Executive orders - Tom Clancy [109]
Call it fifteen minutes.
I'll be back in three hours, Weston promised, and stood. Ryan nodded, and she walked out of the room. Then the President looked at Agent Price.
Spit it out, he ordered.
She's the biggest pain in the ass over there. Last year she attacked some junior staffer over something. A guard had to pull her off him.
Over what?
The staffer said some nasty things about one of her speeches, and speculated that her family background was irregular. He left the next day. No loss, Price concluded. But she's an arrogant prima donna. She shouldn't have said what she did.
What if she's right?
Sir, that's not my business, but any-
Is she right?
You are different, Mr. President. Price didn't say whether she thought that was a good or bad thing, and Ryan didn't ask.
The President had other things to do in any case. He lifted his desk phone, and a secretary answered.
Could you get me George Winston at the Columbus Group?
Yes, Mr. President, I'll get him for you. She didn't have that number immediately to mind, and so she lifted another phone for the Signals Office. Down there a Navy petty officer had the number on a Post-It note, and read it off. A moment later he handed the Post-It to the Marine in the next chair over. The Marine fished in her purse, found four quarters, and handed them over to the smirking squid.
Mr. President, I have Mr. Winston, the intercom phone said.
George?
Yes, sir.
How fast can you get down here?
Jack-Mr. President, I'm trying to put my business back together and-
How fast? Ryan asked more pointedly.
Winston had to think for a second. His Gulfstream crew wasn't standing by for anything today. Getting to Newark Airport I can catch the next train.
Let me know which-one you're on. I'll have someone waiting for you.
Okay, but you need to know that I can't-
Yes, you can. See you in a few hours. Ryan hung up, then looked up to Price. Andrea, have an agent and a car meet him at the station.
Yes, Mr. President.
Ryan decided that it was nice to give orders and have them carried out. A man could get used to this.
I DON'T LIKE guns! She said it loudly enough that a few heads turned, though the kids immediately turned back to their blocks and crayons. There was an unusual number of adults around, three of whom had spiraling cords leading to earpieces. Those heads all turned to see a concerned (that was the word everyone used in such a case) mother. As head of this detail, Don Russell walked over.
Hello. He held up his Secret Service ID. Can I help you?
Do you have to be here!
Yes, ma'am, we do. Could I have your name, please?
Why? Sheila Walker demanded.
Well, ma'am, it's nice to know who you're talking to, isn't it? Russell asked reasonably. It was also nice to get background checks on such people.
This is Mrs. Walker, said Mrs. Marlene Daggett, owner-operator of Giant Steps Day Care Center.
Oh, that's your little boy over there, Justin, right? Russell smiled. The four-year-old was building a tower with hardwood blocks, which he would then tip over, to the general amusement of the room.
I just don't like guns, and I don't like them around children.
Mrs. Walker, first of all, we're cops. We know how to carry our firearms safely. Second, our regulations require us to be armed at all times. Third, I wish you would look at it this way: your son is as safe here with us as he's ever going to be. You'll never have to worry about having somebody come over and steal a kid off the playground outside, for example.
Why does she have to be here?
Russell smiled reasonably. Mrs. Walker, Katie over there didn't become President. Her father did. Isn't she entitled to a normal kid's life, just like your Justin?
But it's dangerous and-
Not while we're around, it isn't, he assured her. She just turned away.
Justin! Her son turned to see his mother holding his jacket. He paused for a second, and with one finger pushed the blocks a fraction of an inch, waiting for the four-foot pile to teeter over like a falling tree.
Budding