Executive orders - Tom Clancy [426]
How so?
Playing by a given set of rules is all well and good, as long as everybody plays by the same rules, but playing by a known set of rules when the other guy doesn't just makes us an easy mark, Ryan speculated. On the other hand, if somebody else breaks the rules and then we break them, too, maybe in a different way, but break them even so, it gives him something to think about. You want to be predictable to your friends, yes, but what your enemy needs to predict is that messing with you gets him hurt. How hurt he gets, that part we make unpredictable.
Not without merit, Mr. President. Sounds like a nice subject for a weekend up at Camp David. Both men stopped talking when the helicopter came down on the pad. There's my driver. Got your statement?
Yeah, and about as dramatic as a weather report on a sunny day.
That's how the game is played, Jack, Adler pointed out. He reflected that Ryan was hearing a lot of that song. No wonder he was bridling at it.
I've never run across a game where they never change the rules. Baseball went to a designated hitter to liven things up, POTUS remarked casually.
Designated hitter, SecState wondered on his way out the door. Great choice of words
FIFTEEN MINUTES LATER, Ryan watched the helicopter lift off. He'd done the handshake for the cameras, made his brief statement for the cameras, looked serious but upbeat for the cameras. Maybe C-SPAN had covered it live, but nobody else would. Were it to be a slow news day-Friday in Washington often was-it might get a minute and a half on one or two of the evening news shows. More likely not. Friday was their day to summarize the week's events, recognize some person or other for doing something or other, and toss in a fluff story.
Mr. President! Jack turned to see TRADER, his Secretary of the Treasury, walking over a few minutes early.
Hi, George.
That tunnel between here and my building?
What about it?
I took a look at it this morning. It's a real mess. You have any beefs about cleaning it up? Winston asked.
George, that's a Secret Service function, and you own them, remember?
Yeah, I know, but it does come to your house, and so I thought I ought to ask. Okay, I'll get it taken care of. Might be nice for when it rains.
How's the tax plan coming? Ryan asked, on his way to the door. An agent yanked it open and held it for him. Such things still made Jack uncomfortable. A man had to do some things for himself.
We'll have the computer models done next week. I really want the case tight on this one, revenue-neutral, easier on the little guy, fair on the big guy, and I have my people jumping through hoops on the administrative savings. Jesus, Jack, was I wrong about that!
What do you mean? They turned the corner for the Oval Office.
I thought I was the only guy pissing money away to work the tax code. Everybody does. It's a huge industry. It'll put a lot of people out of work-
I'm supposed to be happy about that?
They'll all find honest work, except for the lawyers, maybe. And we'll save the taxpayers a few billion dollars by giving them a tax form they can figure out from fourth-grade math. Mr. President, the government doesn't insist that people buy buggy whips, does it?
Ryan told his secretary to call Arnie in. He'd want a little political guidance on the ramifications of George's plan.
YES, ADMIRAL?
You asked for a report on the Eisenhower group, Jackson said, walking to the large wall map and consulting a slip of paper. They're right here, making good speed. Then Robby's pager started vibrating in his pocket. He pulled it out and checked the number. His eyebrows went up. Sir, do you mind ?
Go ahead, Secretary Bretano said. Jackson took the phone on the other side of the room, dialing five digits. J-3 here oh? Where are they? Then let's find out, shall we, Commander? Correct. He put the phone back. That was the NMCC. The NRO reports that the Indian navy's missing-their two carriers, that is.
What does that mean, Admiral?
Robby walked back