Debt of Honor - Tom Clancy [464]
"I'm just glad to be here," Ryan said to himself. "I just play them one game at a time. Isn't that what they tell rookie ballplayers to say?" he wondered aloud.
The 747 touched down even earlier than the pilot had promised, which was fine but wouldn't help on the connecting flight. The good news for the moment was that the first-class passengers got off first, and better still, a U.S. consular official met Clark and Chavez at the gate, whisking them through customs. Both men had slept on the flight, but their bodies were still out of synch with the local time. An aging Delta L-1011 lifted off two hours later, bound for Dulles International.
Captain Sato remained in his command seat. One problem with international air travel was the sameness of it all. This terminal could have been almost anywhere, except that all of the faces were gaijin. There would be a day-long layover before he flew back, doubtless full again of Japanese executives running away.
And this was the remainder of his life, ferrying people he didn't know to places he didn't care about. If only he'd stayed in the Self-Defense Forces maybe he would have done better, maybe it would have made a difference. He was the best pilot in one of the world's best airlines, and those skills might have…but he'd never know, would he, and he'd never make a difference, just one more captain of one more aircraft, flying people to and from a nation that had forfeited its honor. Well. He climbed out of his scat, collected his flight charts and other necessary papers, tucked them in his carry-bag and headed out of the aircraft. The gate was empty now, and he was able to walk down the bustling but anonymous terminal. He saw a copy of USA Today at a shop and picked it up, scanning the front page, seeing the pictures there.
Tonight at nine o'clock? It all came together at that moment, really just an equation of speed and distance.
Sato looked around once more, then headed off to the airport administrative office. He needed a weather map. He already knew the timing.
"One thing I'd like to fix," Jack said, more at ease than ever in the Oval Office.
"What's that?"
"A CIA officer. He needs a pardon."
"What for?" Durling asked, wondering if a sandbag was descending toward his own head.
"Murder," Ryan replied honestly. "As luck would have it, my father worked the case back when I was in college. The people he killed had it coming—"
"Not a good way to look at things. Even if they did."
"They did." The Vice President-designate explained for two or three minutes. The magic word was "drugs," and soon enough the President nodded.
"And since then?"
"One of the best field officers we've ever had. He's the guy who bagged Qati and Ghosn in Mexico City."
"Thai's the guy?"
"Yes, sir. He deserves to get his name back."
"Okay. I'll call the Attorney General and see if we can do it quietly. Any other favors that you need taken care of?" the President asked. "You know, you're picking this political stuff up pretty fast for an amateur. Nice job with the media this morning, by the way."
Ryan nodded at the compliment. "Admiral Jackson. He did a nice job, too, but I suppose the Navy will take good care of him."
"A little presidential attention never hurt any officer's career. I want to meet him anyway. You're right, though. flying into the islands to meet with them was a very astute move."
"No losses," Chambers said, and a lot of kills. Why didn't he feel good about that?
"The subs that killed Charlotte and Asheville?" Jones asked.
"We'll ask when the time comes, but probably at least one of them." The judgment was statistical but likely.
"Ron, good job," Mancuso said.
Jones stubbed out his cigarette. Now he'd have to break the habit again. And now, also, he understood what war was, and thanked God that he'd never