Jack Ryan 1 - Without Remorse (78 page)

'Out of the country. Why?'

'I got a call today from the police. They're looking for him.'

Oh, God. 'Why?'

'He didn't say.' Rosen looked around. They were alone at the nurses' station. 'Sandy, I know he's been doing things -I mean, I think I know, but I haven't -'

'I haven't heard from him, either. What are we supposed to do?'

Rosen grimaced and looked away before replying. 'As good citizens, we're supposed to cooperate with the police - but we're not doing that, are we? No idea where he is?'

'He told me, but I'm not supposed to - he's doing something with the government ... over in ...' She couldn't finish, couldn't bring herself to say the word. '?? gave a number I can call. I haven't used it.'

'I would,' Sam told her, and left.

It wasn't right. He was off doing something scary and important, only to come back to a police investigation. It seemed to Nurse O'Toole that the unfairness of life had gotten as bad as it could. She was wrong.

'Pittsburgh?'

'That's what he said,' Henry confirmed.

'It's cute, by the way, having him as your man on the inside. Very professional,' Piaggi said with respect.

'He said we need to take care of it quick, like. She hasn't said much yet.'

'She saw it all?' Piaggi didn't have to add that he didn't think that very professional at all. 'Henry, keeping people in line is one thing. Making them into witnesses is another.'

'Tony, I'm going to take care of that, but we need to handle this problem right quick, y'dig?' It seemed to Henry Tucker that he was in the stretch run, and over the finish line were both safety and prosperity. That five more people had to die to get him across that line was a small matter after the race he'd already run.

'Go on.'

'The family name is Brown. Her name is Doris. Her father's name is Raymond.'

'You sure of this?'

'The girls talk to each other. I got the street name and everything. You got connections. I need you to use 'em fast.'

Piaggi copied down the information. 'Okay. Our Philly connections can handle it. It's not going to be cheap, Henry.'

'I didn't expect it would be.'

* * *

The flight deck looked very empty. All four of the aircraft briefly assigned to Ogden were gone now, and the deck reassumed its former status as the ship's unofficial town square. The stars were the same as before, now that the ship was again under clear skies, and a sliver of a waning moon was high in the sky in these early hours. No sailors were out now, however. Those awake at this hour were on duty, but for Kelly and the Marines the day/night cycle was askew, and the gray steel walls of their spaces were too confining for the thoughts they had. The ship's wake was a curious luminescent green from the photoplankton stirred up by the ship's screws, and left a long trail showing where she'd been. Half a dozen men stood well aft, staring at it without words.

'It could have been a hell of a lot worse, you know.' Kelly turned. It was Irvin. It had to be.

'Could have been a hell of a lot better, too, Guns.'

'Wasn't no accident, them showing up like that, was it?'

'I don't think I'm supposed to say. Is that a good enough answer?'

'Yes, sir. And Lord Jesus said, “Father, forgive them, for they know not what they do.”'

'And what if they do know?'

Irvin grunted. 'I think you know what my vote is. Whoever it was, they could have killed all of us.'

'You know, Guns, just once, just one time, I'd like to finish something the right way,' Kelly said.

'Yeah.' Irvin took a second before going on, and going back. 'Why the hell would anybody do something like that?'

A shape loomed close. It was Newport News, a lovely silhouette only two thousand yards off, and visible in a spectral way despite the absence of lights. She, too, was heading back, the last of the Navy's big-gun cruisers, creature of a bygone age, returning home after the same failure that Kelly and Irvin knew.

* * *

'Seven-one-three-one,' the female voice said.

'Hello, I'm trying to get Admiral James Greer,' Sandy told the secretary.

'He's not in.'

'Can you tell me when he'll be back?'

'Sorry, no, I don't know.'

'But it's important.'

'Could you tell me who's calling, please?'

'What is this place?'

'This is Admiral Greer's office.'

'No, I mean, is it the Pentagon?'

'Don't you know?'

Sandy didn't know, and that question led her off in a direction she didn't understand. 'Please, I need your help.'

'Who's calling, please?'

'Please, I need to know where you are!'

'I can't tell you that,' the secretary responded, feeling herself to be one of the fortress walls that protected US National Security.

'Is this the Pentagon?'

Well, she could tell her that. 'No, it isn't.'

What then? Sandy wondered. She took a deep breath. 'A friend of mine gave me this number to call. He's with Admiral Greer. He said I could call here to find out if he's okay.'

'I don't understand.'

'Look, I know he went to Vietnam!'

'Miss, I cannot discuss where Admiral Greer is.' Who violated security? She'd have to make a report on this.

'It's not about him, it's about John!' Calm down. You're not helping anyone this way.

'John who?' the secretary asked.

Deep breath. Swallow. 'Please get a message to Admiral Greer. This is Sandy. It's about John. He will understand. Okay? He will understand. This is most important.' She gave her home and work numbers.

'Thank you. I will do what I can.' The line went dead.

Sandy wanted to scream, and nearly did so. So the Admiral had gone, too. Okay, he'd be close to where John is. The secretary would get the message through. She would have to. People like that, if you said most important, didn't have the imagination not to do it. Settle down. Anyway, where he was, the police couldn't get him either. But for the rest of the day, and into the next, the second hand on her watch seemed to stand still.

USS Ogden pulled into Subic Bay Naval Station in the early afternoon. Coming alongside seemed to take forever in the moist tropical heat. Finally lines were tossed and a brow advanced to the ship's side. A civilian sprinted up first even before it was properly secured. Soon thereafter the Marines filed off to a bus which would take them to Cubi Point. The deck division watched them walk off. A few hands were shaken as everyone tried to leave at least one good memory from the experience, but 'good try' just didn't make it, and 'good luck' seemed blasphemous. Their C-141 was waiting there for the flight stateside. Mr Clark, they saw, wasn't with them.

'John, it seems you have a lady friend who's worried about you,' Greer said, handing the message over. It was the friendliest of the dispatches that the junior CIA officer had brought up from Manila. Kelly scanned it while three admirals reviewed the others.

'Do I have time to call her, sir? She's worried about me.'

'You left her my office number?' Greer was slightly vexed.

'Her husband was killed with the First Cav, sir. She worries,' Kelly explained.

'Okay.' Greer put his own troubles aside for the moment. 'I'll have Barbara tell her you're safe.'

The rest of the messages were less welcome. Admirals Maxwell and Podulski were being summoned back to Washington soonest to report on the failure of boxwood green. Ritter and Greer had similar orders, though they also had an ace in the hole. Their ??-135 was waiting at Clark Air Force Base. A puddle jumper would hop over the mountains. The best news at the moment was their disrupted sleep cycle. The flight back to the American East Coast would bring them back in just the right way.

Colonel Grishanov came into the sunlight along with the admirals. He was wearing clothing borrowed from Captain Franks - they were of approximately the same size - and escorted by Maxwell and Podulski. Kolya was under no illusions of his chance to escape anywhere, not on an American naval base located on the soil of an American ally. Ritter was talking to him quietly, in Russian, as all six men walked down to the waiting cars. Ten minutes later, they climbed into an Air Force C-12 twin-prop Beechcraft. Half an hour later that aircraft taxied right alongside the larger Boeing jet, which got off less than an hour after they'd left Ogden. Kelly found himself a nice wide seat and strapped himself in, asleep before the windowless transport started rolling. The next stop, they'd told him, was Hickam in Hawaii, and he didn't plan to be awake for any of that.

Home is the Hunter

The flight wasn't as restful for the others. Greer had managed to get a couple of messages taken care of before the takeoff, but he and Ritter were the busiest. Their aircraft - the Air Force had lent it to them for the mission, no questions asked - was a semi-VIP bird belonging to Andrews Air Force Base, and was often used for Congressional junkets. That meant an ample supply of liquor, and while they drank straight coffee, their Russian guest's cups were laced with brandy, a little at first, then in increasing doses that his decaffeinated brew didn't begin to attenuate.

Ritter handled most of the interrogation. His first task was to explain to Grishanov that they had no plans to kill him. Yes, they were CIA. Yes, Ritter was a field officer - a spy, if you like - with ample experience behind the Iron Curtain - excuse me, working as a slinking spy in the peace-loving Socialist East Bloc - but that was his job, as Kolya - do you mind if I call you Kolya? - had his job. Now, please, Colonel, can you give us the names of our men? (That was already listed in Grishanov's voluminous notes.) Your friends, you say? Yes, we are very grateful indeed for your efforts to keep them alive. They all have families, you know, just like you do. More coffee, Colonel? Yes, it is good coffee, isn't it? Of course you'll go home to your family. What do you think we are, barbarians? Grishanov had the good manners not to answer that one.

Damn, Greer thought, but Bob is good at this sort of thing. It wasn't about courage or patriotism. It was about humanity. Grishanov was a tough hombre, probably a hell of a good airplane-driver - what a shame they couldn't let Maxwell or especially Podulski in on this! - but he was at bottom a man, and the quality of his character worked against him. He didn't want the American prisoners to die. That plus the stress of capture, plus the whiplash surprise of the cordial treatment, plus a lot of good brandy, all conspired to loosen his tongue. It helped a lot more that Ritter didn't even approach matters of grave concern to the Soviet state. Hell, Colonel, I know you're not going to give up any secrets - so why ask?

'Your man killed Vinh, did he?' the Russian asked halfway across the Pacific.

'Yes, he did. It was an accident and -' The Russian cut Ritter off with a wave.

'Good. He was nekulturny, a vicious little fascist bastard. He wants to kill those men, murder them,' Kolya added with the aid of six brandies.

'Well, Colonel, we're hoping to find a way to prevent that.'

'Neurosurgery West,' the nurse said.

'Trying to get Sandra O'Toole.'

'Hold on, please. Sandy?' The nurse on desk duty held the phone up. The nursing-team leader took it.

'This is O'Toole.'

'Miss O'Toole, this is Barbara - we spoke earlier. Admiral Greer's office?'

'Yes!'

'Admiral Greer told me to let you know - John is okay and he's now on his way home.'

Sandy's head spun around, to look in a direction where there were no eyes to see the sudden tears of relief. A mixed blessing perhaps, but a blessing still. 'Can you tell me when?'

'Sometime tomorrow, that's all I know.'

'Thank you.'

'Surely.' The line went immediately dead.

Well, that's something - maybe a lot. She wondered what would happen when he got here, but at least he was coming back alive. More than Tim had managed to do.

The hard landing at Hickam - the pilot was tired - startled Kelly into wakefulness. An Air Force sergeant gave him a friendly shake to make sure as the aircraft taxied to a remote part of the base for refueling and servicing. Kelly took the time to get out and walk around. The climate was warm here, but not the oppressive heat of Vietnam. It was American soil, and things were different here ...

Sure they are.

Just once, just one time ... he remembered saying. Yes, I'm going to get those other girls out just like I got Doris out. It shouldn't be all that hard. I'll get Burt next and we'll talk. I'll even let the bastard go when ?? done, probably. I can't save the whole world, but... by Jesus, I'll save some of it!

He found a phone in the Distinguished Visitors lounge and placed a call.

'Hello?' the groggy voice said, five thousand miles away.

'Hi, Sandy. It's John!' he said with a smile. Even if those aviators weren't coming home just yet - well, he was, and he was grateful for that.

'John! Where are you?'

'Would you believe Hawaii?'

'You're okay?'

'A little tired, but, yes. No holes or anything,' he reported with a smile. Just the sound of her voice had brightened his day. But not for long.

'John, there's a problem.'

The sergeant at the reception desk saw the DV's face change. Then he turned back into the phone booth and became less interesting.

'Okay. It must be Doris,' Kelly said. 'I mean, only you and the docs know about me, and -'

'It wasn't us,' Sandy assured him.

'Okay. Please call Doris and ... be careful, but -'

'Warn her off?'

'Can you do that?'

'Yes!'

Kelly tried to relax a little, almost succeeding. 'I'll be back in about ... oh, nine or ten hours. Will you be at work?'

'I have the day off.'

'Okay, Sandy. See you soon. 'Bye.'

'John!' she called urgently. .

'What?'

'I want... I mean ...' her voice stopped.

Kelly smiled again. 'We can talk about that when I get there, honey.' Maybe he wasn't just going home. Maybe he was going home to something. Kelly made a quick inventory of everything he'd done. He still had his converted pistol and other weapons on the boat, but everything he'd worn on every job: shoes, socks, outer clothing, even underwear, were now in whatever trash dump. He'd left behind no evidence that he knew of. The police might be interested in talking to him, fine. He did not have to talk to them. That was one of the nice things about the Constitution, Kelly thought as he walked back to the aircraft and trotted up the stairs.