Chapter 23
Situation Room
The White House
Washington, D.C.
Jack Ryan hurried down to the Situation Room.
Mary Pat had called an immediate meeting of the National Security Council, which was something she never did lightly.
He’d had no reservations whatsoever about cutting short a meeting with the Federal Reserve chairman regarding inflation.
The nuts and bolts of running America had to be addressed, but rarely were such matters time-critical.
The world was a dangerous place and security was job one.
He double-timed down the steps to the basement of the West Wing, his protection detail trotting to keep up.
Ryan walked into the recently redesigned Situation Room, commonly referred to as “the whizzer,” to find less than the full NSC Principals Committee.
Aside from Mary Pat, he saw Arnie van Damm, SecState Adler, SecDef Burgess, and JCS chairman Kent.
It was the middle of a workday, and that was who had been in the building.
The rest of the NSC, all en route, had responded with ETAs.
Mary Pat, clearly not in the mood to wait, began as soon as Ryan was seated—one more indicator that something big had dropped.
She called up a map on the big wall-mounted screen, and said, “Cyber Cell 6 has distinguished an event in eastern Turkey. This comes from a new AI system designed to recognize time-sensitive intelligence.”
“MAADN?” the President asked.
“That’s right. And it seems to be working well.
Less than half an hour ago, a Turkish army Black Hawk crashed in a remote area east of Ankara.
We’ve heard nothing about it through official channels yet, so I sent a message to the Turks advising them of the situation.
But I didn’t tell them everything. We have a brief window to coordinate a response of our own. ”
“A response to what?” asked Arnie van Damm who, as ever, looked like his shirt and trousers had missed a cycle in the dryer.
“If MAADN’s analysis is correct, this aircraft was shot down by a surface-to-air missile—unknown type, but probably shoulder-launched.
” Mary Pat detailed the search the Turks had been performing, and how they’d classified an eastbound vehicle as a target of interest. She added that two other vehicles had been in the area.
“So the Turks believed this truck was responsible for shooting down SAM 719?” Burgess asked.
“They’ve been chasing every lead they can find.
This one started out as a long shot, basically a traffic stop.
They were throwing darts and hoping to hit something.
But it looks like they nailed it. The attack on this Black Hawk is damning, and MAADN has been gathering supporting data ever since.
Without getting into the weeds, what I’ve seen is a slam dunk—the people in these vehicles are responsible for killing John Moore and the others. ”
“Any idea who they are?” Ryan asked.
“Not yet, but MAADN is tracking them via satellite. The three vehicles are still together, so they’re definitely working as a unit.
Right now, they’re headed east, and fast, which implies an egress.
In front of them are the borders of a number of countries who are not necessarily our friends: Syria, Iran, Iraq, Georgia, Armenia. ”
“Now there’s a pit of vipers,” Admiral Kent mused.
“Given the way the track is leaning, I’m guessing it’s either Georgia or Armenia.”
“Both of which are gateways to Russia,” the President said.
“True. But at the moment, we can only speculate. We’ve advised the Turks that their Black Hawk has gone down, and first responders are on the way. But I didn’t mention that we’ve got a live track on the shooters.”
SecDef Burgess said, “Are you implying that we should go after these vehicles?”
“It’ll be tight, but I think we can reach them before they cross any border.” Mary Pat looked at the President.
“Task Force 99?” he surmised.
“I moved them in theater for just this kind of contingency.”
The SecDef said, “They’d need transportation to catch up. We’ve always got helos of some kind at Incirlik Air Base, but I’m not sure which models.”
“Actually,” Mary Pat said, “I took liberties on that count. I checked to see what was on the ramp at Incirlik. The Air Force’s 427th Special Operations Squadron has had an aircraft there for two weeks, a C-41A.”
“Refresh me on that one,” Ryan said.
“We’ve only got a few of them. It’s a light twin-engine transport, made by CASA in Spain.
Strictly a spec ops mission, short takeoff and landing—with a little headwind, it can put down ten operators and equipment on a runway no longer than a football field.
Task Force 99 is holed up outside Bodrum, but since we didn’t know when or where they might be needed, I had this C-41 and a crew pre-position to Bodrum. They’re on standby and ready to go.”
All eyes went to the President. The DNI had everything arranged, a forceful response waiting on a silver platter. But on a mission so delicate, so fraught with diplomatic risk, Ryan knew the final call had to be his.
“All right,” he said. “Give Clark the green light. I also want a list of what other assets we have in the area. Navy in the Med, Air Force at Incirlik, Istanbul station, everything. If this blows up into something bigger, we need to be ready.”
The DNI hesitated ever so slightly. It was a tic Ryan had seen before, although rarely. And it always presaged terrible news.
She said, “Now that you’ve got the big picture, Mr. President, there is one further consideration.
MAADN unearthed the military flight plan filed by the Black Hawk’s pilots.
There was a crew of three on board, all of whose names were listed.
Yet there was also one observer on the flight.
The observer’s name wasn’t given—they were simply listed as a Unites States naval officer. ”
Jack Ryan’s methodical analysis of the situation capsized in an instant. Something percolated in his gut and his jaw went rigid. When he finally spoke, his words were slow and measured. “I know of only two United States Navy officers in Turkey.”
“I’m sure there are others,” Mary Pat said. “One or two attached to the embassy in Istanbul, possibly a few working exchange tours with Turkish forces. But to my direct knowledge, I can think of only two who would have had a reason to be on board this helicopter.”
The President held still knowing everyone was watching him. “All right. In that case—”
“Stand by, sir,” she said, cutting him off and referencing her secure laptop.
“We’re getting something new from DIA.” Her eyes typewritered back and forth.
“MAADN is still tracking the vehicles. They appear to be heading toward Georgia. It also uncovered some new satellite footage—a video is coming along with some notes. After the Black Hawk went down, it was apparently surrounded by individuals from the two cars, four men carrying weapons. They approached the wreckage and pulled out one survivor. According to CC6, this video is rough and can’t be enhanced any further. Okay…I’ve got the full download.”
While Mary Pat manipulated her laptop to put the video on the big screen, Ryan deconstructed what she’d just said. According to CC6…Whatever he was about to see, it was coming from Kyle. And Kyle also knew that his sister was in theater.
Jack Ryan braced himself as the video began running.
The resolution was grainy, a fifty-two-second clip, according to the time bar at the bottom.
He could easily make out the crumpled helicopter.
Its fuselage was bent and both skids had collapsed.
Two broken rotor blades lay strewn across the desert like thrown sticks.
The wreckage was smoking, yet there was no raging fire.
The chopper had hit hard, but not catastrophically.
All three vehicles were in the field of view.
One was a big SUV, possibly a Mercedes, the other a large sedan.
The box truck that had been the original target was at the edge of the screen.
The clip began with three men surrounding the wreckage.
Then a fourth emerged from the shattered Black Hawk hauling someone in a fireman’s carry.
The person being carried was folded acutely over the man’s shoulders, meaning there was no way to assess size.
No way to tell whether it was male or female.
It was just an inert body being pulled from a pile of smoking wreckage.
The man carrying the body went to the box truck and dumped the survivor—if that’s what it was—unceremoniously into the cargo compartment.
When the clip ended, Ryan told Mary Pat to play it again.
In all his time as an analyst, so many years of studying images and inferring intentions, Ryan had never focused so intently on one short video loop.
Was the survivor wearing a uniform? Yes.
Desert camo pattern, very possibly the Navy Work Uniform.
Then it struck him. The three Turkish crewmen would all have been wearing flight suits.
Those could have been either green or tan. But definitely not a camo pattern.
“That’s our American being hauled away,” said Admiral Kent, having made the same deductions.
“But who is it?” van Damm wondered aloud.
The room remained silent for a long moment.
The President knew he should be the next to speak. It was his duty…although whether it was as the commander in chief or as a father, he wasn’t sure.
“All right, people,” he said in a surprisingly steady voice, “we need clarity. This little convoy was very likely responsible for taking down John Moore’s aircraft.
Now they’ve shot down a Turkish Black Hawk and appear to have taken an American hostage.
” Ryan paused, then addressed the elephant in the Situation Room.
“We have to determine immediately whether this is Katie. I say this as both your President and her father.”
Mary Pat was already on the phone. Ryan reckoned she was going through DNI channels to get an answer, this being the network she knew most intimately.
He heard the words “Bodrum” and “highest priority,” and realized she was making a call direct to the scene.
They all waited as connections were arranged for a direct call from the White House.
Command posts, secure routers. A cascade of COMSEC that ended somewhere in southern Turkey.
Finally, Mary Pat reached the person she wanted.
She explained the situation. Even from across the room, Ryan could hear chatter in the call’s background.
Loud voices, people talking over one another.
In other circumstances, he might have taken it for a bar or a cocktail party.
As things stood, he recognized a TOC in crisis mode.
The DNI said, “Thank you, please call me back in five minutes.” She ended the call, and said immediately, “Katie is fine. She’s out having dinner with Colonel Carter and his team. It was Lieutenant John Conza getting pulled out of the wreckage.”