Patriot Games

"All I did was show it to you, Marty," Ryan protested. "You're the one who really made the co

"You did exactly the right thing, exactly what an analyst is supposed to do. There was more brains in that than you know. You have a gift for this sort of work. If you can't see it, I can." Cantor examined the lasagna and winced. How could anybody eat that greasy poison? "Two years from now you'll be ready for my job."

"One bridge at a time, Marty." They let it go at that.

An hour later Ryan was back in his office. Cantor came in.

"Another pep talk?" Jack smiled. Full-court press time…

"We have a picture of a suspected ULA member and it's only a week old. We got it in from London a couple of hours ago."

"De

Cantor explained. "Bad luck for the Brits, but maybe good luck for us. Look at the picture again and tell me something important."

"You mean… he's lost most of his hair. Oh! We can ID the guy if he turns up at one of the camps. None of the other people are bald."

"You got it. And the boss just cleared you for something. There's an op laid on for Camp -18."

"What kind?"

"The kind you watched before. Is that still bothering you?"

"No, not really." What bothers me is that it doesn't bother me, Ryan thought. Maybe it should… "Not with these guys, I don't. When?"

"I can't tell you, but soon."

"So why did you let me know—nice one, Marty. Not very subtle, though. Does the Admiral want me to stay that bad?"

"Draw your own conclusions."

An hour after that the photo expert was back. Another satellite had passed over the camp at 2208 local time. The infrared image showed eight people standing at line on the firing range. Bright tongues of flame marked two of the shapes. They were firing their weapons at night, and there were now at least eight of them there.

"What happened?" O'Do

"There was a bug in my shop."

"You're sure?" O'Do

Cooley handed it over. The wire had been in his pocket for thirty hours. O'Do

"Marconi make these for intelligence use. Quite sensitive. How long might it have been there?"

Cooley could not remember having anyone go into his back room unsupervised. "I've no idea."

O'Do

"Did you ever think you were being followed?"

"Never."

"How closely did you check, De

"No, Kevin, of course not. It isn't possible that—for God's sake, Kevin, it's been weeks since I've been in contact with Watkins."

"Since your last trip to Cork." O'Do

"Yes, that's right. You had a security man watching me then—was there anyone following me?"

"If there were, he must have been a damnably clever one, and he could not have been too close… " The other possibility that O'Do

"So, De

Cooley's heart was momentarily irregular, but he spoke with determination. "I want to be part of the next op."

"Excuse me?" O'Do

"The fucking Brits—Kevin, they came after me!"

"That is something of an occupational hazard, you know."

"I'm quite serious," Cooley insisted.

It wouldn't hurt to have another man… "Are you in shape for it?"

"I will be."

The chief made his decision. "Then you can start this afternoon."

"What is it, then?"

O'Do

"It would seem that your hunch was correct. Doctor Ryan," the man with the rimless glasses said the next afternoon. "Maybe I will take you to the track."

He was standing outside one of the huts, a dumpy little man with a head that shone from the sunlight reflecting off his sweaty, hairless dome. Camp -18 was the one.

"Excellent," Cantor observed. "Our English friends have really scored on this one. Thanks," he said to the photo expert.

"When's the op?" Ryan asked after he left.

"Early morning, day after tomorrow. Our time… eight in the evening, I think."

"Can I watch in real time?"

"Maybe."

"This is a secret that's hard to keep," he said.

"Most of the good ones are," Cantor agreed. "But—"

"Yeah, I know." Jack put his coat on and locked up his files. "Tell the Admiral that I owe him one."

Driving home, Ryan thought about what might be happening. He realized that his anticipation was not very different from… Christmas? No, that was not the right way to think about this. He wondered how his father had felt right before a big arrest after a lengthy investigation. It was something he'd never asked. He did the next best thing. He forgot about it, as he was supposed to do with everything that he saw at Langley.

There was a strange car parked in front of the house when he got there, just beyond the nearly completed swimming pool. On inspection he saw that it had diplomatic tags. He went inside to find three men talking to his wife. He recognized one but couldn't put a name on him.

"Hello, Doctor Ryan, I'm Geoffrey Be

"Yeah, I remember now. What can we do for you?"

"Their Royal Highnesses will be visiting the States in a few weeks. I understand that you offered an invitation when you met, and they wish to see if it remains open."

"Are you kidding?"

"They're not kidding. Jack, and I already said yes," his wife informed him. Even Ernie was wagging his tail in anticipation.

"Of course. Please tell them that we'd be honored to have them down. Will they be staying the night?"

"Probably not. It was hoped that they could come in the evening."

"For di

"Friday, 30th July."

"Done."

"Excellent. I hope you won't mind if our security people—plus your Secret Service chaps—conduct a security sweep in the coming week."

"Do I have to be home for that?"

"I can do it, Jack. I'm off work now, remember?"

"Oh, of course," Be

"First week of August—that might be a problem for this," Cathy realized belatedly.

"If something unexpected happens, you may be sure that Their Highnesses will understand. One more thing. This is a private matter, not one of the public events for the trip. We must ask that you keep this entirely confidential."

"Sure, I understand," Ryan said.

"If they're going to be here for di

"What do you mean?" Be

"Well, some people are allergic to fish, for example."

"Oh, I see. No, I know of nothing along those lines."

"Okay, the basic Ryan di

"What's the matter?" Be

"We're having company that night."

"Oh," Cathy nodded. "Robby and Sissy."

"Can't you cancel?"

"It's a going-away party. Robby—he's a Navy fighter pilot, we both teach at the Academy—is transferring back to the fleet. Would they mind?"