“Easy way,” Ajij, the one with the phone, said. “Or hard way.”
“I don’t follow,” West said.
Jojo helped explain by sinking a fist into the priest’s right kidney. The sudden blow sickened him and sent him staggering forward. With his hands behind his back, he fell against the edge of the desk and slid down to his knees with a low groan.
Ajij shrugged. “Hard way it is.”
Spittle hung from West’s cracked lips. He swallowed, trying to catch his breath. “You haven’t… asked me any questions.”
The smarmy cop held up the phone, letting it swing between his pinched thumb and forefinger. “You must eventually tell us the code.”
West fought the urge to smile. Was it really going to be this easy?
“My friend.” Ajij nodded to the guy with the big fists. “He is happy to keep showing you the hard way. But everyone breaks, one way or another. You are no diff—”
“Seven angels,” West said. “Seven spirits, seven trumpets, seven seals…”
Jojo hit him again, just as hard, but higher this time, mercifully deflecting off his ribs instead of a kidney. “Speak straight!”
West groaned, biting back the urge to curse. He hadn’t been hit like this in a very long time. He spoke through clenched teeth on ragged breaths. “The code… The code is seven, seven, seven, seven. I have nothing to hide. If you have questions, please just ask me.”
Ajij entered the code with his thumb. He cocked his head, birdlike, to the side when the screen appeared, taking in the image. His eyes suddenly widened in horror. West couldn’t see it, but he knew that at that moment, the background on the last text he’d cued up turned from white to blue, showing it had sent. The cop fumbled with the device, trying to read the message. But West also knew it was already fading away, disappearing completely two seconds after it went out.
The door opened and a balding senior officer stepped inside, a man who was definitely in charge. Ajij and Jojo slumped when he entered, embarrassed kids caught in some act of mischief. Ajij slid halfway down behind the desk, lowering the phone.
“What are you doing?” the supervisor bellowed in Indonesian. He looked as terrified as he was angry, as if he himself was in grave danger from his subordinates’ stupidity. “Why are you interrogating him without me? Why is that device not inside a protective bag?” He shouldered his way past West, peering down at the phone.
Spittle flew from his lips as he held the phone up and leaned in close to a shrinking Ajij’s face. “What was it? What did you see?”
“A message, sir,” Ajij said. “But it has disappeared.”
The supervisor put a hand on top of his head, staring up at the ceiling. “What have you done?” He shoved the phone at Father West. “Make it come back!”
The priest stood a little straighter now. “That is impossible.”
The senior officer must have known this was the case, because he didn’t press the issue.
“Who did you contact? What did this message say?”
“It was so long ago,” West said, playing dumb. “Something I typed before you arrested—”
The senior officer slapped him hard across the face, then rubbed the back of his hand. Not quite as accomplished at hitting as his ham-fisted underling, he studied West for several long seconds before drawing a small black pistol and leveling it at the bridge of the priest’s nose. “I will ask you this one time and one time only. To whom did you send this message?”
“My friend,” West said honestly.
The officer turned to Ajij. “What number did you see?”
“Not much,” the cop stammered. “Two-zero-two something.”
“You had best remember!” the officer snapped over his shoulder. He brandished the phone at West, pistol still aimed at his face. “A 202 area code?”
Jojo looked up from his own phone. “The United States. Washington, D.C.”
The supervisor snapped at West, apoplectic. “Who do you know there?”
The priest gave a smug grin. Finally, someone had asked him the right question. “My good friend,” he said. “The President of the United States.”
15
That was the weirdest thing,” Michelle Chadwick said when she sat down at a table with David Huang at the Shake Shack inside the Fashion Centre mall across the Potomac from D.C. It was a little too close to the Pentagon for Chadwick’s tastes, but David had suggested it, and she’d gone numbly along like a good little piece of asset.
Huang was drinking a large chocolate milkshake and munching on his habitual french fries. There were security cameras outside in the mall, but he assured her that the cameras in the restaurant covered only the register. She would be seen going in, but there would be no record of who she’d sat down with. It was small consolation, considering all the salacious video the Chinese already had.
“You left your mobile phone outside of the Oval Office,” Huang said, eating another fry. “That was a serious mistake.”
“It’s protocol,” Chadwick said. The smell of burgers and grease made her stomach do flips. “Everyone is supposed to leave cells outside in the secretaries’ suite… you know, in case some Chinese spies turn a poor senator into… I don’t know… a mole or some shit.”
“Figure out a way to take it in next time,” Huang said, ignoring her gibe. “You have clout. Use it.” The chiding over, his face softened, like they were on the same side again. “Anyway, how do you mean it was weird?”
“The President got a text message,” Chadwick said. “And then the whole place went into immediate panic mode. I only caught bits and pieces.”
“I see,” Huang said, remaining passive. Chadwick was sure this was just the sort of juicy information his superiors were slobbering for, but he wasn’t the type to appear too eager — she knew that about him from experience. He popped a french fry into his mouth. “You have no other details?”
“Nope,” Chadwick said. “Ryan kicked me out as soon as it all went down. He was polite, but there was no question about me staying around. We were supposed to meet tomorrow to discuss this literacy bill I dreamed up, but I’m not even sure that’s still on with this development.”
Huang sipped his milkshake, eyes locked on her as he thought. “Go ahead and show up tomorrow as if the meeting is still on,” he said. “That will at least get you back inside the White House. I’d be interested to know more about this present situation with the text.”
“Okay.” Chadwick sighed. “But it’s a long shot that the President will still even be in town tomorrow. If something is going down, the Jack Ryan I know won’t sit on his ass behind his desk and twiddle his thumbs.”
“Perhaps,” Huang said. “But that is exactly why we need you inside. We need to know for sure.”
Ryan had felt the text vibrate in his pocket while he was in the middle of a deep conversation with, of all people, Senator Michelle Chadwick. Now, there was one for the record books. Their talk had turned odd, bordering on friendly — so far out of character for Chadwick that Ryan had felt the need for a moment’s distance. He apologized and took the phone from his pocket, using the “I’m expecting an important call” white lie that busy people the world over used when they needed to step away.
Seconds later, he’d told Chadwick he really did need to step away. He called Arnie back in, and the senator had been ushered out immediately with a curt apology.