Jack Ryan 8 - Debt of Honor (58 page)

“Admiral?” Dubro's head turned. It was a signalman. “F
LASH
Traffic from CINCPAC.” The petty officer handed over the clipboard and held a red-covered flashlight over the dispatch so that the battle-group commander could read it.“Did you acknowledge receipt?” the Admiral asked before he started reading.“No, sir, you left orders to chimp everything down.”

“Very good, sailor.” Dubro started reading. In a second he was holding both the clipboard and the flashlight. “Son of a bitch!”

Special Agent Robberton would drive Cathy home, and with that notification, Ryan again became a government functionary rather than a human being with a wife and family. It was a short walk to Marine One, its rotor already turning. President and Mrs. Durling, J
UMPER
and J
ASMINE
, had done the requisite smiles for the cameras and had used the opportunity of the long flight to beg off answering any questions. Ryan trailed behind like some sort of equerry.

“Take an hour to get caught up,” Durling said as the helicopter landed on the south lawn of the White House. “When is the Ambassador scheduled in?”

“Eleven-thirty,” Brett Hanson replied.

“I want you, Arnie, and Jack there for the meeting.”

“Yes, Mr. President,” the Secretary of State acknowledged.

The usual photographers were there, but most of the White House reporters whose shouted questions so annoyed everyone were still back at Andrews collecting their bags. Inside the ground-floor entrance was a larger contingent of Secret Service agents than normal. Ryan headed west and was in his office two minutes later, shedding his coat and sitting down at a desk already decorated with call slips. Those he ignored for the moment, as he lifted the phone and dialed CIA.

“DDO, welcome back, Jack,” Mary Pat Foley said. Ryan didn't bother asking how she knew it was him. Not that many had her direct line.

“How bad?”

“Our embassy personnel are safe. The embassy has not as yet been entered, and we're destroying everything.” Station
Tokyo
, as all CIA stations had become in the last ten years, was completely electronic now. Destroying files was a question of seconds and left no telltale smoke. “Ought to be done by now.” The procedure was straightforward. The various computer disks were erased, reformatted, erased again, then subjected to powerful hand-held magnets. The bad news was that some of the data was irreplaceable, though not so much so as the people who had generated it. There was now a total of three “illegals” in
Tokyo
, the net human-intelligence assets of the
United States
in what was—probably—an enemy country.

“What else?”

“They're letting people travel back and forth to their homes, with escort. Actually they're playing it pretty cool,” Mrs. Foley said, her surprise not showing. “It's not like Teheran in '79, anyway. For communications they're letting us use satellite links so far, but those are being electronically monitored. The embassy has one STU-6 operating. The rest have been deactivated. We still have T
APDANCE
capability, too,” she finished, mentioning the random-pad cipher that all embassies now used through the National Security Agency's communications net.

“Other assets?” Ryan asked, hoping that his own secure line was not compromised, but using cover procedure even so.

“Without the legals they're pretty much cut off.” The worry in her voice was clear with that answer, along with quite a bit of self-reproach. The Agency still had operations in quite a few countries that did not absolutely require embassy personnel as part of the loop. But
Japan
wasn't one of them, and even Mary Pat couldn't make hindsight retroactive.

“Do they even know what's going on?” It was an astute question, the Deputy Director (Operations) thought, and another needle in her flesh.

“Unknown,” Mrs. Foley admitted. “They didn't get any word to us. They either do not know or have been compromised.” Which was a nicer way of saying arrested.

“Other stations?”

“Jack, we got caught with our knickers down, and that's a fact.” For all the grief that it had to cause her, Ryan heard, she was reporting facts like a surgeon in the OR. What a shame that Congress would grill her unmercifully for the intelligence lapse. “I have people in
Seoul
and shaking the bushes, but I don't expect anything back from them for hours.”

Ryan was rummaging through his pink call sheets. “I have one message, an hour old, from Golovko…”

“Hell, call the bastard,” Mary Pat said at once. “Let me know what he says.”

“Will do.” Jack shook his head, remembering what the two men had talked about. “Get down here fast. Bring Ed. I need a gut call on something but not over the phone.”

“Be there in thirty,” Mrs. Foley said.

Jack spread out several faxes on his desk, and scanned them quickly. The Pentagon's operations people had been faster than the other agencies, but now DIA was checking in, quickly followed by State. The government was awake—nothing like gunfire to accomplish that, Jack thought wryly—but the data was mainly repetitive, different agencies learning the same thing at different times and reporting in as though it were new. He flipped through the call sheets again, and clearly the majority of them would say the same thing. His eyes came back to the one from the chairman of the Russian Foreign Intelligence Service. Jack lifted the phone and made the call, wondering which of the phones on Golovko's desk would ring. He took out a scratch pad, noting the time. The Signals Office would take note of the call, of course, and tape it, but he wanted to keep his own notes.

“Hello, Jack,”

“Your private line, Sergey Nikolay'ch?”

“For an old friend, why not?” The Russian paused, ending the joviality for the day. “I presume you know.”

“Oh, yeah.” Ryan thought for a moment before going on. “We were caught by surprise,” he admitted. Jack heard a very Russian grunt of sympathy.

“So were we. Completely. Do you have any idea what the madmen are up to?” the RVS Chairman asked, his voice a mixture of anger and concern.

“No, I see nothing at the moment that makes any sense at all.” And perhaps that was the most worrying part of all.

“What plans do you have?”

“Right now? None,” Ryan said. “Their ambassador is due here in less than an hour.”

“Splendid timing on his part,” the Russian commented. “They've done this to you before, if memory serves.”

“And to you,” Ryan said, remembering how the Russo-Japanese War had begun. They do like their surprises.

“Yes, Ryan, and to us.” And that, Jack knew, was why Sergey had made the call, and why his voice showed genuine concern. Fear of the unknown wasn't limited to children, after all, was it? “Can you tell me what sort of assets you have in place to deal with the crisis?”

“I'm not sure at the moment, Sergey,” Ryan lied. “If your
Washington
rezidentura is up to speed, you know I just got in. I need time to get caught up. Mary Pat is on her way down to my office now.”

“Ah,” Jack heard over the line. Well, it was an obvious lie he'd told, and Sergey was a wise old pro, wise enough to know. “You were very foolish not to have activated T
HISTLE
sooner, my friend.”

“This is an open line, Sergey Nikolay'ch.” Which was partially true. The phone call was routed through the American Embassy in
Moscow
on a secure circuit, but from there on it was a standard commercial line, probably, and therefore subject to possible bugging.

“You need not be overly concerned, Ivan Emmetovich. Do you recall our conversation in my office?”

Oh, yeah. Maybe the Russians really did have the Japanese counterintelligence chief under their control. If so, he was in a position to know if the phone call was secure or not. And if so, there were some other cards in his hand. Nice ones. Was he offering Ryan a peek?

Think fast, Jack, Ryan commanded himself. Okay, the Russians have another network up and running…

“Sergey, this is important: you did not have any warning?”

“Jack, on my honor as a spy”—Ryan could almost hear the twisted smile that must be framing the answer—“I just had to tell my President that I was caught with my fly unbuttoned, and the embarrassment to me is even greater than what—”

Jack didn't bother listening to the embroidery. Okay. The Russians did have another spy network operating in
Japan
, but they had probably not received any warning either, had they? No, the danger from that sort of double-dealing was just too great. Next fact: their second network was inside the Japanese government itself; had to be if they had PSID penetrated. But T
HISTLE
was mainly a commercial spy net—always had been—and Sergey had just told him that the
U.S.
had been foolish not to have activated it sooner. The novelty of what he knew distracted Jack from a more subtle implication surrounding the admission of fault from
Moscow
.

“Sergey Nikolay'ch, I'm short of time here. You are building to something. What is it?”

“I propose cooperation between us. I have the approval of President Grushavoy to make the offer.” He didn't say full cooperation, Jack noted, but the offer was startling even so.

Never, not ever, not once except in bad movies had KGB and CIA really cooperated on anything important. Sure, the world had changed plenty, but KGB, even in its new incarnation, still worked to penetrate American institutions and remained good at it. That was why you didn't let them. But he'd just made the offer anyway. Why?

The Russians are scared. Of what?

“I will present that to my President after consulting with Mary Pat.”

Ryan wasn't yet sure how he would present it. Golovko, however, knew the value of what he'd just laid on the American's desk. It would not require much insight to speculate on the probable reply.

Again, Ryan could hear the smile. “If Foleyeva does not agree, I will be most surprised. I will be in my office for a few more hours.”

“So will I. Thanks, Sergey.”

“Good day, Dr. Ryan.”

“Well, that sounded interesting,” Robby Jackson said in the doorway. “Looks like you had a long night, too.”

“In an airplane, yet. Coffee?” Jack asked.

The Admiral shook his head. “One more cup and I might shake apart.” He came in and sat down.

“Bad?”

“And getting worse. We're still trying to tally how many uniformed people we have in
Japan
—there are some transients. An hour ago a C-141 landed at Yakota and promptly went off the air. The goddamned thing just headed right in,” Robby said. “Maybe a radio problem, more likely they didn't have the gas to go anywhere else. Flight crew of four, maybe five—I forget. State is trying to run a tally for how many businessmen are there. It ought to generate an approximate number, but there are tourists to consider also.”

“Hostages.” Ryan frowned.

The Admiral nodded. “Figure the ten thousand as a floor figure.”

“The two subs?”

Jackson
shook his head. “Dead, no survivors. Stennis has recovered her airplane and is heading for
Pearl
at about twelve knots.
Enterprise
is trying to make turns on one shaft, and is under tow, she's making maybe six. Maybe none if the engine damage is as bad as the CO told us. They've sent a big salvage tug to help with that. We've sent some P-3's to Midway to do antisubmarine patrols. If I were the other side, I'd try to finish them off. Johnnie Reb ought to be okay, but Big-E is a hell of a ripe target. CINCPAC is worried about that. We're out of the power-projection business, Jack.”

“
Guam
?”

“All the
Marianas
are off the air, except for one thing.”
Jackson
explained about Oreza. “All he tells us is how bad things are.”

“Recommendations?”

“I have people looking at some ideas, but for starters we need to know if the President wants us to try. Will he?” Robby asked.

“Their ambassador will be here soon.”

“Good of him. You didn't answer my question. Dr. Ryan.”

“I don't know the answer yet.”

“There's a confidence-builder.”

For Captain Bud Sanchez the experience was unique. It was not quite a miracle that he'd recovered the 8-3 Viking without incident. The “
Hoover
” was a docile aircraft floating in, and there had been a whole twenty knots of wind over the deck. Now his entire air wing was back aboard, and his aircraft carrier was running away.

Running away. Not heading into harm's way, the creed of the United States Navy, but limping back to
Pearl
. The five squadrons of fighters and attack aircraft on the deck of John Stennis just sat there, lined up in neat rows on the flight deck, all ready for combat operations but except in a really dire emergency unable to take off. It was a question of wind and weight. Carriers turned into the wind to launch and recover aircraft, and needed the most powerful engines placed aboard ships to give the greatest possible airflow over the bow. The moving air added to the takeoff impulse generated by the steam catapults to give lift to the aircraft flung into the air. Their ability to take off was directly governed by that airflow, and more significantly from a tactical point of view, the magnitude of the airflow governed the weight they could carry aloft—which meant fuel and weapons. As it was, he could get airplanes off, but without the gas needed to stay aloft long or to hunt across the ocean for targets, and without the weapons needed to engage those targets. He judged that he had the ability to use fighters to defend the fleet against an air threat out to a radius of perhaps a hundred miles. But there was no air threat, and though they knew the position of the retiring Japanese formations, he did not have the ability to reach them with his attack birds. But then, he didn't have orders to allow him to do it anyway.

Night at sea is supposed to be a beautiful thing, but it was not so this time. The stars and gibbous moon reflected off the calm surface of the ocean, making everyone nervous. There was easily enough light to spot the ships, blackout or not. The only really active aircraft of his wing were the antisubmarine helicopters whose blinking anti-collision lights sparkled mainly forward of the carriers, aided also by those of some of Johnnie Reb's escorts. The only good news was that the slow fleet speed made for excellent performance by the sonar systems on the destroyers and frigates, whose large-aperture arrays were streamed out in their wakes. Not too many. The majority of the escorts had lingered behind with
Enterprise
, circling her in two layers like bodyguards for a chief of state, while one of their number, an Aegis cruiser, tried to help her along with a towing wire, increasing her speed of advance to a whole six and a half knots at the moment. Without a good storm over the bow, Big-E could not conduct flight operations at all.