“WHAT DO WE know of her?”
“She’s a physician, an eye surgeon, actually, supposed to be a good one.” He checked his notes. “The American
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news media say that she is continuing to work at her profession despite her official duties.”
“And their children?”
“There’s nothing on that, though … I should be able to find out what school they attend.” He saw the quizzical look and went on. “If the wife will continue to do her medical work, then I would guess that the children will continue to attend the same schools.”
“How do you find that out?”
“Easily. All American news stories can be accessed by computer. Ryan has been the subject of numerous news pieces. I can find out anything I want.” In fact he already had, but not information about his family. The modern age had made the life of an intelligence officer so much easier. He already knew Ryan’s age, height, weight, color of hair and eyes, and much of his personal habits, favorite food and drink, the golf clubs he belonged to, all manner of trivia, none of which was trivial to a man in his line of work. He didn’t have to ask what his boss was thinking. The opportunity which both had missed with all of the chiefs of state at the National Cathedral was gone forever, but it would not be the only one.
WITH ONE FINAL hymn, it was over. The soldiers returned to collect the caskets, and the procession began again in reverse. Mark and Amy collected themselves well, aided by their relatives, and followed their parents. Jack led his family just after them. Katie was mainly bored and glad to be moving. Jack Jr. was sad for the Durling kids. Sally looked worried. He’d have to talk to her about that. Down the aisle he looked closely into a number of faces, distantly surprised that the first four or five rows of them looked not at the caskets, but at him. They never turned it off, did they? His fellow chiefs of state, Jack thought, wondering just what sort of club he’d just entered. A few faces were friendly. The Prince of Wales, who was not a chief of state and therefore placed by protocol behind the others–some of whom were outright thugs, but that could not be helped–gave a friendly nod. Yeah, he would un-
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derstand, Jack thought. The new President wanted to check his watch, so tired he felt from the events of a day yet young, but he’d been sternly lectured about looking at one’s watch, to the point of being advised to take it off. A President didn’t need a watch. There were always people to tell him what came next, just as there were now people searching coat racks, ready to hand Ryan and his family what they needed before going back outside. There was Andrea Price, and other members of the Detail. Outside would be more: a not-so-small army of people with guns and fears, and a car to take him to his next destination, where he would perform more official duties, then be whisked off to the next set, and on, and on.
He couldn’t let all this take control of his life. Ryan frowned at the thought. He’d do the work, but he couldn’t make the mistake Roger and Anne had made. He thought of the faces he’d seen walking out of the church and knew that it was a club he might be forced to enter but which he would never join. Or so he told himself.
8
CHANGE OF COMMAND
THE PART AT ANDREWS was mercifully short. From the Cathedral, the caskets had traveled in hearses, with the large official party left behind to disperse throughout Embassy Row. Air Force One was waiting on the ramp to take the Durlings back to California one last time. It seemed far more desultory now. There was yet another honor guard to salute the flag-draped coffins, but this was different. The crowd was smaller, composed mostly of Air Force and some other military personnel who had worked directly with the presidential party in one way or another. At the family’s request, the actual burial ceremony would be smaller, and limited to relatives only, which was probably better for everybody. And so here at Andrews came the last “Ruffles and Flourishes” and the last “Hail to the Chief.” Mark stood at attention, holding his hand over his heart in a gesture sure to be on the cover of all the news magazines. A good kid, doing his best, and being more manly than he would ever know. A scissors lift took the caskets to the cargo door, for at this point that’s what the bodies were; mercifully, that part of the transfer was hidden from view. Then it was time. The family walked up the steps into the VC-25 for their last ride. It wouldn’t even have the Air Force One call sign anymore, because that label went with the President, and the President wasn’t aboard. Ryan watched the aircraft taxi off, then rumble down the runway. TV cameras tracked it until it was a mere dot in the sky. Ryan’s eyes did the same. By that time, a flight of F-16s, relieved of their guard duty over Washington, landed one by one. When that was done, Ryan and his family climbed aboard a Marine helicopter to return to the White House. The flight crew smiled and fussed over his children. Little Jack got a unit patch after he buckled in. The mood of the day changed with that. The Marines of
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VMH-1 had a new family to take care of, and life for them moved on.
Already the White House staff was at work, moving their things in (they’d labored throughout the morning moving the Durlings’ things out), changing some furniture, and tonight his family would sleep in the same house first occupied by John Adams. The kids, being kids, looked out the windows as the helicopter began its descent. The parents, being parents, looked at each other.
Things changed at this point. At a private family funeral, this would have been the wake. The sadness was supposed to be left behind, and the mourners would remember what a great guy Roger was, and then talk about what new things were going on in their lives, how the kids were doing at school, discussions of the baseball off-season trades. It was a way for things to return to normal after a sad and stressful day. And so it was in this case, if on a somewhat broader scale. The White House photographer was waiting there on the South Lawn as the helicopter touched down. The stairs were lowered, and a Marine corporal stood at the bottom of them. President Ryan came out first, getting a salute from the corporal in dress blues, which he automatically returned, so ingrained were the lessons from Quantico, Virginia, more than twenty years before. Cathy came down behind, and then the kids. The Secret Service agents formed a loose corridor which told them where to head. News cameras were off to the west, their left, but no questions were shouted– this time; that would change very quickly, too. Inside the White House, the Ryans were directed to the elevators for a rapid trip to the second, bedroom floor. Van Damm was waiting there.
“Mr. President.”
“Do I change, Arnie?” Jack asked, handing his coat to a valet. Ryan stopped cold, if only for a second or two, in surprise at how easy that simple activity was. He was President now, and in small ways he had automatically started to act like one. Somehow that was more remarkable than the duties he’d already undertaken.
“No. Here.” The chief of staff handed over a list of the guests already downstairs in the East Room. Jack scanned
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it, standing there in the middle of the hall. The names weren’t so much people as countries,’many friendly, many acquaintances, some genuine strangers, and some… Even as a former National Security Advisor, he didn’t know everything he ought to have known about them. While he read, Cathy hustled the kids off to the bathroom–or started to. An agent from the Detail had to assist in locating them. Ryan walked into his own, checking his hair in the mirror. He managed to comb it himself, without the ministrations of Mrs. Abbot, under van Damm’s scrutiny. Not even safe in here, the President told himself.
“How long will this go, Arnie?”
“No telling, sir.”
Ryan turned. “When we’re alone, the name’s still Jack, remember? I’ve been afflicted, not anointed.”
“Okay, Jack.”
“Kids, too?”
“That’ll be a nice touch. . . . Jack, so far, you’ve been doing well.”
“Do I have my speechwriter mad at me?” he asked, checking his tie and leaving the bathroom.
“Your instincts weren’t so bad, but next time we can have a speech prepared for that.”