Oath of Office

Njaya gulped. “I will make certain the men who now surround your embassy depart at once.”

“That is all I can ask,” Ryan said.

“But what of Mbida?”

“He’ll be given safe passage out of the country.”

There was a long pause on the line. Ryan and the others in the room couldn’t help but smile when it was filled with the booming roar of jets overhead.

“I see,” Njaya stammered. “But Mr. President. This entire incident has cost me politically. I am begging you. Do not send your troops into my country. It would make me appear to be weak.”

Ryan’s voice grew dark again. He spoke clearly and slowly. “You misunderstand the situation, François. I am not going to send in anyone. They are already there, overhead, in your shops, on your highways, behind every building and tree. They are embedded with your rapid response soldiers, whom they have worked alongside against Boko Haram for years.”

More silence.

Ryan got a thumbs-up from Burgess that Mrs. Porter was free and safe.

“Very well,” he said. “If I can be of any further assistance, please let me know.”

He disconnected before Njaya could respond.

* * *

Exhausted, Ryan waited in the Situation Room long enough to hear that the Cameroonian troops were pulling back from the embassy. He said good night, knowing the morning alarm was going to come before he knew it, and he made a quick stop by the Oval to grab some papers he wanted to read the next morning before coming in. Standing behind his desk, he stretched, then looked at his watch. He awoke so frequently in different places around the globe that his circadian clock was in constant reset mode. He only paid attention to the time anymore so he wouldn’t inconvenience too many others.

Darren Huang, the Secret Service night-shift supervisor, a kid about Jack Junior’s age, stood outside the door of the Oval Office waiting to walk him to the residence. Ryan motioned for him to step inside.

“What can I do for you, Mr. President?”

“Hey, Darren,” Ryan said. “Still pitching on Saturday?”

Ryan liked to know just a little bit about each of the agents who protected him. Huang was team captain and pitcher on an adult-league baseball team where he lived in Great Falls, Virginia. The agent didn’t have the need to know, but two of the other members of his team were case officers at CIA. One of them happened to be Mary Pat Foley’s nephew. It was the way of things in D.C. You either were a spy or knew someone who was — even if you didn’t know you knew it.

The agent smiled at his boss. “Indeed I am, sir. We’re starting off to a pretty good year.”

“Good to hear,” Ryan said. “I’m going to gather up a few things and hit the head, then I’ll be ready. Would you do me a favor and let Special Agent in Charge Montgomery know that I need to talk to him first thing?”

“Understood, Mr. President,” Huang said. He stepped outside and shut the door behind him, assuming his pantherlike gaze outward, toward any oncoming threat.

Unbeknownst to Ryan, the agent pushed the button at the end of the wire that ran down his sleeve, and then spoke into his lapel mic to CROWN — Secret Service code for the White House command post — letting the Uniform Division desk officer know that SWORDSMAN wanted to speak with the SAIC.

Ryan had time to get rid of his last two cups of coffee and flush the toilet before his personal cell phone rang.

He let it ring while he washed his hands.

“Jack Ryan,” he said, shoving the phone between his ear and shoulder while he dried.

“Good evening, Mr. President.”

Shit, he’d woken up Gary Montgomery when he didn’t need to.

“My fault, Gary. I meant first thing tomorrow.”

“No worries,” the special agent in charge said, stifling a yawn. “I can be right there.”

“No, no, no,” Ryan said. “Please. We can talk about it tomorrow.”

There was silence for a moment. Then: “Your call, sir, but to be honest, if it’s something important, I’d rather get a jump on it.”

Ryan thought about that, nodding to himself. He was the same way. “I have a special assignment I’d like to run by you. It’s a delicate matter, the kind that could end a career. And I have to admit this one is very likely to blow up in both our faces.”

“Put it that way, Mr. President,” Montgomery said, “I’m in one hundred percent.”

“Good,” Ryan said. “I’ll give you a five-minute rundown of what I have in mind, then we can hash out the details when I see you first thing… tomorrow.”

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