Debt of Honor - Tom Clancy [461]
"Tokikichi, you can't—"
"I must," It pained the General not to allow his…friend? No, they'd not been friends, not really. Even so it pained him not to allow Yamata to end his life by way of atonement, but the orders from the Prime Minister had been explicit on that score, and with that, he led the man from the building, off to the police station adjacent to his soon-to-be-vacated official quarters, where two men would keep an eye on him to prevent any attempt at suicide.
When the phone rang, it surprised everyone that it was the phone, and not Burroughs' satellite instrument. Isabel Oreza got it, expecting a call from work or something. Then she turned and called, "Mr. Clark?"
"Thank you." He look it. "Yes?"
"John. Mary Pal. Your mission is over. Come on home."
"Maintain cover?"
"Affirmative, good job, John. Tell Ding the same thing." The line went dead. The DDO had already violated security in a major way, but the call had taken only few seconds, and using the civilian line made it even more official than the covert sort could.
"What gives?" Portagee asked,
"We've just been ordered home."
"No shit?" Ding asked Clark handed the phone over.
"Call the airport. Tell them that we're accredited newsies and we might just get a priority." Clark turned "Portagee, could you do me a favor and forget you ever saw me?"
The signal was welcome though surprising. Tennessee immediately turned due east and increased speed to fifteen knots for the moment, staying deep. In the wardroom, the gathered officers were still joshing their Army guest, as was also happening with the enlisted men.
"We need a broom," the engineering officer said after some deep thought.
"Do we have one aboard?" Lieutenant Shaw asked.
"Every submarine is issued a broom, Mr. Shaw. You've been around long enough to know that," Commander Claggett observed with a wink.
"What are you guys talking about?" the Army officer asked. Were they jerking him around again?
"We took two shots and both were kills," the engineer explained. "That's a clean sweep, and that means when we enter Pearl, we have a broom tied to the number-one periscope. Tradition."
"You squids do the weirdest things," the lone man in green fatigues observed.
"Do we claim the helos?" Shaw asked his CO.
"We shot them down," the ground-pounder objected.
"But they flew off our deck!" the Lieutenant pointed out.
"Jesus!" All this over breakfast. What would the squids do for lunch?
The dinner was informal, up on the bedroom level of the White House, with what passed for a light buffet, albeit one cooked by a staff good enough to upgrade the rating of any restaurant in America.
"I understand congratulations are in order," Roger Durling said.
"Huh?" The National Security Advisor hadn't heard yet.
"Jack, I, uh, got the Lasker," Cathy said from her seat across the table.
"Well, that's two in your family who're the best around," Al Trent observed, saluting with his wineglass.
"And this one's for you. Jack," the President said, lifting his glass. "After all the grief I've gotten on foreign affairs, you've saved me, and you've saved a lot of other things. Well done, Mister Dr. Ryan."
Jack nodded at the toast, but this time he knew. He'd been around Washington long enough, finally, to hear the falling sandbag. The trouble was that he didn't know exactly why it was falling toward his head.
"Mr. President, the satisfaction comes from—well, from service, I guess. Thanks for trusting me. and thanks for putting up with me when I—"
"Jack, people like you, well, where would our country be?" Durling turned. "Cathy, do you know everything Jack has done over the years?"
"Jack? Tell me secrets?" She had a good laugh at that.
"Al?"
"Well, Cathy, it's time you learned," Trent observed, much to Jack's discomfort.
"There is one thing I've always wondered about," she said at once. "I mean, you two are so friendly, but the first time you two met several years ago, I—"
"The dinner, the