Executive orders - Tom Clancy [126]
Start making your calls, Edward J. Kealty ordered.
MR. PRESIDENT. The chief usher presented a silver tray with a drink on it. Ryan took it and sipped his sherry.
Thanks.
Mr. President, finally-
Mary Pat, how long have we known each other? It seemed to Ryan that he was always saying this.
At least ten years, Mrs. Foley replied.
New presidential rule, executive order, even: after hours, when we're serving drinks, my name is Jack.
Muy bien, jefe, Chavez observed, humorously but with a guarded look.
Iraq? Ryan asked curtly.
Quiet but very tense, Mary Pat replied. We're not hearing much, but what we are getting is that the country's under lock-down. The army is in the streets, and the people are in their homes watching TV. The funeral for our friend will be tomorrow. After that, we don't know yet. We have one fairly well-placed agent in Iran, he's on the political beat. The assassination came as a total surprise, and he's not hearing anything, aside from the expected praise to Allah for taking our friend back.
Assuming God wants him. It was a beautiful job, Clark said next, speaking from authority. Fairly typical in a cultural sense. One martyr, sacrificing himself and all that. Getting him inside must have taken years, but our friend Daryaei is a patient sort. Well, you've met him. You tell us, Jack.
Angriest eyes I ever saw, Ryan said quietly, sipping his drink. That man knows how to hate.
He's going to make a move, sure as hell. Clark had a Wild Turkey and water. The Saudis must be a little tense about this.
That's putting it mildly, Mary Pat said. Ed's staying over for a few days, and that's what he's getting. They've increased the readiness state of their military.
And that's all we've got, President Ryan summarized.
For all practical purposes, yes. We're getting a lot of SigInt out of Iraq, and what we're getting is predictable. The lid is screwed down tight, but the pot's boiling underneath. It has to be. We've increased coverage with the satellites, of course-
Okay, Mary Pat, give me your speech, Jack ordered. He didn't want to hear about satellite photos right now.
I want to increase my directorate.
How much? Then he watched her take a deep breath. It was unusual to see Mary Patricia Foley tense about anything.
Triple. We have a total of six hundred fifty-seven field officers. I want to jack that number up to two thousand over the next three years. She delivered the words in a rush, watching Ryan's face for a reaction.
Approved, if you can figure a payroll-neutral way to bring it off.
That's easy, Jack, Clark observed with a chuckle. Fire two thousand desk weenies, and you still save money.
They're people with families, John, the President told him.
The Directorates of Intelligence and Administration are featherbedded all to hell and gone. You've been there. You know that. It's worth doing just to ease the parking situation. Early retirement will handle most of it.
Ryan thought that one over for a second. I need somebody to swing the axe. MP, can you handle being under Ed again?
It's the usual position, Jack, Mrs. Foley replied with a twinkle in her fey blue eyes. Ed's better at administration than I am, but I was always better in the street.
Plan Blue?
Clark answered that. Yes, sir. I want us to go after cops, young detectives, regular blue-suits. You know why. They're largely pre-trained. They have street smarts.
Ryan nodded. Okay. Mary Pat, next week I'm going to accept with regret the resignation letter of the DCI and appoint Ed in his place. Have him present me with a plan for increasing the DO and decreasing the DI and DA. I will approve that in due course.
Great! Mrs. Foley toasted her Commander-in-Chief with her wineglass.
There's one other thing. John?
Yes, sir?
When Roger asked me to step up, I had a request for him.
What's that?
I'm going to issue a presidential pardon for a gentleman named John T. Kelly. That will be done this year. You should have told me that Dad worked your case.
For the first time