Chapter 70
Marine One
South Lawn
The White House
Marine One lifted off gracefully and arced out over the Potomac, leaving the White House and National Mall behind. The morning was clear and cool.
Jack Ryan looked down at the river from his forward-facing executive chair. Mary Pat was across from him in an aft-facing seat, her phone pressed to her ear. As had been the case all morning, she was tallying up the aftermath of yesterday’s “Attack on the Suez.” That had become the media’s tagline.
Ryan had just adjourned the morning NSC meeting. The council had met for an hour to discuss various responses to the attack. Diplomatic, military, the intelligence agencies—everything was on the table. There was not yet a consensus on how to proceed.
The story had been a moving target since early yesterday.
There was no denying what had happened off the coast of Egypt.
Footage of one Navy pilot’s aerobatics had gone viral overnight.
A farmworker had uploaded the video: taken in the barest of dawn light, the silhouette of a Hornet could be seen flying at extremely low altitude with its wingtip nudging a drone back out to sea.
Ryan was no aviation expert, but the talking heads on television were playing it up as one of the greatest feats of airmanship they’d ever witnessed.
The DoD had no choice but to issue a communique, and a statement was released lauding the pilots for stopping an attack on the Suez Canal.
The State Department followed up, verifying that the drones had been launched from a small airfield in the Maghreb, now under lockdown by various authorities.
State also confirmed that a radiological agent had been involved, and while measurements were ongoing, it was believed that all hazardous radiation had fallen into the sea where it would eventually dissipate.
President Jack Ryan would provide further details this evening: he was set to speak to the nation, a prime-time address covering the attempted attack on the Suez and America’s ongoing response. The one great unknown—the question of who was responsible for the chaos—had not yet been addressed.
The NSC had touched on a host of other issues at this morning’s meeting, including the loss of Captain Hooper, and how best to recover the remains of a CIA Gulfstream jet and the drones inserted by Hyperion. When the meeting ended, Ryan exited to the South Lawn.
He had decided to spend part of his day at home.
Cathy had called early this morning, their ritual daily conversation, and she suggested that he return to the house to decompress for part of the day.
It sounded wonderful. Ryan had been “presidenting” at the White House for nearly a week, and his stress level was off the charts.
He’d promised Cathy he would make it happen, with the caveat that he would have to spend time working on his address to the nation.
“This cesium is apparently unique,” said Mary Pat, interrupting Ryan’s cluttered thoughts.
“Ah…unique in what way?” he asked.
“Only one manufacturer on earth makes this isotope in the volume used in the strike.”
“Let me guess…a Russian company?”
“The Mayak Production Association. It’s Russia’s main industrial facility for the production of radionuclides, which have legitimate uses in medicine and industry.”
“And now, apparently, shutting down canals.”
“CIA uncovered something interesting. About two months ago, Mayak filed a report with the IAEA claiming they’d lost track of thirty barrels of radioactive cesium chloride.
” The International Atomic Energy Agency was the world’s nuclear policeman.
“Mayak implied it was likely no more than a clerical error, and the agency has been waiting for the results of a promised audit. Given what IAEA has on its plate, dealing with the likes of Iran and North Korea, I’m not surprised they put it on a back burner. ”
“Sounds like a perfect bit of stagecraft to me,” Ryan mused. “Russia can claim the material was stolen, and also say they reported it like a responsible nation.”
“That would be my take. We’re going to watch for anything else that fits this profile. We have a report of a Panamax vessel taking on a cargo containing medical isotopes in the port of Vostochnyy. So far there’s nothing linking it to Mayak.”
“You’ll keep an eye on it?”
“Of course.”
“What else?”
“Yermilov is putting on a show of helping the ongoing cleanup efforts. A radiological decontamination unit is being flown into Al-Jaghbub.”
“I’ll bet there are a couple of GRU officers embedded to help with any other cleanup—like maybe repatriating a few bodies.”
“No doubt. He’s also dispatched two Russian Navy frigates to the eastern Med. They intend to test for radiation to identify hot areas.”
“How conscientious of the president,” Ryan said sarcastically.
Mary Pat frowned.
“Sorry,” he said.
“I feel your pain, Jack. For what it’s worth, our own experts say the sea currents off the coast of Egypt should help disperse the radiation naturally.
The coastline will be monitored closely for a few months, and we expect a temporary fishing ban.
Otherwise, it looks like the contamination is minimal. ”
“Credit that to those four pilots. Some decorations are in order. What about the jets?”
“The Hornets are still in Port Said. One did show moderate contamination, but the Navy is taking care of it. We’ll have them back on the Ford in a couple of days.”
Ryan’s thoughts reverted to the ones that had kept him awake last night. “I’m sure Yermilov has learned by now that Malenkov is dead.”
“I can’t imagine otherwise.”
“So that’s it. He has his scapegoat.”
Mary Pat had no reply.
Ryan turned toward the window. He saw Andrews Air Force Base sliding past in the distance. He said distractedly, “Sometimes I feel like I’m trying to hold together a world that’s blowing apart.”
“I know what you mean.”
“I never thought I’d say it, but I miss the Cold War.
When I started out as an analyst, the lines were clear.
The Soviets had their satellite states in Eastern Europe, and we had Western Europe on our side.
Between them were the battlefields where everyone expected the next war to play out: the Fulda Gap, the Baltic Sea, Berlin, the Balkans.
Those boundaries stood for decades. But when the Iron Curtain fell, those lines disappeared.
Now we have asymmetrical warfare, terrorism, cyberattacks.
The threats are everywhere and nowhere…and all at once. ”
“It’s true. We’re boxing in a world of shadows these days.
The world is increasingly falling under the rule of autocrats.
They team up against us, but there’s never any formal alliance.
Everything is in-the-moment, situational.
Their only objectives are self-preservation and to stuff their own pockets. ”
“And I’m on the other end of the spectrum,” Ryan said. “I’ve got a Constitution, a prickly Congress, and on the best of days the support of the American people.”
“Well,” she said thoughtfully, “so far that’s been enough.”
He looked down and said to his empty coffee cup, “Hope I’m not being too gloomy—it’s just frustrating.”
“No, I think you raise good points. You should include them in your speech tonight.”
“Maybe I will.”
Mary Pat took another call, and for the next twenty minutes Ryan began outlining his address to America. When he finally looked out the window again, he saw a familiar stretch of shoreline. Soon his home came into view, stately and proud against a backdrop of tawny autumn color.
Marine One touched down and he descended the stairs to the lawn. For the first time since leaving this place days ago, his face creased into an easy smile. Cathy was waiting along the porch rail. On either side of her were Katie and Kyle.
Jack Ryan broke into a jog and rushed up the steps. He embraced his family like he would never let them go.