Executive orders - Tom Clancy [58]
Price came back in. Dr. Ryan? she said. And, of course, both heads turned. They could see it on her face. The most basic of issues hadn't been discussed yet. Did they call her Doctor Ryan, Missus Ryan, or-
Make it easier on everyone, okay? Call me Cathy.
Price couldn't do that, but she let it slide for the moment. Until we figure things out, we'll fly you there. The Marines have a helicopter on the way here.
Isn't that expensive? Cathy asked.
Yes, it is, but we have to figure out procedures and things, and for the moment this is the easiest thing to do. Also-a very large man came into the room-this is Roy Altman. He'll be your principal agent for a while.
Oh, was all Cathy was able to say at the moment. Six feet three and 220 pounds of Roy Altman came into the room. He had thinning blond hair, pale skin, and a sheepish expression that made him seem embarrassed by his bulk. Like all Secret Service agents, his suit coat was cut a little big to help conceal his service automatic, and in his particular case hiding a machine gun would have been fairly easy. Altman came over to shake her hand, which he did with considerable delicacy.
Ma'am, you know what my job is. I'll try to keep as much out of the way as possible. Two more people came into the room. Altman introduced them as the rest of her Detail for the day. All of them were temporary. They all had to get along with their principal, and that wasn't all so easy to predict, even with amiable principals, as all the Ryans seemed thus far to be.
Cathy was tempted to ask if all this was really necessary, but she knew better. On the other hand, how would she shepherd this mob around the Maumenee Building? She traded a look with her husband, and reminded herself that they would not be in this unhappy predicament had she not agreed to Jack's elevation to the vice presidency, which had lasted all of-what? Five minutes? Maybe not even that long. Just then came the roar of the Sikorsky Black Hawk helicopter, landing up the hill from the house and creating a mini-blizzard on what had once been the site of a small astronomical observatory. Her husband looked at his watch and realized that the Marines of VMH-1 were indeed operating off a short fuse. How long, he wondered, before the smothering attention drove them all mad?
* * *
6 - I
THIS SHOT IS live from the grounds of the Naval Observatory on Massachusetts Avenue, the NBC reporter said, cued by the director. That looks like one of the Marine helicopters. I suppose the President is going somewhere. The camera zoomed in as the snow cloud settled down somewhat.
An American Black Hawk, extensively modified, the intelligence officer said. See there? That's a 'Black Hole' infrared suppression system to protect against ground-to-air missiles that track engine heat.
How effective?
Very, but not against laser-guided weapons, he added. Nor is it useful against guns. No sooner had the aircraft's main rotor stopped turning than a squad of Marines surrounded it. I need a map of the area. Wherever that camera is, a mortar would also be effective. The same is true of the White House grounds, of course. And anybody, they knew, could use a mortar, all the more so with the new laser-guided rounds first developed by the British and soon thereafter copied by the rest of the world. In a way it was the Americans who showed the way. It was their aphorism, after all: If you can see it, you can hit it. If you can hit it, you can kill it. And everyone inside of it, whatever it might be.
With that thought, a plan began to form. He checked his watch, which had a stop-watch function button, placing his finger there and waiting. The TV director, six thousand miles away, had nothing better to do than keep on that long-lens camera. Presently, a large vehicle approached the helicopter, and four people got out. They walked right to the aircraft, whose crewman held the sliding door open.
That's Mrs. Ryan, the commentator said. She's