Jack Ryan 2 - Patriot Games (70 page)

They arrived exactly on time. A pair of State Police cars remained on the road, and three more loaded with security people accompanied the Rolls up the driveway to the Ryan house. The chauffeur, one of the security force, pulled right to the front and jumped out to open the passenger door. His Highness came out first, and helped his wife. The security people were already swarming all over the place. The leader of the British contingent conferred with Avery, and the detail dispersed to their predetermined stations. As Jack came down the steps to greet his guests, he had the feeling that his home had been subjected to an armed invasion.

“Welcome to Peregrine Cliff.”

“Hello, Jack!” The Prince took his hand. “You're looking splendid.”

“You, too, sir.” He turned to the Princess, whom he'd never actually met. “Your Highness, this is a great pleasure.”

“And for us, Doctor Ryan.”

He led them into the house. “How's your trip been so far?”

“Awfully hot,” the Prince answered. “Is it always like this in the summer?”

“We've had two pretty bad weeks,” Jack answered. The temperature had hit ninety-five a few hours earlier. “They say that's going to change by tomorrow. It isn't supposed to go much past eighty for the next few days.” This did not get an enthusiastic response.

Cathy was waiting inside with Sally. The weather was especially hard on her, this close to delivery. She shook hands, but Sally remembered how to curtsy from England, and performed a beautiful one, accompanied by a giggle.

“Are you quite all right?” Her Highness asked Cathy.

“Fine, except for the heat. Thank God for air conditioning!”

“Can we show you around?” Jack led the party into the living/dining room.

“The view is marvelous,” the Prince observed.

“Okay, the first thing is, nobody wears a coat in my house,” Ryan pronounced. “I think you call this 'Planter's Rig' over in England.”

“Excellent idea,” said the Prince. Jack took his jacket and hung it in the foyer closet next to his old Marine parka, then got rid of his own. By this time Cathy had everyone seated. Sally perched next to her mother, her feet high off the floor as she tried to keep her dress down on her knees. Cathy found it almost impossible to sit comfortably.

“How much longer?” the Princess asked.

“Eight days -- of course with number two, that means any time.”

“I shall find that out myself in seven more months.”

“Really? Congratulations!” Both women beamed.

“Way to go, sir,” Ryan observed.

“Thank you, Jack. How have you been?”

“I suppose you know the work I'm doing?”

“Yes, I heard last night from one of our security people. I've been told that you located and identified a terrorist camp that has since been . . . neutralized,” the Prince said quietly.

Ryan nodded discreetly. “I'm afraid that I'm not able to discuss that.”

“Understood. And how has your little girl done after . . . ”

“Sally?” Jack turned. “How's my little girl?”

“I'm a big girl!” she replied forcefully.

“What do you think?”

“I think you've been damned lucky.”

“I'd settle for a little bit more. I presume you've heard?”

“Yes.” He paused. “I hope your chaps are careful.”

Jack voiced agreement, then rose as he heard a car pull up. He opened the door to see Robby and Sissy Jackson getting out of the pilot's Corvette. The Secret Service's communications van moved to block the driveway behind them. Robby stormed up the steps.

“What gives? Who's here, the President?”

Cathy must have warned them. Jack saw. Sissy was dressed in a simple but very nice blue dress, and Robby had a tie on. Too bad.

“Come on in and join the party,” Jack said with a nasty grin.

Robby looked at the two men by the pool, their jackets unbuttoned, and gave Jack a puzzled look, but followed. As they came around the brick fireplace, the pilot's eyes went wide.

“Commander Jackson, I presume.” His Highness rose.

“Jack,” Robby whispered. “I'm going to kill you!” Louder: “How do you do, sir. This is my wife, Cecilia.” As usually happened, the people immediately split into male and female groups.

“I understand you're a naval aviator.”

“Yes, sir. I'm going back to a fleet squadron now. I fly the F-14.” Robby struggled to keep his voice under control. He was successful, mostly.

“Yes, the Tomcat. I've flown the Phantom. Have you?”

“I have a hundred twenty hours in them, sir. My squadron transitioned into fourteens a few months after I joined up. I was just getting the Phantom figured out when they took 'em away. I -- uh -- sir, aren't you a naval officer also?”

“Yes, Commander, I have the rank of captain,” His Highness answered.

“Thank you. Now I know what to call you, Captain,” Robby said with visible relief. “That's okay, isn't it?”

“Of course. You know, it does get rather tiresome when people act so awkwardly around one. This friend of yours here actually read me off some months ago.”

Robby smiled finally. “You know Marines, sir. Long on mouth and short on brains.”

Jack realized that it was going to be that kind of night. “Can I get anyone something to drink?”

“I gotta fly tomorrow. Jack,” Robby answered. He checked his watch. “I'm under the twelve-hour rule.”

“You really take that so seriously?” the Prince asked.

“You bet you do, Captain, when the bird costs thirty or forty mil. If you break one, booze better not be the reason. I've been through that once.”

“Oh? What happened?”

“An engine blew when I put her in burner. I tried to get back but I lost hydraulic pressure five miles from the boat and had to punch out. That's twice I've ejected, and that's by-God enough.”

“Oh?” This question got Robby started on how his test-pilot days at Pax River had ended. There I was at ten thousand . . . Jack went into the kitchen to get everyone some iced tea. He found two security types, an American and a Brit.

“Everything okay?” Ryan asked.

“Yeah. It looks like our friends got spotted near Hagerstown. They blasted a State Police car and split. The trooper's okay, they missed this one. Anyway, they were last seen heading west.” The Secret Service agent seemed very pleased by that. Jack looked outside to see another one standing on the outside deck.

“You sure it's them?”

“It was a van, and it had handicap tags. They usually fall into patterns,” the agent explained. “Sooner or later it catches up with them. The area's been sealed off. We'll get 'em.”

“Good.” Jack lifted a tray of glasses.

By the time he got back, Robby was discussing some aspect of flying with the Prince. He could tell since it involved elaborate hand movements.

“So if you fire the Phoenix inside that radius, he just can't evade it. The missile can pull more gees than any pilot can,” Jackson concluded.

“Ah, yes, the same thing with the Sparrow, isn't it?”

“Right, Cap'n, but the radius is smaller.” Robby's eyes really lit up. “Have you ever been up in a Tomcat?”

“No, I wish I could.”

“For crying out loud, that's no big deal. Hell, we take civilians up all the time -- I mean it has to be cleared and all that, but we've even had Hollywood actors up. Getting you a hop ought to be a snap. I mean, it's not like you're a security risk, is it?” Robby laughed and grabbed a glass of tea. “Thanks, Jack. Captain, if you've got the time, I've got the bird.”

“I'd love to be there. We do have a little free time . . . ”

“Then let's do it,” Jackson said.

“I see you two are getting along.”

“Indeed,” the Prince replied. “I've wanted to meet an F-14 pilot for years. Now, you say that telescopic camera arrangement is really effective?”

“Yes, sir! It's not that big a deal. It's a ten-power lens on a dinky little TV camera. You can identify your target fifty miles out, and it's Phoenix time. If you play it right, you can splash the guy before he knows you're in the same county, and that's the idea, isn't it?”

“So you try to avoid the dogfight?”

“ACM, you mean -- air-combat maneuvering, Jack,” Robby explained to the ignorant bystander. “That'll change when we get the new engines, Cap'n, but, yeah, the farther away you can take him, the better, right? Sometimes you have to get wrapped up in the fur-ball, but if you do that you're giving away your biggest advantage. Our mission is to engage the other guy as far from the boat as we can. That's why we call it the Outer Air Battle.”

“It would have been rather useful at the Falklands,” His Highness observed.

“That's right. If you engage the enemy over your own decks, he's already won the biggest part of the battle. We want to start scoring three hundred miles out, and hammer their butts all the way in. If your Navy'd had a full-size carrier, that useless little war never would have happened. Excuse me, sir. That wasn't your fault.”

“Can I show you around the house?” Jack asked. It always seemed to happen. You worked to have one of your guests meet another, and all of a sudden you were cut out of the conversation.

“How old is it, Jack?”

“We moved in a few months before Sally was born.”

“The woodwork is marvelous. Is that the library down there?”

“Yes, sir.” The way the house was laid out, you could look down from the living room into the library. The master bedroom was perched over it. There had been a rectangular hole in the wall, which allowed someone in there to see into the living room, but Ryan had placed a print over it. The picture was mounted on a rail and could be slid aside, Jackson noticed. The purpose of that was clear enough. Jack led them to his library next. Everyone liked that the only window was over his desk and looked out over the bay.

“No servants. Jack?”

“No, sir. Cathy's talking about getting a nanny, but she hasn't sold me on that idea yet. Is everyone ready for dinner?”

The response was enthusiastic. The potatoes were already in the oven, and Cathy was ready to start the corn. Jack took the steaks from the refrigerator and led the menfolk outside.

“You'll like this, Cap'n. Jack does a mean steak.”

“The secret's in the charcoal,” Ryan explained. He had six gorgeous-looking sirloins, and a hamburger for Sally. “It helps to have good meat, too.”

“I know it's too late to ask, Jack, but where do you get those?”

“One of my old stock clients has a restaurant-supply business. These are Kansas City strips.” Jack transferred them to the grill with a long-handled fork. A gratifying sizzle rose to their ears. He brushed some sauce on the meat.

“The view is spectacular,” His Highness observed.

“It's nice to be able to watch the boats go by,” Jack agreed. “Looks a little thin now, though.”

“They must be listening to the radio,” Robby observed. “There's a severe-thunderstorm warning on for tonight.”

“I didn't hear that.”

“It's the leading edge of that cold front. They develop pretty fast over Pittsburgh. I'm going up tomorrow, like I said, and I called Pax Weather right before we left. They told me that the storms look pretty ferocious on radar. Heavy rain and gusts. Supposed to hit around ten or so.”

“Do you get many of those here?” His Highness asked.

“Sure do, Captain. We don't get tornadoes like in the Midwest, but the thunder-boomers we get here'll curl your hair. I was bringing a bird back from Memphis last -- no, two years ago, and it was like being on a pogo stick. You just don't have control of the airplane. Those suckers can be scary. Down at Pax, they're taking all the birds they can inside the hangars, and they'll be tying the rest down tight.”

“It'll be worth it to cool things off,” Jack said as he turned the steaks.

“Roger that. It's just your basic thunderstorm. Captain. We get the big ones three or four times a year. It'll knock down some trees, but as long as you're not in the air or out in a small boat, it's no big deal. Down in Alabama with this kind of storm coming across, we'd be sweating tornadoes. Now that's scary!”

“You've seen one?”

“More 'n one, Cap'n. You get those mostly in the spring down home. When I was ten or so, I watched one come across the road, pick up a house like it was part of a Christmas garden, and drop it a quarter mile away. They're weird, though. It didn't even take the weathervane off my pappy's church. They're like that. It's something to see, all right -- but you want to do it from a safe distance.”

“Turbulence is the main flying hazard, then?”

“Right. But the other thing is water. I know of cases where jets have ingested enough water through the intakes to snuff the engines right out.” Robby snapped his fingers. “All of a sudden you're riding in a glider. Definitely not fun. So you keep away from them when you can.”

“And when you can't?”

“Once, Cap'n, I had to land on a carrier in one -- at night. That's about as close as I've come to wetting my pants since I was two.” He even threw in a shudder.

“Your Highness, I have to thank you for getting all of this out of Robby. I've known him for over a year and he's never admitted to being mildly nervous up there.” Jack grinned.

“I didn't want to spoil the image,” Jackson explained. “You have to put a gun to Jack's head to get him aboard a plane, and I didn't want to scare him any more than he already is.” Zing! And Robby took the point.

It helped that the deck was now in the shade, and there was a slight northerly breeze. Jack manipulated the steaks over the coals. There were a few boats out on the bay, but most of them seemed to be heading back to harbor. Jack nearly jumped out of his skin when a jet fighter screamed past the cliff. He turned in time to see the white-painted aircraft heading south.

“Robby, what the hell is that all about? They've been doing that for two weeks.”

Jackson watched the plane's double tail vanish in the haze. “They're testing a new piece of gear on the F-18. What's the big deal?”

“The noise!” Ryan flipped the steaks over.

Robby laughed. “Aw, Jack, that's not noise. That's the sound of freedom.”

“Not bad, Commander,” His Highness judged.