Clear and present danger - Tom Clancy [319]
"Then you look me straight in the eye and tell me it's all legitimate. I'm supposed to know. I have a right to know." Ritter looked to Judge Moore.
"I wish we were able to let you in on this, Dr. Ryan," the DCI said. He tried to bring his eyes up to meet Jack's, but they wavered and fixed on a spot of wall. "But I have to follow orders, too."
"Okay. I've got some leave coming. I want to think a few things over. My work is all caught up. I'm out of here for a few days, starting in an hour."
"The funeral's tomorrow, Jack."
"I know. I'll be there, Judge," Ryan lied. Then he left the room.
"He knows," Moore said after the door closed.
"No way."
"He knows and he wants to be out of the office."
"So what do we do about it if you're right?"
The Director of Central Intelligence looked up this time. "Nothing. That's the best thing we can do right now."
That was clear. Cutter had done better than he knew. In destroying the radio encryption codes needed to communicate with the four teams, KNIFE, BANNER, FEATURE, and OMEN, he'd eliminated the Agency's ability to affect the turn of events. Neither Ritter nor Moore really expected the National Security Adviser to get the men out, but they had no alternative that would not damage themselves, the Agency, and their President - and, incidentally, their country. If Ryan wanted out of the way if things came apart - well, Moore thought, maybe he had sensed something. The DCI didn't blame him for wanting to stay clear.
There were still things he had to tie up, of course. Ryan left the building just after eleven that morning. He had a car phone in his Jaguar and placed a call to a Pentagon number. "Captain Jackson, please," he said when it was picked up. "Jack Ryan calling." Robby picked up a few seconds later.
"Hey, Jack!"
"How's lunch grab you?"
"Fine with me. My place or yours, boy?"
"You know Artie's Deli?"
"K Street at the river. Yeah."
"Be there in half an hour."
"Right."
Robby spotted his friend at a corner table and came right over. There was already a place set for him, and another man was at the table.
"I hope you like corned beef," Jack said. He waved to the other man. "This is Dan Murray."
"The Bureau guy?" Robby asked as they shook hands.
"Correct, Captain. I'm a deputy assistant director."
"Doing what?"
"Well, I'm supposed to be in the Criminal Division, but ever since I got back I've been stuck supervising two major cases. You ought to be able to guess which ones they are."
"Oh." Robby started working on his sandwich.
"We need some help, Rob," Jack said.
"Like what?"
"Like we need you to get us somewhere quietly."
"Where?"
"Hurlburt Field. That's part of -"
"Eglin, I know. Hurlburt's where the Special Operations Wing works out of; it's right next to P-cola. Whole lot of people been borrowing Navy airplanes lately. The boss doesn't like it."
"You can tell him about this," Murray said. "Just so it doesn't leave his office. We're trying to clean something up."
"What?"
"I can't say, Rob," Jack replied. "But part of it is what you brought to me. It's a worse mess than you think. We have to move real fast, and nobody can know about it. We just need a discreet taxi service for the moment."
"I can do that, but I want to clear it with Admiral Painter."
"Then what?"
"Meet me at Pax River at two o'clock, down the hill at Strike. Hell, I've wanted to do a little proficiency flying anyway."
"Might as well finish your lunch."
Jackson left them five minutes later. Ryan and Murray did the same, driving to the latter's house. Here Jack made a phone call to his wife, telling her that he had to be out of town for a few days and not to worry. They drove away in Ryan's car.
Patuxent River Naval Air Test Center is located about an hour's drive from Washington, on the western shore of the Chesapeake Bay. Formerly one of the nicer plantations of antebellum Maryland, it was now the Navy's primary flight-test and evaluation center, fulfilling most of the functions of the better-known Edwards Air Force Base in California. It is the home of the Navy's Test Pilot