It was obvious to the urbane and educated Valentin Kovalenko that he was far worldlier than this criminal scumbag sitting next to him. It was likely this man had no experience working with a well-run outfit before going to work for this foreign employer, but Valentin was hardly stressed about the scope and reach of his new boss. He’d worked in Russian intelligence, and it was, after all, a tier-one spy agency.
“One more warning.”
“I’m listening.”
“This is not an organization from which you will someday resign or retire. You will work at their bidding as long as they want you to.”
“I see.”
The square-headed Russian shrugged. “It was this or die in prison. You’ll be doing yourself a favor by keeping that in your head. Every day of life is a gift given to you. You should enjoy your life, and make the most of it.”
Kovalenko looked out the window, watching predawn Moscow pass by.
Valentin sighed.
He was going to miss his old life.
SEVEN
Jack Ryan woke at 5:14 a.m., a minute before his iPhone was set to rouse him. He turned off the alarm before it disturbed the naked girl sleeping tangled in the sheets next to him, and he used the light from the screen to look her over. He did this most mornings, but he never told her.
Melanie Kraft lay on her side, facing him, but her long dark hair covered her face. Her left shoulder, soft yet toned, glowed in the light.
Jack smiled, then reached over after a moment, and stroked her hair out of her eyes.
Her eyes opened. It took her a few seconds to waken and form a sentient thought into a word. “Hi.” Her voice was a whisper.
“Hi,” Jack said.
“Is it Saturday?” she asked, her tone both hopeful and playful, though she was still wiping the cobwebs from her brain.
“Monday,” Jack replied.
She rolled onto her back, exposing her breasts. “Damn. How did that happen?”
Jack kept his eyes on her as he shrugged. “Earth’s revolution. Distance from the sun. Stuff like that. I probably learned it in fourth grade, but I’ve forgotten.”
Melanie started to fall back to sleep.
“I’ll make coffee,” he said, and he rolled off the bed.
She nodded distantly, and the hair that Ryan had lifted off her face fell back over her eyes.
Five minutes later they sipped steaming mugs of coffee together on the sofa in the living room of Jack’s Columbia, Maryland, apartment. Jack wore tracksuit pants and a Georgetown T-shirt. Melanie was in her bathrobe. She kept a lot of clothes and personal items here at Jack’s place. More and more as the weeks went by, and Jack did not mind at all.
After all, she was beautiful, and he was in love.
They had been dating exclusively for a few months now, and already this was the longest exclusive relationship of Jack’s life. He had even taken her to the White House to meet his parents a few weeks back; by design, he and Melanie were ushered into the living quarters away from the press, and Jack had introduced his girlfriend to his mother in the West Sitting Hall just off the President’s Dining Room. The two women sat on the sofa under the beautiful half-moon window and chatted about Alexandria, her job, and their mutual respect for Melanie’s boss, Mary Pat Foley. Ryan spent the time looking at Melanie; he was captivated by her poise and calm. He’d brought girls home to Mom before, of course, but they’d usually just managed to survive the experience. Melanie, on the other hand, seemed to genuinely enjoy spending time with his mother.
Jack’s father, the President of the United States, slipped in while the women were chatting. Junior saw his allegedly tough father turn to jelly within moments of meeting his son’s brilliant and beautiful girlfriend. He was all smiles and bright banter; Junior chuckled to himself watching his dad trying to lay on some extra charm.
They had dinner in the dining room and the conversation was fun and flowing, Jack Junior spoke the least, but once in a while he caught Melanie’s eyes and they smiled at each other.
Jack was not surprised at all that Melanie asked the vast majority of the questions, and she spent as little time as possible talking about herself. Her mom had passed away, her father had been an Air Force colonel, and she’d spent much of her childhood abroad. This she told the President and First Lady when they asked, and it was just about all Ryan, Jr., knew about her childhood himself.
Jack was certain the Secret Service detail that approved her visit to the White House knew more about his girlfriend’s past than he did.
After dinner, after they slipped out of the White House just as covertly as they’d slipped in, Melanie confessed to Jack that she’d been nervous at first, but his parents had been so down to earth that she’d forgotten for large parts of the evening that she was in the presence of the commander-in-chief and the chief of surgery at Johns Hopkins’s Wilmer Eye Institute.
Jack thought back on that evening while he eyed Melanie’s curves through her bathrobe.
She saw him looking at her, and she asked, “Gym or run?” They did one or the other most every morning, whether or not they had spent the night in the same bed. When she stayed at his place, they worked out in the gym here in Jack’s building, or else they ran a three-mile course that took them around nearby Wilde Lake and through Fairway Hills golf course.
Jack Ryan, on the other hand, never stayed at Melanie’s apartment in Alexandria. He thought it odd that she’d never invited him to sleep over, but she always explained it away, saying she felt self-conscious about her tiny carriage-house digs, an apartment that wasn’t even as big as the living room in Jack’s place.
He did not push the issue. Melanie was the love of his life, of this he was certain, but she was also a little mysterious and guarded. At times even evasive.
It came from her training at CIA, he was sure, and it only added to her allure.
When he just kept looking at her, not answering her question, she smiled behind her mug of coffee. “Gym or run, Jack?”
He shrugged. “Sixty degrees. No rain.”
Melanie nodded. “Run it is.” She put her mug down and stood to go back to the bedroom to change.
Jack watched her walk away, and then he called out from behind, “Actually, there
Melanie stopped, turned back to him. Now her lips formed a sly smile. “What might that be, Mr. Ryan?”
“Scientists say sex burns more calories than jogging. It’s better for the heart, too.”
Her eyebrows rose. “Scientists say this?”
He nodded. “They do.”
“There is always the risk of overtraining. Burning out.”
Ryan laughed. “No chance at all.”
“Well, then,” she said. Melanie opened her robe and let it fall to the hardwood floor, then turned and walked naked into the bedroom.
Jack took one last swig of coffee and rose to follow.
It was going to be a good day.
At seven-thirty Melanie was showered, dressed, and standing in the doorway of Jack’s apartment with her purse on her shoulder. Her long hair was back in a ponytail, and her sunglasses were high on her head. She kissed Jack good-bye, a long kiss that let him know that she did not want to leave and she could not wait to see him again, and then she headed up the hall to the elevator. Melanie had a long morning commute to McLean, Virginia. She was
