“Yeah, I hear you, but man, if he got hurt… Christ almighty, I wouldn’t want to be around for that shit storm.”
Neither would I, Clark thought.
“But then again, what could you have said?” Ding continued. “The man asks you to train him, you can’t hardly say no.”
“You got that right.” The truth was, Clark felt bad about not telling Ryan Senior-they went back a long way, after all, and he owed the former President a lot-but he’d built a big part of his life on keeping other people’s secrets. This was personal, of course, but Jack was a big boy with a decent head on his shoulders. That didn’t mean he wasn’t going to try to convince Jack to tell his father about working at The Campus.
After forty minutes they turned right onto Peregrine Cliff Road, doubtless under TV surveillance from this point on, and Secret Service agents would be on their computers to check out his license plate numbers, then to determine that he was driving a rental car, and they couldn’t access Hertz’s computer quickly enough to identify the renter. That would get them slightly worried, though only in an institutional sense, something the USSS did well. Finally came the stone pillar that marked the entrance to Ryan’s quarter-mile driveway.
“Please identify,” said the remote-control voice in the pillar’s speaker.
“Rainbow Six inbound to see SWORDSMAN.”
“Proceed,” the voice replied, followed by an electronic tone and the hydraulic sound of the gate controls being told to open.
“You didn’t tell them about me,” Chavez objected.
“Just keep your hands in the open.” Clark chuckled.
Andrea Price-O’Day stood on the porch as they drove up. The detail chief herself, Clark noted. Maybe they thought he was important. Being a friend of the boss had its uses.
“Hello, Chief,” she said in greeting.
She likes me? Clark thought. Only his friends called him Chief.
“Good morning, ma’am. How’s the boss doing?”
“Working on his book, like always,” Andrea answered. “Welcome home.”
“Thanks.” He took her offered hand. “You know Domingo, I believe.”
“Oh, sure. How’s the family?”
“Great. Glad to be home. Got another one on the way, too.”
“Congratulations!”
“How’s he doing?” Clark asked next. “Climbing the walls?”
“Go see for yourself.” Andrea opened the front door.
They’d both been here before, the large open living room, the Potlatch decking that formed the ceiling, and the large expanse of windows revealing the Chesapeake Bay, plus Cathy’s Steinway grand piano, which she probably played every other day. Andrea led them up the carpeted steps, right to Ryan’s library/office, and left.
They found Ryan tapping on his keyboard with strokes heavy enough to kill one every two years or so. Ryan looked up as they entered.
“Heavy thoughts, Mr. President?” Clark asked with a smile.
“Hey, John! Howdy, Ding. Welcome!” Steps were taken and handshakes exchanged. “Sit down and take a load off,” Jack commanded, and his orders were followed. Old friend or not, he was a former President of the United States, and they’d both worn uniforms in the not-so-distant past.
“Glad to see you’re in one piece,” Clark said.
“What, Georgetown?” Ryan shook his head. “Not even a close call. Andrea dropped him as pretty as you please. With a tip-off from Jack, that is.”
“Come again?”
“He was there. He gave Andrea the nod. He spotted something about the janitor that didn’t sit right.”
“Such as?” asked Clark.
“He was using a screwdriver on a buffer; should have had a crescent.”
“Sharp kid,” Chavez observed. “Gotta make Dad proud.”
“Bet yer ass,” former President Ryan said, not hiding it. “Want some coffee?”
“That’s one thing they don’t do well in England, sir,” Chavez said in agreement. “They got Starbucks, but that doesn’t quite do it for me.”
“I’ll fix you up. Come on.” He rose and walked down to the kitchen, where there was a pot full of Kona and mugs close by. “So how was life in Britain?”
“Good people. Our base was out near the Welsh border-nice people out there, good pubs, and the local food was pretty good. I especially like their bread,” Clark reported. “But they think corned beef is something that comes out of a can.”
Ryan laughed. “Yeah, dog food. I worked in London nearly three years, and I never found decent corned beef. They call it ‘salt beef,’ but it isn’t quite the same. Rotated out of Rainbow, huh?”
“I guess we just wore out our welcome,” Clark said.
“Who’d you leave behind?” President Ryan asked.
“Two go-teams, all trained up, about half SAS members from the British Army. They’re pretty good,” Clark assured him. “But the other European contingents are backing off. Too bad. Some of them were ace operators. The intel backup is also pretty well up to snuff. Rainbow will still work, if they let it. But the local-by which I mean mainly European-bureaucrats, they kinda wet their pants when my boys deploy.”
“Yeah, well, we have them here, too,” Ryan replied. “Kinda makes you wonder where Wyatt Earp went to.”
That got a chuckle from his guests.
“What’s SHORTSTOP doing now?” Clark asked. It was a natural question to ask among friends who’d been apart; failing to ask would have been noted.
“Trading business, like I did. I haven’t even asked where. Having a President for a father can be disabling at his age, y’know?”
“Especially the chase cars on a date,” Chavez suggested with a grin. “Not sure I would have liked that.”
They spent ten minutes chatting and catching up on their respective families, on sports, and on the general state of the world, then Ryan said, “What are you guys going to do? I imagine CIA has suggested you both retire. If you need a letter of reference, let me know. You’ve both served your country well.”
“That’s one of the things we wanted to talk to you about,” Clark said. “We ran into Jimmy Hardesty at Langley, and he put us in touch with Tom Davis.”
“Oh?” Ryan said, setting his cup down.
Clark nodded. “They offered us a job.”
Former President Ryan considered this for a moment. “Well, it’s not like I hadn’t bounced that around in my head before. You two are suited for it, no doubt about that. What’d you think of the setup?”
“Good. Some growing pains going on, I think, but that’s to be expected.”
“Gerry Hendley’s a good guy. I wouldn’t have signed off on it otherwise. You know about the pardons?”
Chavez answered that one. “Yeah, thanks in advance. Pray we won’t need one, but nice to know they’re there.”
Ryan nodded. “How’s lunch grab you?”
And thus endeth the conversation, Clark noted. Brainchild of Ryan’s or not, The Campus was something best kept at arm’s length.
“Thought you’d never ask,” Clark said, not missing a beat. “Can I hope for corned beef?”
“Place called Attman’s up in Baltimore. One nice thing about the Secret Service: They don’t let me do anything, and so they run a lot of errands.”
“In the old days I bet they’d fly it down from the Carnegie in New York,” Chavez speculated.
It was Ryan’s turn to smile. “Occasionally. You have to be careful with that sort of stuff. You can get spoiled, and you can start believing you deserve it. Hell, I miss not being able to wander around shopping myself, but Andrea and her troops have a conniption fit when I try to do it.” The Secret Service had insisted, for example, that his house have a sprinkler system. Ryan had submitted and footed the bill himself, though it could have been billed to the Department of the Treasury. He didn’t want to start feeling like a king. With that decided, he led his guests into the kitchen, where the corned beef was already laid out, along with kaiser rolls and deli mustard.