Jack Ryan, Books 7-12 Read Free Page B

the question was dry and hard, but with an urgency to it.
    “It keeps me busy, Mr. President.”
    “Not too busy. Golf in West Virginia?” Durling asked, waving Ryan to a seat by the fireplace. “That’ll be all,” he told the two Secret Service agents who’d followed Ryan in. “Thank you.”
    “My newest vice, sir,” Ryan said, hearing the door close behind him. It was unusual to be so close to the Chief Executive without the protective presence of Secret Service guards, especially since he had been so long out of government service.
    Durling took his seat, and leaned back into it. His body language showed vigor, the kind that emanated from the mind rather than the body. It was time to talk business. “I could say I’m sorry to interrupt your vacation, but I won’t,” the President of the United States told him. “You’ve had a two-year vacation, Dr. Ryan. It’s over now.”
    Two years. For the first two months of it, he’d done exactly nothing, pondered a few teaching posts in the sanctity of his study, watched his wife leave early every morning for her medical practice at Johns Hopkins, fixed the kids’ school lunches and told himself how wonderful it was to relax. It had taken those two months before he’d admitted to himself that the absence of activity was more stressful than anything he’d ever done. Only three interviews had landed him a job back in the investment business, enabled him to race his wife out of the house each morning, and bitch about the pace—and just maybe prevent himself from going insane. Along the way he’d made some money, but even that, he admitted to himself, had begun to pall. He still hadn’t found his place, and wondered if he ever really would.
    “Mr. President, the draft ended a lot of years ago,” Jack offered with a smile. It was a flippant observation, and one he was ashamed of even as he said it.
    “You’ve said ‘no’ to your country once.” The rebuke put an end to the smiles. Was Durling that stressed-out? Well, he had every right to be, and with the stress had come impatience, which was surprising in a man whose main function for the public was being pleasant and reassuring. But Ryan was not part of the public, was he?
    “Sir, I was burned out then. I don’t think I would have been—”
    “Fine. I’ve seen your file, all of it,” Durling added. “I even know that I might not be here now except for what you did down in Colombia a few years ago. You’ve served your country well, Dr. Ryan, and now you’ve had your time off, and you’ve played the money game some more—rather well, it would seem—and now it’s time to come back.”
    “What post, sir?” Jack asked.
    “Down the hall and around the corner. The last few residents haven’t distinguished themselves there,” Durling noted. Cutter and Elliot had been bad enough. Durling’s own National Security Advisor had simply not been up to the task. His name was Tom Loch, and he was on the way out, the morning paper had told Ryan. It would seem that the press had it right for once. “I’m not going to beat around the bush. We need you. I need you.”
    “Mr. President, that’s a very flattering statement, but the truth of the matter is—”
    “The truth of the matter is that I have too much of a domestic agenda, and the day only has twenty-four hours, and my administration has fumbled the ball too many times. In the process we have not served the country as well as we should have. I can’t say that anywhere but inside this room, but I can and must say it here. State is weak. Defense is weak.”
    “Fiedler in Treasury is excellent,” Ryan allowed. “And if you want advice about State, move Scott Adler up. He’s young, but he’s very good on process and pretty good on vision.”
    “Not without good oversight from this building, and I don’t have the time for that. I will pass your approbation on to Buzz Fiedler,” Durling added with a smile.
    “He’s a brilliant technician, and