Executive orders - Tom Clancy [82]
SWORDSMAN and party are moving from the residence to the State Floor.
Roger, another agent responded from downstairs.
They could hear the noise even before making the last turn on the marble steps. Russell set Katie Ryan on the floor next to her mother. The agents faded away, becoming strangely invisible as the Ryans, the First Family, walked into the East Room.
Ladies and gentlemen, a staff member announced, the President of the United States, Dr. Ryan, and family. Heads turned. There was a brief wave of applause which quickly faded, but the looks continued. They appeared friendly enough, Jack thought, knowing that not all were. He and Cathy moved a little to the left, and formed the receiving line.
They came mainly one by one, though some of the visiting chiefs of state had brought wives. A protocol officer at Ryan's left whispered the name of each into his ear, making Jack wonder how she knew all of these people by sight. The procession to him wasn't quite as haphazard as it appeared. The ambassadors representing countries whose heads had chosen not to make the trip held back, but even those, standing about in little knots of associates and sipping at their Perrier-with-a-twist, didn't hide their professional curiosity, checking out the new President and the way he greeted the men and women who came up to him.
The Prime Minister of Belgium, M. Arnaud, the protocol officer whispered. The official photographer started clicking away to record every official greeting, and two TV cameras were doing the same, albeit more quietly.
Your telegram was very gracious, Mr. Prime Minister, and it came at a sensitive moment, Ryan said, wondering if the truth sounded good enough, wondering if Arnaud had even read it-well, of course he had, though he probably hadn't drafted it.
Your talk to the children was very moving. I'm sure everyone here thinks the same, the P.M. replied, gripping Ryan's hand, testing it for firmness, looking hard and deep into his eyes, and rather pleased with himself for the very skilled mendacity of his greeting. For all that, he had read the telegram and pronounced it fitting, and was gratified at hearing Ryan's reaction to it. Belgium was an ally, and Arnaud had been well briefed by the chief of his country's military-intelligence service, who'd worked with Ryan at several NATO conferences, and always liked the American's read on the Soviets-and now, the Russians. An unknown quantity as a political leader, the gist of the briefing had been, but a bright and capable analyst. Arnaud did his own reading now, first in line mainly by accident, by grip and look and many years of experience in such things. Then he moved on.
Dr. Ryan, I have heard so much about you. He kissed her hand in a very graceful Continental way. He hadn't been told how attractive the new First Lady was, and how dainty her hands were. Well, she was a surgeon, wasn't she? New to the game and uncomfortable with it, but playing along as she had to.
Thank you, Prime Minister Arnaud, Cathy replied, informed by her own protocol officer (this one was just behind her) who this gentleman was. The hand business, she thought, was very theatrical but nice.
Your children are angels.
How nice of you to say that. And he moved on, to be replaced by the President of Mexico.
News cameras floated around the room, along with fifteen reporters, because this was a working function of sorts. The piano in the room's northeast corner played some light classical-not quite what on the radio was called easy listening, but close.
And how long have you known the President? The question came from the Prime Minister of Kenya, pleased to find a black admiral in the room.
We go back quite a ways, sir, Robby Jackson replied.
Robby! Excuse me, Admiral Jackson, the Prince of Wales corrected himself.
Captain. Jackson shook his hand warmly. It's been a while, sir.
You two know-ah! Yes! the Kenyan realized. Then he saw his counterpart from Tanzania and moved off to conduct business, leaving the two alone.
How