Oath of Office

“Mr. President, I have President Njaya of Cameroon on the line.”

Ryan put the phone on speaker. “François, thank you for taking my call.”

“Of course, Mr. President. These are most concerning reports I am hearing.”

“That’s putting it mildly, François.” Ryan cut to the chase. “I need Mrs. Porter released without delay. We can discuss the embassy after she’s safe.”

“I understand, Jack,” Njaya said. “I, too, am concerned for the safety of Mrs. Porter. These military officers who have taken her have so far shown restraint, but I am not sure how long that will continue.”

“What could they hope to gain, François?” Ryan asked, playing along with the farcical game. “Your military has mounted an attack on United States soil.”

Njaya huffed. “Jack, I would not go so far as to say it was an attack—”

“Put the shoe on the other foot.”

“I see,” Njaya said. “I do not dispute the fact that your embassy is American soil. The men who surround it are merely angry at the aggression against the sovereignty of Cameroon. I am sure this can all be sorted out.”

“Have you been able to figure out why?” Ryan asked. Njaya knew exactly why. It may have taken on a life of its own now — matters with rogue militaries usually did — but Njaya had certainly ordered it. Ryan didn’t want to play his hand. Yet.

“This I believe I can answer,” Njaya said. “A teacher at a secondary school here in Yaounde discovered your very disturbing video on the Internet.

“You are a smart man, Jack,” Njaya said pithily, animosity creeping into his voice for the first time. “Perhaps we should stop playing games. In this video you pledge your support to General Mbida and the Anglophones. How could you do such a thing, Mr. President? I would have contacted you directly to work it out, but once my supporters became aware of this video, they began to act of their own accord. It will take some time for me to restore calm.”

“That video is obviously doctored,” Ryan said. “You cannot believe everything you see online. Surely you know that, François.”

“Come, now, Mr. President,” Njaya said. “It is your face and your voice.”

“Have your people take a look at the metadata. They will prove me out.”

“I will do just that,” Njaya said.

“And your military?” Ryan asked. “What are they going to do? Before you answer, I will remind you that the United States has been your partner against Boko Haram for many years.”

“As I say, Mr. President,” Njaya said, “I am sure we… they will get this sorted out very soon. In the meantime, it would go a long way to bringing this matter to a close if your embassy personnel would send out Mbida.”

“There’s a big difference in someone asking for asylum and someone being held against their will. Before we talk about anything else, Mrs. Porter must be released.”

“But I do not know where she is,” Njaya said, barely concealing his duplicity. “Do you, Mr. President?”

“François,” Ryan said through clenched teeth. “I would think these rogue members of your military would not want the United States as an enemy.”

“It would seem to me,” Njaya said, “that it is you who cannot afford another enemy. What with everything else you are facing, the influenza, loss of public trust, I should think you would want to clear up this unfortunate incident quickly, before lives are lost.”

“François,” Ryan said, seething now. “They do not want to test me.”

“Oh, Mr. President.” The gloating smile was evident in Njaya’s tone. “One of your own senators has already accused you of bullying those who do not agree with you.”

Ryan’s face twitched. Mary Pat Foley, the only one in the room brave enough to approach him at the moment, stepped up to pat a hand on his arm for support. He waved her off, nodding that he was all right.

Njaya, uncomfortable with the silence, spoke again. “I am telling you, Jack, this is not my doing.”

“I understand,” Ryan said. “And I assure you, François, help is on the way. You will not have to take care of this alone.”

“Jack,” Njaya said. “You must not act unilaterally.”

“Oh, I’m not,” Ryan said. “Not at all. Our countries have had a mutual aid agreement to fight Boko Haram for many years. You have already invited us.”

“Come, now, Jack—”

“We’re losing the connection, François.”

Ryan ended the call. He took a deep breath and then put both hands flat on the desk in front of him.

“We’re attack plus five hours and so far we have, what, two UAVs and one DSS agent on station? I want all of you thinking about options. Everything’s on the table. DevGru, Delta, the 82nd Airborne… hell, an entire Marine Expeditionary Force. Let’s get Task Force Darby headed south. Whatever it takes to get this woman out safely and protect our embassy. Am I clear?”

Van Damm said, “The Hostage Response Group fusion cell is—”

Ryan pushed away from his desk. “Arnie,” he said, after a deep, deliberative breath. “I fully understand the need for the HRG. But I want action. Coordinated, yes, but not just coordinated planning.”

“Understood,” van Damm said.