Tom Clancy - Locked On

Watching him escape from their grasp.

The White House press corps assembled in the briefing room quickly. An announcement was made that the President would be making a short statement.

Within five minutes, a blink of an eye for those accustomed to waiting on Kealty, the President stepped into the briefing room and up to the microphone. “I have just spoken with officials of both the State Department and the Justice Department. I am told that, well, with a reasonable degree of certainty, that the fugitive John Clark has been implicated in the murder last night at around ten p.m. local time in Cologne, Germany, of a French businessman. I don’t have all the details on this just yet; I am sure Attorney General Brannigan’s office will have more on this as it develops. This event underscores how important it is that we get this individual into custody. I took a bit of heat from many of my political opponents, many in the Ryan camp, who accused me of only going after Mr. Clark because of the Ryan pardons and his relationship with Jack Ryan.

“Well… now you see that this is not politics at all. This is life and death. I am sorry that my vindication for the decision I made concerning John Clark has come at such a high cost.

“Mr. Clark has fled the United States, but I want to assure everyone, including our friends in Germany and all over the world, that we will not rest until Mr. Clark is back in U.S. custody. We will continue to work with our able partners in Germany, in Europe, wherever he goes, and we will find him, no matter what rock he chooses to hide under.”

A reporter from MSNBC shouted oeye fover his colleagues, “Mr. President, are you at all worried that there is a time limit on this manhunt? In other words, that if you do not win next week and you fail to catch Clark before your term ends, President Ryan will end the manhunt?”

Kealty had begun stepping away from the microphone, but he returned to it now. “Megan, I am going to win the election on Tuesday. That said, whatever support Jack Ryan has, he has not been entrusted by the American people to determine the guilt or innocence of individuals. He tried that before when he gave this murderer a pardon, and… well… look where we are now. That is a job for our Department of Justice, our courts. Mr. Clark is a killer, a murderer. I can only imagine what there is still to learn about Clark’s history. His crimes.” Kealty’s face reddened slightly. “So to you all in the media, I would like to say that if Jack Ryan tries to sweep this man’s past and present crimes under the rug… well, you are the fourth estate. You have a responsibility to keep that from happening.”

Kealty turned away from the press and left the briefing room without taking another question.

One hour later, Jack Ryan Sr. made his own statement in the driveway of his home in Baltimore. His wife, Cathy, stood by his side. “I don’t have any of the details of the specifics of the charges against John Clark. I don’t know what happened in Cologne, and I certainly do not know if Mr. Clark was involved, but I have known John Clark long enough to know that if he did, in fact, kill Mr. Patin, then Mr. Patin posed a real threat to John Clark.”

A reporter for CNN asked, “Are you saying Luc Patin deserved to die?”

“I am saying John Clark does not make mistakes. Now, if President Kealty wants to go after a Medal of Honor winner, put him on the FBI’s Ten Most Wanted list, well, I can’t stop him from doing that. But I can promise everyone that John deserves more than this country could ever give him as repayment for his services. And he certainly does not deserve the treatment he’s getting from this president.”

The CNN reporter interjected, “It sounds like you are saying your friend is above the law.”

“No, I’m not saying that. He is not above the law. But he is above this political theater disguised as law. This is disgusting. My wife has quite correctly admonished me in the past for getting a look on my face like I’ve just bitten a lemon when Ed Kealty is mentioned. I’ve tried to hide it as best I can. But right now, I want everyone to see how repulsed I am by what is going on relative to John Clark.”

As soon as Ryan reentered the house through the kitchen, Arnie van Damm turned to face him. “Jesus, Jack!”

“What I said was true, Arnie.”

“I believe you. I do. But how is that going to play?”

“I don’t give a shit how it plays. I’m not going to mince words on this. We’ve got an American hero out there being hunted down like a dog. I am not going to pretend like there is anything else going on.”

“But—”

Ryan snapped back, “But nothing! Now, next topic. What’s next on the day’s agenda?”

Arnie van Damm looked at his boss for a long time. Finally he nodded. “Why don’t we take the afternoon off, Jack? Me and my people will let you and Cathy and the kids have the house to yourself. Rent a movie. Eat a pizza. You deserve it. You’ve been working your ass offze="3">A.”

Jack calmed himself down. He shook his head. “You’ve been working harder than me. Sorry I jumped on you.”

“Lots of stress in a normal campaign. This is not a normal campaign.”

“No, it’s not. I’m fine. Let’s get back to work.”

“Whatever you say, Jack.”

Gerry Hendley lived alone. Since the death of his wife and children in a car accident, he had wrapped himself in his work, continuing on as a senator before leaving public service, and then taking over as the head of the most private spook shop in the world.

His work at Hendley Associates, on the white side as well as the black side, kept him occupied a good sixty hours a week, and even at home he watched the overseas markets on FBN and Bloomberg to keep his edge for the white side of his work, and he read Global Security and Foreign Affairs and Jane’s and The Economist to keep up with happenings that might affect his job overseeing black ops.

Gerry had trouble sleeping, understandable due to the intense pressures of his occupation as well as the loss he had experienced in his life: most important, the loss of his family, though the death of Brian Caruso the year before and the current situation with John Clark also took a personal toll on Hendley.

Hendley coveted sleep, it was a scarce and precious commodity, so when his phone rang in the middle of the night, it filled him with anger even before his wondering about the news to come filled him with dread.

It was three-twenty a.m. when his phone rang, rousing him from his rest.

“Yeah?” He answered in a gruff and annoyed tone.

“Good morning, sir. Nigel Embling calling from Pakistan.”

“Good morning.”

“I’m afraid there is a problem.”

“I’m listening.” Hendley sat up in bed. Now the anger disappeared and the woe appeared.

“I have just learned that your man Sam is missing near Miran Shah.”

Now Gerry was up and walking toward his office, heading for his desk and his computer. “What do you mean missing?”

“The unit of soldiers he was with was attacked by Haqqani network fighters several days ago. There were heavy losses on both sides, I am told. Sam and others were making their escape in a vehicle; my contact, Major al Darkur, was in the front. Your man was in the back. It is possible he fell out of the vehicle on the way to safety.”

On the surface that sounded, to Gerry Hendley, like utter bullshit. His first inclination was to think the ISI officer Embling had put up as reliable had double-crossed his man in the field. But he did not have enough data to make that charge just yet, and he certainly needed Embling’s help more than ever now, so he was careful to avoid lashing out with any accusations.