaminated. Hopkins had set up a large room with separation of the sexes this time. The water was hot, and stank of chemicals, but the smell gave Ryan a needed sense of safety. Then he donned a new set of greens. He'd worn them before, when he'd attended the births of his children. Happy connotations. No longer, he thought, as he headed for the Suburban for the drive back to Fort McHenry and the helicopter hop back to the White House. At least the shower had enlivened him. It might even last a few hours, POTUS thought, as the VH-3 lifted off and turned southwest. If he were lucky.
IT WAS THE most lackluster performance in the history of the National Training Center. The troopers of the llth Cav and the tankers of the Carolina Guard had blundered about for five hours, barely executing the plans that both had set up. The replay in the Star Wars Room showed cases where tanks had been less than a thousand meters apart and in plain sight, yet hadn't exchanged fire. Nothing had worked on either side, and the simulated engagement had not so much ended as stopped by apathetic consent. Just before midnight, the units formed up for the drive back to their respective laagers, and the senior commanders went to General Diggs's home on the hill.
'Hi, Nick,' Colonel Hamm said.
'Hi, Al,' Colonel Eddington replied, in about the same tone of voice.
'And what the hell was that all about?' Diggs demanded.
'The men are coming a little unglued, sir,' the Guardsman replied first. 'We're all worried about our people back home. We're safe here. They're in danger there. I
can't blame them for being distracted, General. They're human.'
'Best thing I can say is that our immediate families seem to be safe here, General,' Hamm agreed with his older comrade in arms. 'But we all got family back in the world.'
'Okay, gentlemen, we've all had a chance to cry in our beer. I don't like this shit, either, y'hear? But your job is to lead your people, and that means lead, God damn it! In case you two warrior chiefs haven't noticed yet, the whole fuckin' United States Army is tied up in this epidemic—except us! You two colonels want to think about that? Maybe get your people thinking about it? Nobody ever told me soldiering was an easy job, and damned sure command isn't, but it is the job we do, and if you gentlemen can't get it done, well, there are others who can.'
'Sir, that isn't going to work. Ain't nobody to relieve us with,' Hamm pointed out wryly. 'Colonel—'
'The man's right, Diggs,' Eddington said. 'Some things are too much. There's an enemy out there we can't fight. Our people'll come around once they have a chance to get used to it, maybe get some good news for a change. Come on, General, you know better. You know history. Those are people out there—yes, soldiers, but people first. They're shook. So am I, Diggs.'
'I also know that there are no bad regiments, only bad colonels,' Diggs retorted, with one of Napoleon's best aphorisms, but he saw that neither man rose to the bait. Jesus, this really was bad.
'HOW WAS IT?' van Damm asked.
'Horrible,' Ryan replied. 'I saw six or seven people who're going to die. One of 'em's a kid. Cathy says there'll be more of them showing up.'
'How's she doing?'
'Pretty stressed, but okay. She really let a reporter have it.'
'I know, it was on TV,' the chief of staff informed him.
'Already?'
'You were on live.' Arnie managed a smile. 'You looked great. Concerned. Sincere as hell. You said nice things about your wife. You even apologized for what she said—really good, boss, especially since she looked wonderful. Dedicated. Intense. Just like a doctor is supposed to be.'
'Arnie, this isn't theater.' Ryan was too tired to be angry. The reviving effects of the shower, disappointingly, had already worn off.
'No, it's leadership. Someday you're going to learn that—shit, maybe not. Just keep goin' like you're goin',' Arnie advised. 'You do it without even knowing it, Jack. Don't think about it at all.'
NEC SHARED THEIR tape with the whole world. As competitive as the news business was, a consciousness of public responsibility did pervade the profession, and the tape of the President's brief conversation went out an hour later on television sets across the globe.
She'd been right from the first instant, the Prime Minister told herself. He was far out of his depth. He couldn't even stand up straight. His words rambled. He let his wife speak for him—and she was frantic, emotional, weak. America's time as a major power was ending, because the country lacked firm leadership. She didn't know who had caused this plague to happen, but it was easy to guess. It had to be the UIR. Why else had he called them together in western China? With her fleet at sea guarding the approaches to the Persian Gulf, she was doing her part. She was sure she would be rewarded for it in due course.
'YOUR PRESIDENT IS distracted,' Zhang said. 'Understandably so.'
'Such a great misfortune. You have our deepest sympathy,' the Foreign Minister added. The three, plus the translator, had also just seen the tape.
Adler had been slow in getting the news of the epidemic, but he was up to speed now. He had to set it all aside, however. 'Shall we proceed?'
'Does our distant province agree to our compensation demand?' the Foreign Minister asked.
'Unfortunately not. They take the position that the entire incident results from your extended maneuvers. Viewed abstractly, that point of view is not entirely without merit,' the Secretary of State told them in diplo- speak.
'But the situation is not abstract. We are conducting peaceful exercises. One of their pilots saw fit to attack our aircraft, and in the process another of their foolish aviators destroyed an airliner. Who is to say if it was an accident or not?'
'Not an accident?' Adler asked. 'What possible purpose could there be for such a thing?'
'Who can say with these bandits?' the Foreign Minister asked in return, stirring the pot a little more.
ED AND MARY Pat Foley came in together. Ed was carrying a large rolled poster or something, Jack saw as he sat in the Cabinet Room, still wearing greens with HOPK.INS stenciled on them. Next came Murray, with Inspector O'Day in his wake. Ryan stood to go to him.
'I owe you, sorry I didn't get to see you sooner.' He took the man's hand.
'That was pretty easy compared to this,' Pat said. 'And my little girl was there, too. But, yeah, glad I was there. I won't have any nightmares about that shoot.' He turned. 'Oh, hi, Andrea.'
Price smiled for the first time that day. 'How's your daughter, Pat?'
'Home with the sitter. They're both okay,' he assured her.
'Mr. President?' It was Goodley. 'This is pretty hot.'
'Okay, then shall we get to work? Who starts?'
'I do,' the DCI said. He slid a sheet of paper across the table. 'Here.'
Ryan took it and scanned it. It was some sort of official form, and the words were all in French. 'What's this?'
'It's the immigration and customs clearance form for an airplane. Check the ID box, top-left corner.'
'HX-NJA. Okay, so?' SWORDSMAN asked. His chief of staff sat at his side, keeping his peace. He felt the tension that the executives had brought into the room.
The blowup of Chavez's photo at Mehrabad Airport was actually larger than a poster, and had been printed up mainly as a joke. Mary Pat unrolled it, and laid it flat on the table. Two briefcases were used to keep it from rolling back up. 'Check the tail,' the DDO advised.
'HX-NJA. I don't have time for Agatha Christie, people,' the President warned them.
'Mr. President.' This was Dan Murray. 'Let me walk you through this, but I'll say up front, that photo is something I could take into court and get a conviction with.
'The customs form identifies a business jet, a Gulf-stream G-IV belonging to this Swiss-based corporation.' A piece of paper went down on the conference table. 'Flown by this flight crew.' Two photos and fingerprint cards. 'It left Zaire with three passengers. Two were nuns, Sister Jean Baptiste and Sister Maria Magdalena. They were both nurses at a Catholic hospital down there. Sister Jean treated Benedict Mkusa, a little boy who contracted Ebola and died of it. Somehow, Sister Jean caught it, too, and the third passenger, Dr. Mohammed Moudi— we don't have a
