Executive orders - Tom Clancy [442]
SUNSET COMES QUICKLY. By the time they started circling at Camp David, the ground was an undulating shadow punctuated by the stationary lights of private homes and the moving lights of automobiles. The helicopter descended slowly, flared out fifty feet above the ground, then settled vertically for a whisper-soft landing. There were few lights beyond the square landing pad's perimeter. When the crew chief opened the door, Raman and the other agent stepped down first. The President undid his lap belt and walked forward. He stopped just behind the flight crew, tapping the pilot on the shoulder.
Thanks, Colonel.
You have a lot of friends, Mr. President. We're here when you need us, Goodman told his Commander-in-Chief.
Jack nodded, went down the steps, and beyond the lights he saw the spectral outlines of Marine riflemen in camouflaged utilities.
Welcome to Camp David, sir. It was a Marine captain.
Jack turned to help his wife down. Sally led Katie down. Little Jack came out last. It hit Ryan that his son was almost as tall as his mother now. He might have to call his son something else.
Cathy looked around nervously. The captain saw it.
Ma'am, there's sixty Marines out there, he assured her. He didn't have to add what they were there for. He didn't have to tell the President how alert they were.
Where? Little Jack asked, looking and seeing nothing.
Try this. The captain handed over his PVS-7 night-vision goggles. SHORTSTOP held them to his eyes.
Cool! His arm reached out, pointing to those he could see. Then he lowered the goggles, and the Marines turned invisible again.
They're great for spotting deer, and there's a bear that wanders on and off the grounds every so often. We call him Yogi. Captain Larry Overton, USMC, congratulated himself for calming them down, and led them toward the HMMWVs that would transport them to quarters. Yogi, he'd explain later, had a radio collar on so that he wouldn't surprise anybody, least of all a Marine with a loaded rifle.
The quarters at Camp David appeared rustic, and truly were not anywhere near as plush as those in the White House, but could accurately be described as the sort of hideaway a millionaire might set up for himself outside Aspen-in fact, Presidential Quarters are officially known as Aspen Cottage. Maintained by Naval Surface Detachment, Thurmont (Maryland), and guarded by a short company of handpicked Marines, the compound was as remote and secure a location as anything within a hundred miles of Washington could possibly be. There were Marines at the presidential cabin to let them in, and inside were sailors to guide each to a private bedroom. Outside were twelve additional cottages, and the closer you were to Aspen, of course, the more important you were.
What's for dinner? Jack Junior asked.
Just about anything you want, a Navy chief steward replied.
Jack turned to Cathy. She nodded. This would be a whatever-you-want night. The President took off his jacket and tie. A steward darted up to collect them. The food is great here, Mr. President, he promised.
That's a fact, sir, the chief confirmed. We have a deal with some local folks. Fresh everything, right off the farm. Can I get you something to drink? he asked hopefully.
That sounds like a great plan, chief. Cathy?
White wine? she asked, the stress bleeding off her, finally.
We have a pretty good selection, ma'am. For domestic, how about a Chateau Ste. Michelle reserve Chardonnay? It's a 1991 vintage, and about as good as a Chardonnay gets.
You're a Navy chief? POTUS asked.
Yes, sir. I used to take care of admirals, but I got promoted, and if I may say so, sir, I do know my wines.
Ryan held up two fingers. The chief nodded and went out the door.
This is insane, Cathy said after he left.
Don't knock it. While they