POTUS nodded. “Yeah, it’ll make the Israelis nervous, and the Saudis have always worried about having too strong a military, for domestic reasons.”
“You could tell them the story about the three little pigs. It might not fly with their culture, but the big bad wolf just moved in next door to them, and they’d better start paying attention before he starts a-huffin’ and a-puffin’.”
“I hear you, Robby. I’ll have Adler and Vasco think that one over.” Ryan checked his watch. Another fifteen-hour day. One more drink would have been nice, but as it was, he’d be lucky to get six hours of sleep, and he didn’t want to wake up with a larger headache than necessary. He set his drink down and waved for the other two to follow, down the ramp and out the door.
“SWORDSMAN heading to the residence,” Andrea spoke into her radio mike. A minute later, they were in the elevator and going up.
“Try not to let the booze show,” Jack remarked to his principal agent.
“What are we going to do with you?” she asked the ceiling, as the doors opened.
Jack walked out first, leaving the other two behind as he took his jacket off. He hated wearing a jacket all the time.
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“Well, now you know,” Robby said to the Secret Service agent. She turned to look in his eyes.
“Yeah.” Actually she’d known for quite a while, but she kept learning more and more about SWORDSMAN.
“Take good care of him, Price. When he escapes from this place, I want my friend back.”
THE VAGARIES OF winds made the Lufthansa flight first to arrive at the international terminal in Frankfurt, Germany. For the travelers it was like an inverted funnel. The jetway was the narrow part, and on entering the concourse they all spread out, checking the video monitors for their gates. The layovers ranged from one to three hours, and their luggage would be automatically transferred from one aircraft to another–for all the complaints about airport luggage-handlers, 99.9 percent is a passing grade in most human endeavors; and the Germans were notoriously efficient. Customs control points didn’t worry them, because none of them were spending any more time in Europe than was necessary. They studiously avoided eye contact, even when three of them entered a coffee shop, and all three, on reflection, decided on decaf. Two walked into the men’s rooms for the usual reason, and then looked into the mirrors to check their faces. They’d all shaved just before leaving, but one of them, especially heavily-bearded, saw that his jaw was already shadowed. Perhaps he should shave? Not a good idea, he thought, smiling at the mirror. Then he lifted his carry-on bag and walked off to the first-class lounge to wait for the flight to Dallas-Fort Worth.
‘LONG DAY?” JACK asked, after everyone had gone home, and just the usual squad of guards patrolled outside.
“Yeah. Grand rounds tomorrow with Bernie. Some procedures the next day, though.” Cathy changed into her nightgown, as tired as her husband was.
“Anything new?”
“Not in my shop. Had lunch with Pierre Alexandre.
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He’s a new associate professor working under Ralph Forster, ex-Army, pretty smart.”
“Infectious diseases?” Jack vaguely remembered meeting the guy at some function or other. “AIDS and stuff?”
“Yeah.”
“Nasty,” Ryan observed, getting into bed.
“They just dodged a bullet. There was a mini-outbreak of Ebola in Zaire,” Cathy said, getting in the other side. “Two deaths. Then two more cases turned up in Sudan, but it doesn’t look like it’s going anywhere.”
“Is that as bad as people say?” Jack turned the light off.
“Eighty percent mortality–pretty bad.” She adjusted the covers and moved toward him. “But enough of that stuff. Sissy says she’s got a concert scheduled for two weeks from now at Kennedy Center. Beethoven’s Fifth, with Fritz Bayerlein conducting, would you believe? Think we can get tickets?” He could sense his wife’s smile in the dark.
“I think I know the theater owner. I’ll see what I can do.” A kiss. A day ended.
“SEE YOU IN the morning, Jeff.” Price went to the right for her car. Raman went to the left for his.
A mind could be dulled by this job, Aref Raman told himself. The sheer mechanics of it, the hours, the watching and waiting and doing nothing–but always being ready.
Hmph. Why should he complain about that? It was the story of his adult life. He drove north, waited for the security gate to open and headed northwest. The empty streets made it go quickly. By the time he got to his home, the bled-off stress of working the Detail in the White House had him nodding, but there were still mechanics.
Unlocking the door, he next turned off the security system, picked up the mail that had come through the slot in the door and scanned it. One bill, and the rest was junk mail offering him the chance of a lifetime to buy things he didn’t need. He hung up his coat, removed the pistol and holster from his belt, and walked into the kitchen. The
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light was blinking on the answering machine. There was one message.
“Mr. Sloan,” the digital recorder said to him in a voice that was familiar, though he’d only heard it once before, “this is Mr. Alahad. Your rug just came in, and is ready for delivery.”
37
DISCHARGES
AMERICA WAS SLEEPING when they boarded their flights in Amsterdam, and London, and Vienna, and Paris. This time no two were on the same aircraft, and the schedules were staggered so that the same customs inspector would not have the chance to open two shaving kits and find the same brand of cream and then wonder about it, however unlikely that might be. The real risk had been in placing so many men on the same flights out of Tehran, but they’d been properly briefed on how to act. While the ever-watchful German police, for example, might have taken note of a gaggle of Middle Eastern men huddling together after arriving on the same flight, airports have always been anonymous places full of semi-confused wandering people, often tired and usually disoriented, and one lonely, aimless traveler looked much like another.
The first to board a transatlantic flight walked onto a Singapore Airlines 747 at Amsterdam’s Schiphol International Airport. Coded as SQ26, the airliner pulled away at eight-thirty A.M. and got into the air on time, then angled northwest for a great-circle course that would take it over the southern tip of Greenland. The flight would last just under eight hours. The traveler was in a first-class window seat, which he tilted all the way back. It was not even three in the morning in his next destination city, and he preferred sleep to a movie, along with most of the other people in the nose of the aircraft. He had his itinerary memorized, and if his memory failed, with the confusion of long-distance travel, he still had his tickets to remind him of what to do next. For the moment, sleep was enough, and he turned his head on the pillow, soothed by the swish of passing air outside the double windows.
Around him, in the air, were other flights, with other travelers heading for Boston, Philadelphia, Washington-Dulles, Atlanta, Orlando, Dallas-Fort Worth, Chicago,
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San Francisco, Miami, and Los Angeles, the ten principal gateway cities into America. Each of them had a trade show or convention of some sort underway now. Ten other cities, Baltimore, Pittsburgh, St. Louis, Nashville, Atlantic City, Las Vegas, Seattle, Phoenix, Houston, and New Orleans, also had events, and each was but a brief flight–in two cases, a drive–from the nearest port of entry.
The traveler on SQ26 thought about that as he faded off. The shaving kit was tucked in his carry-on bag under the seat in front of him, carefully insulated and wrapped, and he made certain that his feet didn’t touch, much less kick, the bag.
IT WAS APPROACHING noon outside Tehran. The Movie Star watched as his group conducted weapons practice. It was a formality really, designed more for morale than anything else. They all knew how to shoot, having learned and practiced in the Bekaa Valley, and though they weren’t using the same weapons they’d have in America, it didn’t really matter. A gun was a gun, and targets were targets, and they knew about both. They couldn’t simulate everything, of course, but all of them knew how to drive, and they spent hours every day going over the diagram and the models. They would go in during the late afternoon, when parents came in to pick up their children for the daily trip home, when the bodyguards would be tired and bored from a day of watching the children doing childish things. Movie Star had gotten descriptions of several of the “regular” cars, and some were common types which could be rented. The opposition was as trained and experienced as they had to be, but they were not supermen. Some were even women, and for all his exposure to the West, the Movie Star could not take women seriously as adversaries, guns or no guns. But their biggest tactical advantage was that his team was willing to use deadly force with profligate abandon. With over twenty toddlers about, plus the school staff, and probably a few parents in the way as well, the opposition would be greatly hampered. So, no, the initial part of the mission was the easiest. The