screen from time to time.
Melanie was talking about a cat she had in high school, when Ryan stole a check of the news.
His eyes widened, his mouth dropped open, and he said, “Oh, fuck, no!” Melanie stopped talking. “Excuse me?” Ryan leapt at the remote to the TV, yanked it off the bar, and turned up the volume. The television showed an image of Ryan’s colleague John Clark. The report then switched to Michael Brannigan’s news conference at DOJ, where Jack caught the AG’s vague description of the charges and the political implications of the case.
Melanie looked at Ryan while he watched this. “You know him?” “He is a friend of my dad’s.” “I’m sorry.”
“A legend at CIA.”
“Really?”
Ryan nodded distractedly. “He was on the other end. Operations.” “Case officer?”
“SAD.”
Melanie nodded. She understood. “Do you think he—” “Hell, no!” Ryan said, then controlled himself. “No. The guy has a damn Congressional Medal of Honor.” “Sorry.”
Jack turned his head away from the TV, back to Melanie. “I’m sorry. I’m reacting to what Kealty is doing. Not you.” “I get it.”
“He’s got a wife. Kids. He’s a grandfather. Jesus… You don’t tear down a man like that without knowing what you are talking about.” Melanie nodded. “Can your dad protect him? When he gets back in the White House?”
“I hope so. I guess Kealty is doing this to prevent my dad from getting back in the White House.” “It’s too transparent. It won’t work…” Melanie said, but her voice trailed off at the end.
“Unless?”
“Unless… well, you say this Clark doesn’t have any skeletons in his closet that weren’t put there by his work in the CIA.” And that was it, exactly. Jack couldn’t say it to Melanie, of course, but he knew a detailed investigation into John Clark just might uncover The Campus. Might that be the goal of this? Might some news have come out about what Clark had been up to for the past year or more? Something about the Paris operation, or even the Emir case?
The report ended, and he turned to Melanie. “I’m really sorry, but I need to call it a night.” “I understand,” she said, but Ryan could see in her eyes that she did not.
42
Jack Ryan Sr. ate his hamburger before going onstage at the rally at the Tempe Mission Palms Hotel. He’d planned on just taking a few polite bites, this was a late lunch for him, and he had another event to attend in less than two hours, a Veterans of Foreign Wars dinner, also here in Tempe. But the burger was so damned good he devoured it while chatting with his supporters.
He took the stage at two thirty-five local time. The crowd was lively and ecstatic with the poll numbers. The polls had tightened since Kealty announced the capture of the man who had killed so many Americans a few years earlier, but Ryan was still ahead and beyond the margin of error.
When the music stopped, Jack leaned into the microphone slightly and said, “Good evening. Thank you. I appreciate it.” The crowd loved him; it was taking them longer than usual to quiet down.
Finally he was able to thank his supporters for showing up this afternoon, and then warn them against letting down their guard too quickly. The election was still two weeks away, and he needed support now more than ever. He’d given this same speech for t?yhe past two or three days, and he’d give it for two or three more.
As Ryan addressed his supporters, he looked over the crowd. Off to the right he caught a glimpse of the back of Arnie van Damm as he walked out of the hall with his phone to his ear. Jack could tell Arnie was excited about something, but he couldn’t tell if it was something good or something bad.
Van Damm disappeared behind a mountain of balloons just before exiting the hall.
Ryan began closing his speech; there were several applause lines that he delivered, each requiring a good thirty seconds or so before he could continue his remarks. He still had a couple more to go when van Damm appeared, directly below Ryan. He had a grave look on his face; it was hidden from view of the cameras, but he made a “Wrap it up” motion by swinging a finger in a circle.
Jack did just that, and fought for his happy face while he wondered what was going on.
Van Damm’s expression left no doubt. Bad news was coming.
Normally Ryan would exit through the hall at the end of a rally, and he’d take several minutes to shake hands and pose for pictures as he moved through his supporters, but van Damm ushered him off stage right. The crowd cheered and the music blared as he headed off the stage, and he took the time to give one last big wave to everyone before heading out of view of the hall.
In the hallway, Andrea Price-O’Day shouldered up to him; van Damm led the way toward a side exit.
“What is it?” Jack shouted to him.
“Not yet, Jack,” Arnie said as they walked briskly off the wings. The hallway was full of media and friends and supporters, and they moved through them quickly. Ryan’s well-practiced smile was gone now; he rushed to catch up to his campaign manager.
“God damn it, Arnie. Is it my family?”
“No! God, no, Jack! Sorry.” Arnie motioned for Jack to continue following.
“Okay.” Ryan relaxed a little. It was politics, that’s all.
They opened a side door and hurried out into a parking lot. Ryan’s SUVs were parked in a row just ahead. More Secret Service met up with them, and van Damm led the way to the waiting vehicles.
And they almost made it. Within twenty feet of Ryan’s SUV, a single reporter with a videographer in tow cut them off. Her microphone had the station ID of a local CBS affiliate.
With no preamble, she pushed the microphone between two big Secret Service men and into Ryan’s face. “Mr. President, what is your reaction to the attorney general’s announcement of the murder investigation into your bodyguard?”
Ryan pulled up short. That the reporter had screwed up the facts only made the expression on Jack’s face appear more confused. He turned to his lead Secret Service agent, Andrea Price-O’Day, who was talking into her cuff mike to the drivers of the motorcade and therefore had not been listening to the question.
“John Clark, your former bodyguard. Are you aware he is a fugitive from justice? Can you tell us the last time you spoke with him and the nature of your conversation?”
Ryan turned to van Damm, who also fought off a deer-in-the-headlights look. Arnie reached out and took Jack’s arm, tried to lead him on to the vehicles.
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Quickly Ryan recovered just enough to turn back to the reporter. “I’ll have a statement on this in a short while.”
More questions came, as the eager young reporter sensed that Ryan had no idea what the hell she was talking about. But Ryan said nothing else; he just hustled into the SUV behind his campaign manager.
Twenty seconds later, the SUV with Ryan, van Damm, and Price-O’Day pulled out as the door shut.
“What the fuck was that?” Jack asked.
Van Damm had his phone out already. “Just got a heads-up from D.C. Brannigan called a surprise press conference right before the six-o’clock news and said Clark was being picked up on a murder rap. I found out from FBI he managed to escape the SWAT team that went to arrest him.”
“What murder?” Jack almost shouted.
“Something about his actions in the CIA. I am working on getting a copy of the arrest order from DOJ. I
