"Every submarine is issued a broom, Mr. Shaw. You've been around long enough to know that," Commander Claggett observed with a wink.
"What are you guys talking about?" the Army officer asked. Were they jerking him around again?
"We took two shots and both were kills," the engineer explained. "That's a clean sweep, and that means when we enter Pearl, we have a broom tied to the number-one periscope. Tradition."
"You squids do the weirdest things," the lone man in green fatigues observed.
"Do we claim the helos?" Shaw asked his CO.
"We shot them down," the ground-pounder objected.
"But they flew off our deck!" the Lieutenant pointed out.
"Jesus!" All this over breakfast. What would the squids do for lunch?
The dinner was informal, up on the bedroom level of the White House, with what passed for a light buffet, albeit one cooked by a staff good enough to upgrade the rating of any restaurant in America.
"I understand congratulations are in order," Roger Durling said.
"Huh?" The National Security Advisor hadn't heard yet.
"Jack, I, uh, got the Lasker," Cathy said from her seat across the table.
"Well, that's two in your family who're the best around," Al Trent observed, saluting with his wineglass.
"And this one's for you. Jack," the President said, lifting his glass. "After all the grief I've gotten on foreign affairs, you've saved me, and you've saved a lot of other things. Well done, Mister Dr. Ryan."
Jack nodded at the toast, but this time he knew. He'd been around Washington long enough, finally, to hear the falling sandbag. The trouble was that he didn't know exactly why it was falling toward his head.
"Mr. President, the satisfaction comes from—well, from service, I guess. Thanks for trusting me. and thanks for putting up with me when I—"
"Jack, people like you, well, where would our country be?" Durling turned. "Cathy, do you know everything Jack has done over the years?"
"Jack? Tell me secrets?" She had a good laugh at that.
"Al?"
"Well, Cathy, it's time you learned," Trent observed, much to Jack's discomfort.
"There is one thing I've always wondered about," she said at once. "I mean, you two are so friendly, but the first time you two met several years ago, I—"
"The dinner, the one before Jack flew off to Moscow?" Trent took a sip of the California chardonnay. "That was when he set up the defection of the head of the old KGB."
"What?'"
"Tell the story, Al, we have lots of nine," Durling urged. His wife, Anne, leaned in to hear this one, too. Trent ended up speaking for twenty minutes, telling more than one old tale in the process despite the look on Jack's face.
"That's the sort of husband you have, Dr. Ryan," the President said when the stories were ended.
Jack looked over at Trent now, a rather intense stare. What was at the end of this?
"Jack, your country needs you for one last thing, and then we'll let you go," the Congressman said.
"What's that?" Please, not an ambassadorship, he thought, the usual kiss-off for a senior official.
Durling set his glass down. "Jack, my main job for the next nine months is to get reelected. It might be a tough campaign, and it's going to absorb a lot of my time under the best of circumstances. I need you on the team."
"Sir, I already am—"
"I want you to be my Vice President," Durling said calmly. The room got very quiet then. "The post is vacant as of today, as you know. I'm not sure yet who I want for my second term, and I am not suggesting that you fill the post for more than—what? Not even eleven months. Like Rockefeller did for Gerry Ford. I want somebody whom the public respects, somebody who can run the shop for me when I'm away. I need somebody heavy in foreign affairs. I need somebody who can help me put my foreign-policy team together. And," he added, "I know you want out. You've done enough. And so, after this, you can't be called back for a permanent post."
"Wait a minute. I'm not even in your party," Jack managed to say.
"As the Constitution was originally drafted, the Vice President was supposed to be the loser in the general election. James Madison and the others assumed that patriotism would triumph over partisanship. Well, they were wrong," Durling allowed. "But in this case—Jack, I know you. I will not use you in a political sense. No speeches and baby-kissing."
"Never pick up a baby to kiss it," Trent said. "They always puke on you, and somebody always gets a picture. Always kiss the baby in the mom's arms." The good political advice was sufficient to lighten the atmosphere a little.
"Your job will be to get the White House organized, to manage national-security affairs, really to help me strengthen my foreign-policy team. And then I'll let you go and nobody will ever call you back. You'll be a free man, Jack," Durling promised. "Once and for all."
"My God," Cathy said.
"It's what you wanted, too, isn't it?"
Caroline nodded. "Yes, it is. But—but, I don't know anything about politics. I—"
"Lucky you," Anne Durling observed. "You won't have to get stuck with it."
"I have my work and—"
"And you'll still do it. A nice house comes along with the job," the President went on. "And it's temporary." He turned his head. "Well, Jack?"
"What makes you think that I can be confirmed—"
"Leave that to us," Trent said in a way that announced quite clearly that it had already been settled.
"You won't ask me to—"
"My word on it," the President promised. "Your obligation ends next January."
"What about—I mean, that makes me President of the Senate, and in the event of a close vote—"
"I suppose I ought to say that I'll tell you how I want you to vote, and I will, and I hope you'll listen, but I know you'll vote your conscience. I can live with that. As a matter of fact, if you were any other way, I wouldn't be making this offer."
"Besides, nothing on the schedule will be that close," Trent assured him. They'd talked that one over, too, the night before.
"I think we should pay more attention to the military," Jack said.
"If you make your recommendations, I'll incorporate them in the budget. You've taught me a lesson on that, and I may need you to help me hammer it through Congress. Maybe that will be your valedictory."
"They'll listen to you. Jack," Trent assured him.
Jesus, Ryan thought, wishing that he'd gone easier on the wine. Predictably he looked over to his wife. Their eyes met, and she nodded. You sure? his eyes asked. She nodded again.
"Mr. President, under the terms of your offer, and just to the end of your term, yes, I will do it."
Roger Durling motioned to a Secret Service agent, letting her know that Tish Brown could make the press release in time for the morning papers.
Oreza allowed himself to board his boat for the first time since Burroughs had landed his albacore. They left the pier at dawn, and by nightfall the engineer was able to conclude his fishing vacation with another sizable game fish before catching a Continental flight to Honolulu. His return to work would include more than a fish story, but he wouldn't mention the gear that the boat's skipper had dumped over the side as soon as they were out of sight of land. It was a shame to dump the cameras and the expensive lights, but he supposed there was some reason for it.
Clark and Chavez, still covered as Russians, managed to bully their way onto it JAL flight to Narita. On the way aboard they saw a well-dressed man in handcuffs with a military escort, and from twenty feet away, as they moved the man into the first-class cabin, Ding Chavez looked into the eyes of the man who had ordered the death of Kimberly Norton. He briefly wished for his light or a gun, or maybe even a knife, but that was not in the cards. The flight to Japan took just over two boring hours, and both men walked their carry-ons across the international terminal. They had first-class reservations on another JAL flight to Vancouver, and from there they would fly to Washington on an American carrier.