Jack Ryan 9 - Executive Orders by Tom Clancy Read Free Book Online

was always accompanied by obligations that were greater still. You could see and exercise the former. The latter could only be felt. Those obligations came with the air, which suddenly seemed heavy in this windowless room. Jack sipped at his coffee briefly, looking around. The wall clock said
    
     11:14 P.M.
    
     He'd been President for . . . what? Ninety minutes? About the time for the drive from his home to . . . his new home . . . depending on traffic.
    “Where's Arnie?”
    “Right here, Mr. President,” Arnold van Damm said as he came through the door. Chief of staff to two Presidents, he would now set an all-time record as chief of staff to a third. His first President had resigned in disgrace. His second was dead. Would the third one be the charm—or did bad things always come in threes? Two adages, equally quoted, and mutually exclusive. Ryan's eyes just bored in on him, asking the question that he couldn't voice: What do I do now?
    “Good statement on TV, just about right.” The chief of staff sat down on the other side of the table. He appeared quiet and competent, as always, and Ryan didn't reflect on the effort such an appearance required of a man who'd lost more friends than Ryan had.
    “I'm not even sure what the hell I said,” Jack replied, searching his mind for memories that had vanished.
    “That's about normal for an ad-lib,” van Damm allowed. “It was still pretty good. I always thought your instincts were okay. You're going to need 'em.”
    “First thing?” Jack asked.
    “Banks, stock markets, all federal offices are closed, call it 'til the end of the week—maybe beyond that. We have a state funeral to plan for Roger and Anne. National week of mourning, probably a month for the flags to be at half-staff. We had a bunch of ambassadors in the chamber, too. That means a ton of diplomatic activity on top of everything else. We'll call that housekeeping stuff—I know,” van Damm said with a raised hand. “Sorry. You have to call it something.”
    “Who—”
    “We have a Protocol Office here, Jack,” van Damm pointed out. “They're already in their cubbyholes and working on this for you. We have a team of speech writers; they'll prepare your official statements. The media people will want to see you—what I mean by that is, you have to appear in public. You have to reassure people. You have to instill confidence—”
    “When?”
    “In time for the morning TV shows at the latest, CNN, all the networks. I'd prefer that we go on camera within the hour, but we don't have to. We can cover that by saying you're busy. You will be,” Arnie promised. “You'll have to be briefed on what you can say and what you can't before you go on TV. We'll lay the law down to the newsies on what they may and may not ask, and in a case like this they'll cooperate. Figure you have a week of kind treatment to lean on. That's your press honeymoon, and that's as long as it'll last.” “And then?” Jack asked. “And then you're the by-God President and you'll have to act like it, Jack,” van Damm said bluntly. “You didn't have to take the oath, remember?”
    That statement made Ryan's head jerk back as his peripheral vision caught the stony looks on the others in the room—all of them Secret Service at the moment. He was the new Boss, and their eyes weren't so very different now from those in the portraits on the walk in from the East Wing. They expected him to do the right thing. They'd support him, protect him from others and from himself, but he had to do the job. They wouldn't let him run away, either. The Secret Service was empowered to protect him from physical danger. Arnie van Damm would try to protect him from political danger. Other staffers would serve and protect, too. The housekeeping staff would feed him, iron his shirts, and fetch coffee. But none of them would allow Ryan to run away, either from his place or his duties.
    It was a prison.
    But what Arnie had just said was true. He could