“So,” Mary Pat said, “it sounds like Foreign Minister Li had some sort of relationship with a provocateur named Vincent Chen. He along with three others in the party were involved in a coup to oust Zhao and have Li installed as the new president.”
“I’m surprised Zhao would let it get this far,” van Damm said. “He’s steady, but from the outside looking in, he seems to rule with an iron hand.”
Ryan rubbed a hand across his face, feeling the effects of jet lag and the ebb of adrenaline. “While we were lying on the floor, waiting for them to take care of Long Yun, he confided that he had suspected the foreign minister for some time. He considered the plot was intended to get me to invoke the Ryan Doctrine, but he admits he didn’t believe Li would attempt to have him killed directly.”
“Just how was it supposed to work?” Mary Pat asked.
Ryan shrugged, holding out his hand, watching it tremble slightly. “Long Yun shoots Zhao and Colonel Huang and my security detail — and me. The guy was apparently an impressive shooter. Five or six head shots. It would have been over in a heartbeat — especially if no one was suspecting it. He’d just blame the assassination on us.”
“Still,” Arnie said, “I find it odd that a man who’s risen to Zhao’s level could be duped like that.”
Ryan said, “I wouldn’t move Zhao out of the sneaky-bastard category just yet. He admitted to me that he did not expect the attack to happen so quickly after arrival in Japan. He intended to meet with Li later in the day and let him know his wife and son had been in ‘protective custody’ since early this morning.”
“I’m sure the foreign minister and his cronies will all be granted fair trials and speedy executions,” Arnie said.
Mary Pat gave a smug nod. “Sounds legit.”
Ryan turned to Montgomery, who stood against the wall, unwilling to let the President out of his sight.
“So, Gary,” Ryan said, “you told Colonel Huang you would have gone to handle it yourself if that were possible?”
“Backing your play, sir,” Montgomery said.
“So you wouldn’t have?” Ryan mused. “Left me with the Chinese, I mean, while you took care of it.”
“No, Mr. President,” Montgomery said. “Not in a million years.”
62
Magdalena Rojas insisted on going to the hospital to see Eddie Feng and thank him for his kindness that night at Parrot’s party. Callahan could hardly say no to the request, considering all the poor kid had been through. She and Caruso stood with her beside Feng’s bed.
The whites of his eyes were still red with pronounced petechiae from the attempted dead-leg hanging, but his ridiculous fauxhawk was combed down and he wasn’t quite so twitchy, since he’d been off energy drinks for the better part of a week.
“I’m sorry I stole your thumb drive,” the child said.
Feng scoffed. “I’m not,” he said. “Not if it got you out.”
Magdalena leaned over and gave him a hug. He squirmed and looked up at Callahan and Caruso, not knowing what to do.
“I want to thank that other man, too,” Magdalena said. “Is he still in the hospital?”
Callahan shot a narrow look at Caruso. “He should be,” she said. “But someone checked him out.”
“He saved me, you know,” she said. “And I heard he saved Jo, too. She was one of Parrot’s girls. And Paula and Leticia at Matarife’s place.” She shivered at the mention of the name. “He saved us all. I would like him to know we are grateful. What is his name?”
“His name is John.” Caruso smiled. “I’m sure he knows.”
A guardian from Child Protective Services put her arm around Magdalena and led her into the hall.
“What happens to her now?” Eddie Feng asked, genuinely concerned.
Callahan sighed. “I’m not going to lie to you. Lots of counseling, rehab for any drug habits, treatment for STDs, and foster care.”
“As long as you don’t send her back to her mom,” Feng said. “From what she told me, that lady is evil.”
“Oh, no,” Callahan said. “I’m already working on a way to pinch that awful woman for international human trafficking.” She removed the leg irons that kept him chained to the bed. “Get some rest, Eddie. You’re a weirdo, but you’re apparently not a pedophile.”
Feng threw his head back against the pillow and began to cry. “That’s the nicest thing anyone’s ever said to me.”
Callahan spun on Caruso once they were outside the room. “I’m guessing you’re going to disappear now as well.”
He sighed. “Yep, into the sunset…”
“Seriously, Dom, I’m not a heartless bitch. I know your friend saved those kids, but that kind of stuff is… it’s just old-school.”
“That it is,” Caruso said.
“Someone just came in with a writ of habeas corpus and waltzed him outta here,” she said. “Did you know his fingerprints don’t come back to anyone?”
Caruso shrugged.
“Come on, Dom, tell me who he is. It would be nice to know what he’s all about.”
“Oh, Kelsey,” Caruso said. “Some things are nice to know — and some things are just nuts to know.”
Yuki’s credentials had enough juice to get her and Ryan past security and into the business-jet departure lounge. The others had already cleared Japanese immigration and gotten the exit stamps on their passports. Reid and the other pilots were already waiting aboard the Gulfstream.
Chavez stood at the door leading out to the tarmac with a duffel in his hand.
“Sure you don’t want to fly back with us?” Ding prodded. “It’s more comfortable than commercial — even business class.”
“I’m good,” Ryan said. Yuki stood right beside him. She wasn’t holding his hand, but she may as well have been. “You know I’ve been wanting to work on a second language. Think I’ll start with Japanese.”
“I am glad you stayed, Jack-san,” Yuki said as they walked out to her car. They’d considered taking the train, but Yuki had decided she wanted to take him for a drive, into the mountains. It was still raining, and they shared an umbrella, which, Jack realized, was even better than holding hands.
“Me too,” Ryan said. “Can I ask you something?”
They stopped and she turned to face him under the umbrella. She was half a head shorter than him, and looked up, blinking dark lashes. Mist from the rain dampened her face, despite the umbrella. He considered asking about the scratches on her cheek but decided this wasn’t the time. Too heavy.
She continued to peer up at him. “Yes?”
“When did you know that my dad was the President of the United States?”
“When I saw you in the sewers,” she said.
“I’m serious.”
“So am I,” Yuki said. “I am, after all, an intelligence officer. I have a trained eye.”
“And you didn’t say anything about it?”
She stood and looked at him for a long moment and then, seeming to come to a serious conclusion, said, “We have a saying here in Japan.”
“Oh, really?” Ryan said. “And what’s that?”
She was on tiptoe now, her lips just inches from his, her voice hoarse and breathy.
“Sometimes,” she said, “it is better to shut the hell up.”
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Thirty-five years ago Tom Clancy was a Maryland insurance broker with a passion for naval history. Years before, he had been an English major at Baltimore’s Loyola College and had always dreamed of writing a novel. His first effort, The Hunt for Red October, sold briskly as a result of rave reviews, then catapulted onto the New York Times bestseller list after President Reagan pronounced it “the perfect yarn.” From that day forward, Clancy established himself as an undisputed master at blending exceptional realism and authenticity, intricate plotting, and razor-sharp suspense. He passed away in October 2013.