away, and carried it through the towering bronze doors into the cavernous interior of the church, where the next day a Requiem Mass would be celebrated by the Pope himself.
But it wasn’t about religion now, except to the public. For the President of the United States, it was about matters of state. It turned out that Tom Jefferson had been right after all. The power of government devolved directly from the people, and Ryan had to act now, in a way that the people would approve, because when you got down to it, the nation wasn’t his. It was theirs.
And one thing made it worse. SORGE had coughed up another report that morning, and it was late coming in only because Mary Patricia Foley wanted to be doubly sure that the translation was right.
Also in the Oval Office were Ben Goodley, Arnie van Damm, and the Vice President. “Well?” Ryan asked them.
“Cocksuckers,” Robby said, first of all. “If they really think this way, we shouldn’t sell them shit in a paper bag. Even at Top Gun after a long night of boilermakers, even Navy fighter pilots don’t talk like this.”
“It is callous,” Ben Goodley agreed.
“They don’t issue consciences to the political leaders, I guess,” van Damm said, making it unanimous.
“How would your father react to information like this, Robby?” Ryan asked.
“His immediate response will be the same as mine: Nuke the bastards. Then he’ll remember what happens in a real war and settle down some. Jack, we have to punish them.”
Ryan nodded. “Okay, but if we shut down trade to the PRC, the first people hurt are the poor schlubs in the factories, aren’t they?”
“Sure, Jack, but who’s holding them hostage, the good guys or the bad guys? Somebody can always say that, and if fear of hurting them prevents you from taking any action, then you’re only making sure that things never get better for them. So, you can’t allow yourself to be limited that way,” TOMCAT concluded, “or you become the hostage.”
Then the phone rang. Ryan got it, grumbling at the interruption.
“Secretary Adler for you, Mr. President. He says it’s important.”
Jack leaned across his desk and punched the blinking button. “Yeah, Scott.”
“I got the download. It’s not unexpected, and people talk differently inside the office than outside, remember.”
“That’s great to hear, Scott, and if they talk about taking a few thousand Jews on a train excursion to Auschwitz, is that supposed to be funny, too?”
“Jack, I’m the Jew here, remember?”
Ryan let out a long breath and pushed another button. “Okay, Scott, you’re on speaker now. Talk,” POTUS ordered.
“This is just the way the bastards talk. Yes, they’re arrogant, but we already knew that. Jack, if other countries knew how we talk inside the White House, we’d have a lot fewer allies and a lot more wars. Sometimes intelligence can be too good.”
Adler really was a good SecState, Ryan thought. His job was to look for simple and safe ways out of problems, and he worked damned hard at it.
“Okay, suggestions?”
“I have Carl Hitch lay a note on them. We demand a statement of apology for this fuckup.”
“And if they tell us to shove it?”
“Then we pull Rutledge and Hitch back for ‘consultations,’ and let them simmer for a while.”
“The note, Scott?”
“Yes, Mr. President.”
“Write it on asbestos paper and sign it in blood,” Jack told him coldly.
“Yes, sir,” SecState acknowledged, and the line went dead.
It was a lot later in the day in Moscow when Pavel Yefremov and Oleg Provalov came into Sergey Golovko’s office.
“I’m sorry I couldn’t have you in sooner,” the SVR chairman told his guests. “We’ve been busy with problems—the Chinese and that shooting in Beijing.” He’d been looking into it just like every other person in the world.
“Then you have another problem with them, Comrade Chairman.”
“Oh?”
Yefremov handed over the decrypt. Golovko took it, thanking the man with his accustomed good manners, then settled back in his chair and started reading. In less than five seconds, his eyes widened.
“This is not possible,” his voice whispered.
“Perhaps so, but it is difficult to explain otherwise.”
“I was the target?”
“So it would appear,” Provalov answered.
“But why?”
“That we do not know,” Yefremov said, “and probably nobody in the city of Moscow knows. If the order was given through a Chinese intelligence officer, the order originated in Beijing, and the man who forwarded it probably doesn’t know the reasoning behind it. Moreover, the operation is set up to be somewhat deniable, since we cannot even prove that this man is an intelligence