smiling. He held it up for the camera, his eyes framed by square glasses on a square head, and he stared expressionless at the lens.
Needless to say, this picture did not convey the lighthearted moment that Ryan’s photo did.
It was true, Laska hated Jack Ryan, there was no other way to describe the feelings he had for the man. To Laska, Ryan was the perfect embodiment of everything evil and wrong with America. A former military officer, a former head of the dreaded CIA, a former operative himself whose evil deeds around the world had been swept under the rug and replaced with a legend that made him appear to the fools in flyover country like some sort of rugged and handsome paladin.
To Laska’s way of thinking, Ryan was an evil man who had stumbled into incredible fortune. The plane crash at the Capitol just as he was awarded the vice presidency was evidence of a cruel God as far as Laska was concerned.
Paul had suffered through the first Ryan presidency, and he’d supported Ed Kealty in his campaign against Ryan’s underling Robby Jackson. When Jackson had all but sewn up the victory and was assassinated, leaving Kealty to win the election by default, Laska began to have hope for God after all, though he never said such a thing anywhere other than on his pool deck.
Kealty had not been the savior the progressives had hoped he would be. Yes, he’d had some wins in Congress on issues dear to the hearts of those on the left, but on Laska’s main concern, the American government’s projection of power both at home and around the world, Kealty had proven to be not much better than his predecessor. He’d launched more missiles against countries with whom America was not at war than any president in history, and he’d made only cosmetic changes to federal laws against habeas corpus, illegal searches and seizures, wiretapping, and other issues Paul Laska cared about.
No, the Czech American was not satisfied with Ed Kealty, but he was a damn sight better than any Republican who would run against him, so Laska had begun investing heavily in Kealty’s reelection as soon as he took office.
And this investment had been in danger ever since Ryan had put his hat in the ring. Things looked so bleak earlier in the summer, when Ryan came out strong after the Republican convention, that Laska had made it known to Kealty’s campaign manager that he would be scaling back his fund-raising for the embattled Democratic incumbent.
He didn’t come right out and say it, but the inference was clear. Ed was a lost cause.
This provoked an immediate response from Kealty anfroidn’t cod his people. The next morning, Laska was on his jet from Santa Barbara with a private dinner invitation to the White House. He was ushered in to “the people’s house” quietly, no record of his visit was recorded, and Kealty sat down for a private dinner with the venerable liberal kingmaker.
“Paul, things may look bleak right now,” the President said between sips of pinot noir, “but I have the mother of all trump cards.”
“Another assassination is in the works?”
Kealty knew Laska did not possess a sense of humor, so this was, in fact, a serious question. “Jesus, Paul!” Kealty shook his head violently. “No! I had nothing to do with… I mean… Don’t even…” Kealty paused, sighed, and then let it go. “The Emir is in my custody, and when the time is right, I will pull him out and shut off Jack Ryan’s asinine claim that I am weak on terrorism.”
Laska’s bushy eyebrows rose. “How did you get him?”
“It doesn’t matter how I got him. What matters is that I have him.”
Paul nodded slowly and thoughtfully. “What are you going to do with the Emir?”
“I just told you. Late in the election — my campaign manager, Benton Thayer, says I should do it at the second or third debate — I am going to announce to the country that I—”
“No, Ed. I am talking about his trial. How will you proceed with holding him accountable for his alleged actions?”
“Oh.” Kealty waved an arm in the air as he slid another luscious morsel of prime rib onto his silver fork. “Brannigan at Justice wants to try him in New York; I’ll probably let him do that.”
Laska nodded. “I think you should do just that. And you should send a message to the world.”
Kealty cocked his head. “What message?”
“That America is, once again, the land of justice and peace. No kangaroo courts.”
Kealty nodded slowly. “You want your foundation to defend him.”
“It’s the only way.”
Kealty nodded, sipped his wine. He had something that Laska wanted. A high-profile case against the U.S. government. “I can make that happen, Paul. I’ll get heat from the right, but who gives a damn? Probably more ambivalence from the left than I would like, but nobody on our side of the aisle will squawk too much about it.”
“Excellent,” Laska said.
“Of course,” Kealty said, his tone changed a little now that he was no longer sitting in front of Laska with his hat in hand, “you know what a Ryan victory would do to the trial. Your Progressive Constitution Initiative would have no role in a military tribunal at Gitmo.”
“I understand.”
“I can only make this happen if I win. And even with this big reveal I plan at the presidential debate, I will only win with your continued support. Can I count on you, Paul?”
“You give my people the Emir case, and you will have my continued backing.”
Kealty grinned like the Cheshire cat. “Wonderful.”
Paul Laska lay in bed and thought back to that conversation at the White House. Laska’s PCI legal team had ironed out all the complicated secret detted>P
As Paul listened to the grandfather clock tick in the corner of his dark bedroom, all he could think about was how Ryan would undo it all when he became President of the United States.
Paul Laska decided, at that very moment, that he would not spend one more goddamned dime on that loser Ed Kealty.
No, he would divert his funds, his power, into one thing.
The destruction of John Patrick Ryan, either before he took his inevitable seat in the Oval Office or during his administration.
21
One full day after the Paris operation, all the Campus operators, John Clark included, sat in the conference room on the ninth floor of Hendley Associates in West Odenton, Maryland. All five men were still tired and sore from the op, but they’d each had a chance to go home and sleep for a few hours before heading into the office for the after-action debriefing.
Clark had slept more than the others, but that was only because of the meds. On the aircraft, Adara Sherman had vadministered painkillers that knocked him out until touchdown, and then he’d been picked up by Gerry Hendley and Sam Granger themselves and driven to the private office of a surgeon Hendley had retained in Baltimore for just such an eventuality. In the end, Clark hadn’t needed surgery, and the doctor was effusive in his praise of the work of the person or persons who’d given the injury its initial cleaning and bandaging.
He had no way of knowing the person who had treated the wounded man had worked on more than her share
