Tom Clancy - Command Authority

Jack cried out as he fell, and he tried to reach out to grab something on his way down, but he hit the water several feet below. As he broke the surface, the cold enveloped him. He flailed in the black water; he had no sense of up and down as the cold shocked his system and disoriented him.

Jack’s head came out of the water; he spit out a mouthful of water and sucked cold air. He was ready to dive back down below the water to avoid gunfire, but he looked up and saw no one at the railing.

Then, for just an instant, he saw the man in the bomber jacket. His hat was gone, but all Jack could tell was that he was a white male with a beard and mustache. The man put his foot on the bottom rail, and he looked like he was going to leap over and dive into the water next to Jack.

A second gunshot rang out. The man on the rail stopped in mid-movement, he raised his hands and turned around, and then he disappeared from view.

Ryan felt himself losing feeling in his arms and legs; he kicked ferociously and waved his arms around in an attempt to swim to the edge of the canal. After just a moment he realized the current was pulling him to the south. In the space of just a few seconds he’d already drifted ten yards. He looked down the canal and saw a bridge just another fifty yards on. One of the side spans entering the water near the abutment would be in reach if he just went with the flow, so he concentrated on not drowning and let the water take him.

It took Ryan nearly five minutes to make it back up to street level. By now West German police cars were all over Am Nordhafen, after multiple residents of nearby apartment buildings had reported the gunfire. Most had reasonably assumed someone had been caught in the death strip of the Berlin Wall and shot by East German border guards, but quickly it became clear the noise had come from two blocks within the West German side of the border.

Ryan staggered up to the first patrol car parked by the bridge. Through chattering teeth he told the men he was an American diplomat, and he’d been attacked by two men, one of whom had a pistol.

As far as Jack knew, a Good Samaritan had saved him, but as for what had happened to the man in the bomber jacket, he had no clue.

He was given a blanket and told he’d be taken to the hospital, but Jack insisted they drive him back to the point where it happened instead.

Here they found no trace of either the Good Samaritan or the attackers, and soon the police insisted on taking Ryan to get checked out by medical personnel. He talked them into taking him straight to Clay Headquarters, where he would have access to American medical facilities to get the gash in his forearm treated, but only because he wanted to alert the CIA to everything that had happened in the past hour.

Jack wanted them to do whatever they could to help both Marta and the man who saved his life, because, he feared, they were both now in the hands of the East Germans.

It had been a long day for Jack Ryan, Jr. As soon as he’d left the home of Malcolm Galbraith, he’d returned to the Gulfstream and they’d flown to France. The purpose of their trip was simply to get away from Scotland, because it was clear Hugh Castor knew Jack was there, and there was a chance he would send more Russian assassins after him.

They landed at an airport near Lille, France, and here they waited while Gavin Biery, still in the flat in Kiev, spent hours hacking into the cellular companies in the UK in an attempt to geolocate the telephone used by Hugh Castor in his conversation with Malcolm Galbraith. It became apparent after lengthy research that Castor was using powerful encryption on his phone that hid its connection to mobile phone towers, and Gavin was therefore unable to locate it or bread-crumb past GPS signals.

Just when they were about to admit defeat, however, Ryan got another idea. He called Sandy Lamont, and asked him which of Castor’s staff was also out of the office. Sandy seemed reluctant to get involved, but finally he checked into it and told Ryan one of Castor’s two security officers, a former MI5 man himself, was also away. Ryan found the man’s mobile number by doing a social media search, and soon Biery had located this mobile phone’s signal.

It was pinging a tower in Küssnacht, Switzerland, a municipality in the canton of Schwyz. Küssnacht was southwest of Zug; Castor’s chalet was on the lake in Baumgarten, a community in Küssnacht.

Ryan discussed it with Ding and the others, and by midafternoon the Gulfstream was back in the air, heading southeast over France.

An hour from touchdown in Zurich, Adara Sherman sat directly behind the flight deck, then behind her, Caruso, Chavez, and Driscoll dozed in reclined cabin chairs. Oxley and Ryan were in the very back of the aircraft, and they were the only two awake and in conversation.

Ryan was trying to get information about their destination. He asked, “Did Castor have the place in Zug back when you were there?”

Oxley shook his head. “Not that I knew of. We weren’t friends, you understand. He was my handler. He was in London, I was in the field, which usually meant the East. When I went to Zug, Castor never said anything like, ‘Why not pop round to my lake house for tea when you’ve sussed out that Zenith mess?’”

Ryan laughed. Then he said, “One thing Galbraith didn’t know was what tipped the KGB off in the first place. When you tailed the men from Hungary to Ritzmann Privatbankiers, did you know anything about the trail they were following?”

“Not a clue. I wasn’t inside. I was more engaged in foot-follow surveillance. I had instructions and I carried them out. Tried to, anyway. Your dad would know better than me.”

Ryan wasn’t sure he heard the last part correctly. “My dad?”

Now the big, silver-bearded Englishman turned to the young American. “Your father. He was there. You knew that, of course.”

Jack shook his head. “In Switzerland?”

“And in Berlin.”

“Berlin?”

Oxley shook his head in utter disbelief. “Do you two ever talk about anything?”

“Ox, my dad was CIA. I’ve picked up a lot through the years, mostly through others, but he can’t tell me much about what he did back then.” Jack said, “You’re sure? You’re certain he was there when all this was going on?”

“Of course I’m bloody certain.”

“How can you be so sure?”

“Because I’ll never forget him.” Oxley paused before saying the next part. “His was the last face I saw before my world went dark.”

It was noon at the White House. President Jack Ryan had spent the first half of the day in and out of meetings related to the situation in Ukraine, and now he was running late to a luncheon here in D.C. He was signing a few documents at his desk when his secretary’s voice came over the intercom.

“Mr. President?”

Ryan replied without looking up. “Tell Arnie to hold his horses. I’ll be out in one second.”

“Sorry, sir. It’s Jack Junior on line one.”

Ryan put down his pen. “Great, put him through.”

Jack’s hand fired out and snatched up the phone. As always, he did his best to keep his voice light to mask his concern for his son. Even now, when he had no reason to think Jack Junior was in any danger, he heard from him seldom enough that his imagination often got the best of him and he could not help worrying.

“Hey, sport. You doing okay?”

“Hey, Dad… I have to put you on speakerphone.”

Jack Senior was disappointed his son had someone with him. He figured he’d be asked to say hi to some stranger, and though he didn’t really mind, he’d rather just hear about Jack Junior’s day. He said, “Actually, I might have to call you back. Have to run up to the Washington Hilton for a speech on foreign affairs. As you can imagine, we’ve been running behind schedule all day.”