Debt Of Honor by Clancy, Tom

might have … but he’d never know, would he, and he’d never make a differ-

ence, just one more captain of one more aircraft, flying people to and from a

nation that had forfeited its honor. Well. He climbed out of his scat, collected

his flight charts and other necessary papers, tucked them in his carry-ban and

headed out of the aircraft. The gate was empty now, and he was able to walk

down the bustling but anonymous terminal. He saw a copy of USA VVxA/v at

a shop and picked it up, scanning the front page, seeing the pictures there.

loiiigtil al mm- o’clock? It all came together at that moment, really jusl un

c«|inilion ol s|K’cd and distance.

Siilo looked around once more, then headed off lo the airport administra-

tive ollne Ho needed a weather map. He already knew the timing.

“One thing I’d like to fix,” Jack said, more at ease than ever in the Oval

Office.

“What’s that?”

“A CIA officer. He needs a pardon.”

“What for?” Durling asked, wondering if a sandbag was descending to-

ward his own head.

“Murder,” Ryan replied honestly. “As luck would have it, my father

worked the case back when I was in college. The people he killed had it

coming-”

“Not a g(K)d way to look at things. Even if they did.”

“They did.” The Vice President-designate explained for two or three

minutes. The magic word was “drugs,” and soon enough the President nod-

ded.

“And since then?”

“One of the best field officers we’ve ever had. He’s the guy who bagged

Qati and Ghosn in Mexico City.”

“Thai’s the guy?”

“Yes, sir. He deserves to get his name back.”

“Okay. I’ll call the Attorney General and see if we can do it quietly. Any

other favors that you need taken care of?” the President asked. “You know,

you’re picking this political stuff up pretty fast for an amateur. Nice job with

the media this morning, by the way.”

Ryan nodded at the compliment. “Admiral Jackson. He did a nice job,

too, but I suppose the Navy will lake good care of him.”

“A little presidential attention never hurt any officer’s career. I want to

meet him anyway. You’re right, though. Hying into the islands to meet with

them was a very astute move.”

“No losses,” Chambers said, and a lot of kills. Why didn’t he feel good

about that?

“The subs that killed Charlotte and Aslieville?” Jones asked.

‘ ‘We’ll ask when the time comes, but probably at least one of them.” The

judgment was statistical but likely.

“Ron, good job,” Mancuso said.

Jones stubbed out his cigarette. Now he’d have to break the habit again.

And now, also, he understood what war was, and thanked God that he’d

never really had to fight in one. Perhaps it was just something for kids to do.

Hut he’d done his part, ami now he knew, and with luck he’d never have to

see one happen again. There were always whales to track.

” Thanks. Skipper.”

‘ ‘One of our 747s has mechanical’d rather badly,” Sato explained. “It will

be out of service for three days. I have to fly to Heathrow to replace the

aircraft. Another 747 will replace mine on the Pacific run.” With that he

turned over the flight plan.

The Canadian air-traffic official scanned it. “Pax?”

“No passengers, no, but I’ll need a full load of fuel.”

“I expect your airline will pay for that, Captain,” the official observed

with a smile. He scribbled his approval on the flight plan, keeping one copy

for his records, and gave the other back to the pilot. He gave the form a last

look. “Southern routing? It’s five hundred miles longer.”

‘ ‘I don’t like the wind forecast,” Sato lied. It wasn’t much of a lie. People

like this rarely second-guessed pilots on weather calls. This one didn’t ei-

ther.

“Thank you.” The bureaucrat went back to his paperwork.

An hour later, Sato was standing under his aircraft. It was at an Air Can-

ada service hangar-the space at the terminal was occupied again by another

international carrier. He took his time preflighting the airliner, checking

visually for fluid leaks, loose rivets, bad tires, any manner of irregularity-

called “hangar rash”-but there was none to be seen. His copilot was al-

ready aboard, annoyed at the unscheduled flight they had to make, even

though it meant three or four days in London, a city popular with interna-

tional aircrew. Sato finished his walk-around and climbed aboard, stopping

first at the forward galley.

“All ready?” he asked.

“Preflight checklist complete, standing by for before-start checklist,” the

man said just before the steak knife entered his chest. His eyes were wide

with shock and surprise rather than pain.

“I’m very sorry to do this,” Sato told him in a gentle voice. With that he

strapped into the left seat and commenced the engine-start sequence. The

ground crew was too far away to see into the cockpit, and couldn’t know that

only one man was alive on the flight deck.

“Vancouver tower, this is JAL ferry flight five-zero-/.ero, requesting

clearance to taxi.”

“Five-Zero-Zero Heavy, roger, you are cleared to taxi runway Two-Sev-

en-Left. Winds are two-eight-zero at fifteen.”

“Thank you, Vancouver, Five-Zero-Zero Heavy cleared for Two-Seven

Left.” With that the aircraft started rolling. It took ten minutes to reach the

end of the departure runway. Sato had to wait an extra minute because the

aircraft ahead of his was another 747, and they generated dangerous wake

liiihiiletue lie WHS about lo violate the first rule of flight, the one about

krc|tiii£ voui Dumber of takeoffs equal to that for landings, but it was some-

thing Ins riuintrymen had done before. On clearance from the tower, Salo

mlviimod tlu- throttles lo the takeoff power, and the Boeing, empty of every-

thing bill lucl, accelerated rapidly down the runway, rotating off before

lent hut).: MX thousand feet, and immediately turning north to clear the con-

trolled tin space around the airport. The lightly loaded airliner positively

rm krieil lo Us cruising altitude of thirty-nine thousand feet, at which point

litrl elhciency was optimum. His flight plan would take him along the Cana-

dian U.S. border, departing land just north of the fishing town of Hopedale.

Niton aller thai, he’d be beyond ground-based radar coverage. Four hours,

Sntu thought, sipping lea while the autopilot flew the aircraft. He said a

|»rnyer lot the man in the right seat, hoping that the copilot’s soul would be at

peiue, iii his now was.

l”he Drllu llitjhi landed at Dulles only a minute late. Clark and Chavez found

dial there w»» H ^ .11 waning for them. They took the official Ford and headed

down lo Intel tiiiir 6,j, while the driver who’d brought it caught a cab.

“What do you iup|x>sc will happen to him?”

“Ymmtlii? I’mon, maybe worse. Did you get a paper?” Clark asked.

“Ycuh.” (‘have/ unfolded it and scanned the frontpage. “Holy shit!”

“Huh?”

“Looks like Or Kvun’s getting kicked upstairs.” But Chavez had other

things to think iiboiii lot the drive down toward the Virginia Tidewater, like

how he was goiti|t lo ask I’atsy the Mig Question. What if she said no?

A joint session ol (‘ongu’ss is always held in the House chamber due to its

larger si/e, and also, memlxMs of the “lower” house noted, because in the

Senate seals were reserved, mid those bastards didn’t let anyone else sit in

their place. Security was usually good here. The Capitol building had its

own police force, which was used lo working with the Secret Service. Corri-

dors were closed off with velvet ro|x-s, and the uniformed officers were

rather more alert than usual, but il wasn’t that big a deal.

The President would travel to the Hill in his official car, which was heav-

ily armored, accompanied by several (‘hevy Suburbans that were even more

heavily protected, and loaded with Secret Service agents carrying enough

weapons to fight off a company of Marines. It was rather like a traveling

circus, really, and like people in the circus, they were always setting up and

taking down. Four agents, for example, humped their Stinger missile con-

tainers to the roof, going to the customary spots, scanning the area to see if

the trees had grown a little too much- they were trimmed periodically for

better visibility. The Secret Service’s Counter-Sniper Team took similar

III’. HI (>!• HONOR

7IS5

perches atop the Capitol and other nearby buildings. The best marksmen in

the country, they lifted their custom-crafted 7mm Magnum rifles from foam-

lined containers and used binoculars to scan the rooftops they didn’t occupy.

There were few enough of those, as other members of “the detail” took

elevators and stairs to the top of every building close to the one JUMPER

would be visiting tonight. When darkness fell, light-amplification equip-

ment came out, and the agents drank hot liquids in order to keep alert.