Executive orders - Tom Clancy [171]
IT WAS ROUTINE enough by now that Ryan was becoming used to it, at home with it, even comfortable with the discreet knock on the door, more startling in its way than the clock-radio which had begun his days for twenty years. Instead his eyes opened at the muted knock, and he rose, put on his robe, walked the twenty feet from the bed to the door, and got his paper, along with a few sheets of his daily schedule. Next, he headed to the bathroom, and then to the sitting room adjoining the presidential bedroom, while his wife, a few minutes behind him, started her wake-up routine.
Jack missed the normality of merely reading the paper. Though it wasn't nearly as good-usually-as the intelligence documents waiting on the table for him, the Washington Post also covered things whose interest was not strictly governmental, and so was fuel for his normal desire to keep abreast of things. But the first order of business was a SNIE, an urgent official document stapled inside a manila folder. Ryan rubbed his eyes before reading it.
Damn. Well, it could have been worse, the President told himself. At least this time they hadn't awakened him to let him know about something he couldn't change. He checked the schedule. Okay, Scott Adler would be in to discuss that one, along with that Vasco guy. Good. Vasco seemed to know his stuff. Who else today? He skimmed down the page. Sergey Golovko? Was that today? Good luck for a change. Brief press conference to announce Tony Bretano's appointment as SecDef, with a list of possible questions to worry about, and instructions from Arnie-ignore the Kealty question as much as possible. Let Kealty and his allegations die from apathy-oh, yeah, that's a good one-liner! Jack coughed as he poured some coffee-getting himself the right to do that alone had entailed direct orders; he hoped the Navy mess stewards didn't take it as a personal insult, but Ryan was used to doing some things for himself. Under the current arrangement, the stewards set up breakfast in the room and let the Ryans serve themselves, while others hovered in the corridor outside.
Morning, Jack. Cathy's head appeared in his view. He kissed her lips and smiled.
Morning, honey.
Is the world still out there? she asked, getting her own coffee. That told the President that the First Lady wasn't operating today. She never touched coffee on a surgery day, saying that she couldn't risk the slight tremor that caffeine might impart to her hands when she was carving up somebody's eyeball. The image always made him shudder, even though she mainly operated with lasers now.
Looks like the Iraqi government is falling.
A female snort. Didn't that happen last week?
That was act one. This is act three. Or maybe act four. He wondered what act five would be.
Important? Jack also heard the toast go down.
Could be. What's your day like?
Clinic and follow-ups, budget meeting with Bernie.
Hmph. Jack next started looking at the Early Bird, a collection of government-edited clippings from the major papers. Cathy appeared again in his peripheral vision, as she looked at his office schedule.
Golovko ? Didn't I meet him in Moscow-he's the one who joked about having a gun on you!
Wasn't a joke, Ryan told his wife. It really happened.
Come on!
He said later that the gun wasn't loaded. Jack wondered if that was true. Probably, he thought.
But he was telling the truth? she asked incredulously.
The President looked up and smiled. Amazing, he thought, that it seemed funny now. He was very pissed