Executive orders - Tom Clancy [469]
Thank you, and God bless America, he concluded. The crowd stood and cheered. The band struck up. Ryan turned away from the armored podium to shake hands again with the local officials, and made his way off the stage, waving as he did so. Arnie was waiting behind the curtain.
For a phony, you still do pretty good. Ryan didn't have time to respond to that before Andrea came up.
FLASH-traffic waiting for you on the bird, sir. From Mr. Adler.
Okay, let's roll. Stay close, he told his principal agent on the way out the back.
Always, Price assured him.
Mr. President! a reporter shouted. There were a bunch of them. He was the loudest this morning. He was one of the NBC team. Ryan turned and stopped. Will you press Congress for a new gun-control law?
What for?
The attack on your daughter was-
Ryan held his hand up. Okay. As I understand it, the weapons used were of a type already illegal. I don't see how a new law would accomplish much, unfortunately.
But gun-control advocates say-
I know what they say. And now they're using an attack on my little girl, and the deaths of five superb Americans, to advance a political agenda of their own. What do you think of that? the President asked, turning away.
WHAT'S THE PROBLEM?
He described his symptoms. His family physician was an old friend. They even played golf together. It wasn't hard. At the end of every year, the Cobra representative had plenty of demonstrator clubs in nearly mint condition. Most were donated to youth programs or sold to country clubs as rental sticks. But some he could give to his friends, not to mention some Greg Norman autographs.
Well, you have a temperature, one hundred and three, and that's a little high. Your BP's one hundred over sixty-five, and that's a little low for you. Your color's rotten-
I know, I feel sick.
You are sick, but I wouldn't worry about it. Probably a flu bug you picked up in some bar, and all the air travel doesn't help much, either-and I've been telling you for years about cutting back on the booze. What happened is you picked something up, and other factors worsened it. Started Friday, right?
Thursday night, maybe Friday morning.
Played a round anyway?
Ended up with a snowman for my trouble, he admitted, meaning a score of 80.
I'd settle for that myself, healthy and stone-sober. The doctor had a handicap of twenty. You're over fifty and you can't wallow with the pigs at night and expect to soar with the eagles in the morning. Complete rest. A lot of liquids-non-alcoholic. Stay on the Tylenol.
No prescription?
The doc shook his head. Antibiotics don't work on viral infections. Your immune system has to handle those, and it will if you let it. But while you're here, I want to draw some blood. You're overdue for a cholesterol check. I'll send my nurse in. You have somebody here to drive you home?
Yeah. I didn't want to drive myself.
Good. Give it a few days. Cobra can do without you, and the golf courses will still be there when you feel better.
Thanks. He felt better already. You always did when the doc told you that you weren't going to die.
HERE YOU GO. Goodley handed the paper over. Few office buildings, even secure government ones, had the communications facilities that were shoehorned into the upper-level lounge area of the VC-25, whose call sign was Air Force One. Not bad news at all, Ben added.
SWORDSMAN skimmed it once, then sat down to read it more slowly. Okay, fine, he thinks he can defuse the situation, Ryan noted. But he still