Executive orders - Tom Clancy [223]
The Indian Prime Minister was cordial. She'd met Daryaei before at a regional trade conference and found him withdrawn and misanthropic. That, she saw, had not changed very much.
Last to arrive was Zhang Han San, whom the Indian had met as well. He was a rotund, seemingly jolly man-until one watched his eyes closely. Even his jokes were told with an aim to learn something of his companions. Of the three, he was the only one whose job was not really known to the others. It was clear, however, that he spoke with authority, and since his country was the most powerful of the three, it was not regarded as an insult that a mere minister-without-portfolio was treating with chiefs of state. The meeting was conducted in English, except for Zhang's dismissal of the general officer who'd handled the greetings.
Please forgive me for not being here when you arrived. The irregularity in protocol is sincerely regretted. Tea was served, along with some light snacks. There hadn't been time to prepare a proper meal, either.
Not at all, Daryaei responded. Speed makes for inconvenience. For myself, I am most grateful for your willingness to meet under such special circumstances. He turned. And to you, Madam Prime Minister, for joining us. God's blessing on this meeting, he concluded.
My congratulations on developments in Iraq, Zhang said, wondering if the agenda was now entirely in Daryaei's hands, so skillfully had he posed the fact that he'd convened the assembly. It must be very satisfying after so many years of discord between your two nations.
Yes, India thought, sipping her tea. So clever of you to murder the man in such a timely fashion. So how may we be of service? she asked, thus giving Daryaei and Iran the floor, to the impassive annoyance of China.
You've met this Ryan recently. I am interested in your impressions.
A small man in a large job, she replied at once. The speech he gave at the funeral, for example. It would have been better suited to a private family ceremony. For a President, bigger things are expected. At the reception later, he seemed nervous and uneasy, and his wife is arrogant-a physician, you see. They often are.
I found him the same when we met, some years ago, Daryaei agreed.
And yet he controls a great country, Zhang observed.
Does he? Iran asked. Is America still great? For where comes the greatness of a nation, except in the strengths of its leaders? And that, the other two knew at once, was the agenda.
JESUS. RYAN WHISPERED to himself, this is a lonely place. The thought kept returning to him, all the more so when alone in this office with its curving walls and molded three-inch doors. He was using his reading glasses all the time now-Cathy's recommendation-but that merely slowed down the headaches. It wasn't as though he were a stranger to reading. Every job he'd held in the past fifteen years had required it, but the continual headaches were something new. Maybe he should talk to Cathy or another doc about it? No. Ryan shook his head. It was just job stress, and he just had to learn to deal with it.
Sure, it's just stress. And cancer is just a disease.
The current task was politics. He was reading over a position paper prepared by the political staffers across the street in the OEOB. It was a source of amusement, if not consolation, that they didn't know what to advise him.
Ryan had never belonged to a political party. He'd always registered himself as an independent, and that had managed to keep him from getting solicitation letters from the organized parties, though he and Cathy had always ticked the box on their tax returns to contribute their one dollar to the government slush