for the hospital that morning, so he’d tied the knot himself. A mistake.
Andrea cocked her head and appraised it. “Not bad, sir.” She made a slight adjustment and gave a curt nod of approval. “I feel my job security slipping away.”
“Not gonna happen, Andrea.” Price-O’Day had been with the Ryan family a long time, so long, in fact, that most of them rarely remembered she was armed and ready to kill and die for their safety.
There came a knock on the door, and one of the agents poked his head through the gap. “SHORTSTOP,” he announced, then opened the door to admit Jack Junior.
“Jack!” the elder Ryan said, walking over.
“Hey, Andrea,” Jack Junior said.
“Mr. Ryan.”
“Nice surprise,” said the former President.
“Yeah, well, my date canceled on me, so ...”
Ryan laughed. “Man’s gotta have his priorities.”
“Hell, I didn’t mean it like that—”
“Forget it. Glad you came. You got a seat?”
Jack Junior nodded. “Front row.”
“Good. If I get into trouble you can throw me a softball.”
Jack left his father, walked down the hall, took the stairs down one level, then headed toward the auditorium. Ahead, the hall was mostly dark, every other fluorescent ceiling fixture turned off. Like most educational institutions, Georgetown was trying to be more “green.” As he passed a conference room he heard a metallic scraping sound from within, like a chair being dragged across a floor. He stepped back and peeked through the slit window. Inside, a janitor in blue coveralls was kneeling down beside an upturned floor buffer, poking at the polishing pad with a screwdriver. On impulse, Jack pushed open the door and poked his head inside. The janitor looked up.
“Hi,” Jack said.
“Hello.” The man appeared to be Hispanic and spoke with a heavy accent. “Change pad,” he said.
“Sorry to bother you,” Jack said, then shut the door behind him. He pulled out his cell phone and dialed Andrea’s number. She picked up on the first ring. Jack said, “Hey, I was on my way to the auditorium. . . . There’s a janitor down here—”
“Conference room two-b?”
“Yeah.”
“We cleared him, and we’ll sweep again. We’re taking the basement route anyway.”
“Okay, just checking.”
“You looking for a second job?” Price-O’Day asked.
Jack chuckled. “How’s the pay?”
“Lot less than you make. And the hours are hell. See you later.”
Andrea disconnected. Jack headed toward the auditorium.
Showtime, sir,” she told former President Ryan, who stood up and shot his cuffs; the gesture was uniquely Jack Ryan Sr., but Price-O’Day saw a bit of the son in the father, and SHORTSTOP’s call about the janitor had told her something more: The son hadn’t fallen far from the intellectual tree, either. Was there such a thing as a spook gene? she wondered. If so, Jack Junior probably had it. Like his father, he was intensely curious and took few things on face. Of course they’d swept the building, and of course Jack knew this. Even so, he’d spotted the janitor and immediately thought, Anomaly. It had been a false alarm, but the question had been valid—something Secret Service agents learned to ask through training and experience.
Andrea now checked her watch and replayed their route in her mind, seeing the map in her head, timing the turns and distances. Satisfied, she knocked twice on the door, signaling to the agents there that SWORDSMAN was ready to move. She waited a moment for the cordon to form up, then opened the door, checked the hall, and stepped out, signaling for Ryan to follow.
In his auditorium seat, Jack Junior absently flipped through the night’s program, his eyes taking in the words but his brain failing to register them. Something was itching at his subconscious, that nebulous feeling of something left undone. . . . Something he’d meant to do before leaving The Campus, perhaps?
The president of Georgetown appeared on the stage and walked to the podium, accompanied by polite applause. “Good evening, ladies and gentlemen. As we have only one item on tonight’s program, I’ll be brief with my introductions. Former President John Patrick Ryan has a long history of government service—”
Janitor. The word popped, unbidden, into Jack’s mind. He’d been cleared, Andrea had said. Even so . . . He reached for his cell phone, then stopped. What would he say? That he had a feeling? From his seat, he could see the left side of the stage. Two black-suited Secret Service agents appeared; behind them, Andrea and his dad.
Before he realized what he was doing, Jack was on his feet and headed for the side exit.