Dead or Alive - Tom Clancy [136]
They found Ryan tapping on his keyboard with strokes heavy enough to kill one every two years or so. Ryan looked up as they entered.
“Heavy thoughts, Mr. President?” Clark asked with a smile.
“Hey, John! Howdy, Ding. Welcome!” Steps were taken and handshakes exchanged. “Sit down and take a load off,” Jack commanded, and his orders were followed. Old friend or not, he was a former President of the United States, and they’d both worn uniforms in the not-so-distant past.
“Glad to see you’re in one piece,” Clark said.
“What, Georgetown?” Ryan shook his head. “Not even a close call. Andrea dropped him as pretty as you please. With a tip-off from Jack, that is.”
“Come again?”
“He was there. He gave Andrea the nod. He spotted something about the janitor that didn’t sit right.”
“Such as?” asked Clark.
“He was using a screwdriver on a buffer; should have had a crescent.”
“Sharp kid,” Chavez observed. “Gotta make Dad proud.”
“Bet yer ass,” former President Ryan said, not hiding it. “Want some coffee?”
“That’s one thing they don’t do well in England, sir,” Chavez said in agreement. “They got Starbucks, but that doesn’t quite do it for me.”
“I’ll fix you up. Come on.” He rose and walked down to the kitchen, where there was a pot full of Kona and mugs close by. “So how was life in Britain?”
“Good people. Our base was out near the Welsh border—nice people out there, good pubs, and the local food was pretty good. I especially like their bread,” Clark reported. “But they think corned beef is something that comes out of a can.”
Ryan laughed. “Yeah, dog food. I worked in London nearly three years, and I never found decent corned beef. They call it ‘salt beef,’ but it isn’t quite the same. Rotated out of Rainbow, huh?”
“I guess we just wore out our welcome,” Clark said.
“Who’d you leave behind?” President Ryan asked.
“Two go-teams, all trained up, about half SAS members from the British Army. They’re pretty good,” Clark assured him. “But the other European contingents are backing off. Too bad. Some of them were ace operators. The intel backup is also pretty well up to snuff. Rainbow will still work, if they let it. But the local—by which I mean mainly European—bureaucrats, they kinda wet their pants when my boys deploy.”
“Yeah, well, we have them here, too,” Ryan replied. “Kinda makes you wonder where Wyatt Earp went to.”
That got a chuckle from his guests.
“What’s SHORTSTOP doing now?” Clark asked. It was a natural question to ask among friends who’d been apart; failing to ask would have been noted.
“Trading business, like I did. I haven’t even asked where. Having a President for a father can be disabling at his age, y’know?”
“Especially the chase cars on a date,” Chavez suggested with a grin. “Not sure I would have liked that.”
They spent ten minutes chatting and catching up on their respective families, on sports, and on the general state of the world, then Ryan said, “What are you guys going to do? I imagine CIA has suggested you both retire. If you need a letter of reference, let me know. You’ve both served your country well.”
“That’s one of the things we wanted to talk to you about,” Clark said. “We ran into Jimmy Hardesty at Langley, and he put us in touch with Tom Davis.”
“Oh?” Ryan said, setting his cup down.
Clark nodded. “They offered us a job.”
Former President Ryan considered this for a moment. “Well, it’s not like I hadn’t bounced that around in my head before. You two are suited for it, no doubt about that. What’d you think of the setup?”
“Good. Some growing pains going on, I think, but that’s to be expected.”
“Gerry Hendley’s a good guy. I wouldn’t have signed off on it otherwise. You know about the pardons?”
Chavez answered that one. “Yeah, thanks in advance. Pray we won’t need one, but nice to know they’re there.”
Ryan nodded. “How’s lunch grab you?”
And thus endeth the conversation, Clark noted. Brainchild of Ryan’s or not, The Campus was something best kept at arm’s length.
“Thought you’d never ask,” Clark said, not missing a beat. “Can I