service.”
“
M
URRAY
?”
“A policeman, supposed to be an expert on terrorism and espionage,” the intelligence officer replied.
“Hmm.” He went back to sipping his bittersweet coffee.
“W
HAT CAN YOU
tell us about preparation for—I mean, for the next several days?” the correspondent asked next.
“Barry, those plans are still being made. First and foremost, we have to let the FBI and other law-enforcement agencies do their job. There will be more information coming out later today, but it's been a long and difficult night for a lot of people.” The correspondent nodded at that, and decided it was time for a human-interest question.
“Where did you and your family sleep? I know it wasn't here.”
“The Marine Barracks, at Eighth and I,” Ryan answered.
“Oh, shit, Boss,” Andrea Price muttered, just outside the room. Some media people had found out, but the Service hadn't confirmed it to anyone, and most news organizations had reported that the Ryan family was at “an undisclosed location.” Well, they'd be sleeping somewhere else tonight. And the location would not be disclosed this time. Damn.
“Why there?”
“Well, it had to be somewhere, and that seemed convenient. I was a Marine myself once, Barry,” Jack said quietly.
“R
EMEMBER WHEN WE
blew them up?”
“A fine night.” The intelligence officer remembered watching through binoculars from the top of the Beirut Holiday Inn. He'd helped set that mission up. The only hard part, really, had been selecting the driver. There was an odd cachet about the American Marines, something seemingly mystical about them that this Ryan's nation clung to. But they died just like any other infidel. He wondered with amusement if there might be a large truck in
Washington
that one of his people might buy or lease. . .. He set the amusing thought aside. There was work to be done. It wasn't practical, anyway. He'd been to
Washington
more than once, and the Marine Barracks was one of the places he'd examined. It was too easily defended. Too bad, really. The political significance of the target made it highly attractive.
“N
OT SMART,” DING
observed over his morning coffee.
“Expect him to hide?”
Clark
asked.
“You know him, Daddy?” Patricia asked.
“Yes, as a matter of fact. Ding and I used to look after him back when we were SPOs. I knew his father, once. . .,” John added without thinking, which was very unusual for him.
“What's he like, Ding?” Patsy asked her fiancé, the ring still fresh on her finger.
“Pretty smart,” Chavez allowed. “Kinda quiet. Nice guy, always has a kind word. Well, usually.”
“He's been tough when he had to be,” John observed with an eye to his partner and soon-to-be son-in-law, which thought almost occasioned a chill. Then he saw the look in his daughter's eyes, and the chill became quite real. Damn.
“That's a fact,” the junior man agreed.
T
HE LIGHTS MADE HIM
sweat under his makeup, and Ryan fought the urge to scratch the itches on his face. He managed to keep his hands still, but his facial muscles began a series of minor twitches that he hoped the camera didn't catch.
“I'm afraid I can't say, Barry,” he went on, holding his hands tightly together. “It's just too soon to respond substantively to a lot of questions right now. When we're able to give hard answers, we will. Until then, we won't.”
“You have a big day ahead,” the CNN reporter said sympathetically.
“Barry, we all do.”
“Thank you, Mr. President.” He waited until the light went off and he heard a voice-over from the
Atlanta
headquarters before speaking again. “Good one. Thank you.”
Van Damm came in then, pushing Andrea Price aside as he did so. Few could touch a Secret Service agent without seriously adverse consequences, much less bustle one, but Arnie was one who
“
M
URRAY
?”
“A policeman, supposed to be an expert on terrorism and espionage,” the intelligence officer replied.
“Hmm.” He went back to sipping his bittersweet coffee.
“W
HAT CAN YOU
tell us about preparation for—I mean, for the next several days?” the correspondent asked next.
“Barry, those plans are still being made. First and foremost, we have to let the FBI and other law-enforcement agencies do their job. There will be more information coming out later today, but it's been a long and difficult night for a lot of people.” The correspondent nodded at that, and decided it was time for a human-interest question.
“Where did you and your family sleep? I know it wasn't here.”
“The Marine Barracks, at Eighth and I,” Ryan answered.
“Oh, shit, Boss,” Andrea Price muttered, just outside the room. Some media people had found out, but the Service hadn't confirmed it to anyone, and most news organizations had reported that the Ryan family was at “an undisclosed location.” Well, they'd be sleeping somewhere else tonight. And the location would not be disclosed this time. Damn.
“Why there?”
“Well, it had to be somewhere, and that seemed convenient. I was a Marine myself once, Barry,” Jack said quietly.
“R
EMEMBER WHEN WE
blew them up?”
“A fine night.” The intelligence officer remembered watching through binoculars from the top of the Beirut Holiday Inn. He'd helped set that mission up. The only hard part, really, had been selecting the driver. There was an odd cachet about the American Marines, something seemingly mystical about them that this Ryan's nation clung to. But they died just like any other infidel. He wondered with amusement if there might be a large truck in
Washington
that one of his people might buy or lease. . .. He set the amusing thought aside. There was work to be done. It wasn't practical, anyway. He'd been to
Washington
more than once, and the Marine Barracks was one of the places he'd examined. It was too easily defended. Too bad, really. The political significance of the target made it highly attractive.
“N
OT SMART,” DING
observed over his morning coffee.
“Expect him to hide?”
Clark
asked.
“You know him, Daddy?” Patricia asked.
“Yes, as a matter of fact. Ding and I used to look after him back when we were SPOs. I knew his father, once. . .,” John added without thinking, which was very unusual for him.
“What's he like, Ding?” Patsy asked her fiancé, the ring still fresh on her finger.
“Pretty smart,” Chavez allowed. “Kinda quiet. Nice guy, always has a kind word. Well, usually.”
“He's been tough when he had to be,” John observed with an eye to his partner and soon-to-be son-in-law, which thought almost occasioned a chill. Then he saw the look in his daughter's eyes, and the chill became quite real. Damn.
“That's a fact,” the junior man agreed.
T
HE LIGHTS MADE HIM
sweat under his makeup, and Ryan fought the urge to scratch the itches on his face. He managed to keep his hands still, but his facial muscles began a series of minor twitches that he hoped the camera didn't catch.
“I'm afraid I can't say, Barry,” he went on, holding his hands tightly together. “It's just too soon to respond substantively to a lot of questions right now. When we're able to give hard answers, we will. Until then, we won't.”
“You have a big day ahead,” the CNN reporter said sympathetically.
“Barry, we all do.”
“Thank you, Mr. President.” He waited until the light went off and he heard a voice-over from the
Atlanta
headquarters before speaking again. “Good one. Thank you.”
Van Damm came in then, pushing Andrea Price aside as he did so. Few could touch a Secret Service agent without seriously adverse consequences, much less bustle one, but Arnie was one who
Similar Books
