Executive orders - Tom Clancy [127]
It was in Jim Greer's personal files. They were sort of conveyed to me a few years ago. My father worked the case, I remember it well. All those women who were murdered. I remember how twisted he was about it, and how happy he was to put it behind him. He never really talked about that one, but I knew how he felt about it. Jack looked down into his drink, swirling the ice around the glass. If you want a good guess, I think he'd be happy about this, and I think he'd be happy to know you didn't go down with the ship.
Jesus, Jack I mean Jesus.
You deserve to have your name back. I can't condone the things you did. I'm not allowed to think that way now, am I? Maybe as a private citizen I could-but you deserve your name back, Mr. Kelly.
Thank you, sir.
Chavez wondered what it was all about. He remembered that guy on Saipan, the retired Coast Guard chief, and a few words about killing people. Well, he knew Mr. C. didn't faint at the thought, but this story must be a good one.
Anything else? Jack asked. I'd like to get back to my family before all the kids go to bed.
Plan Blue is approved, then?
Yes, it is, MP. As soon as Ed writes up a plan for implementing it.
I'll have him heading back as soon as they can light up his airplane, MP promised.
Fine. Jack rose and headed for the door. His guests did the same.
Mr. President? It was Ding Chavez.
Ryan turned. Yeah?
What's going to happen with the primaries?
What do you mean?
I stopped over at school today, and Dr. Alpher told me that all of the serious candidates in both parties were killed last week, and the filing deadlines for all the primaries have passed. Nobody new can file. We have an election year, and nobody's running. The press hasn't said much about that yet.
Even Agent Price blinked at that, but an instant later they all knew that it was true.
PARIS?
Professor Rousseau at the Pasteur Institute thinks he's developed a treatment. It's experimental, but it's the only chance she has.
They spoke in the corridor outside Sister Jean Baptiste's room, both wearing blue-plastic space suits and sweating inside of them despite the environmental-control packs that hung on the belts. Their patient was dying, and while that was bad enough, the manner of her protracted death would be horrid beyond words. Benedict Mkusa had been fortunate. For some reason or other, the Ebola had attacked his heart earlier than usual; it had been a rare act of mercy, which allowed the boy to expire much more quickly than usual. This patient wasn't quite so lucky. Blood tests showed that her liver was being attacked, but slowly. Heart enzymes were actually normal. Ebola was advancing within her body at a rapid but uniform rate. Her gastrointestinal system was quite literally coming apart. The resulting bleeding, both from vomiting and diarrhea, was serious, and the pain from it was intense, but the woman's body was fighting back as best it could in a valiant but doomed effort to save itself. The only reward for that struggle would be increasing pain, and already the morphine was losing its battle to stay ahead of the agony.
But how would we- She didn't have to go on. Air Afrique had the only regular service to Paris, but neither that carrier nor any other would transport an Ebola patient, for the obvious reasons. All of this suited Dr. Moudi just fine.
I can arrange transport. I come from a wealthy family. I can have a private jet come in and fly us to Paris. It's easier to take all of the necessary precautions that way.
I don't know. I'll have to- Maria Magdalena hesitated.
I will not lie to you, Sister. She will probably die in any case, but if there is any chance, it is with Professor Rousseau. I studied under him, and if he says he has something, then he does. Let me call for the aircraft, he insisted.
I cannot say no to that, but I must-
I understand.
THE AIRCRAFT IN question was a Gulfstream G-IV, and it was just landing at Rashid Airfield, located to the east of a wide meandering loop of the River Tigris, known