Jack Ryan Post-Clancy 13 - Firing Point by Mike Maden

Author:Mike Maden [Maden, Mike]
Language: eng
Format: azw3
ISBN: 9780593188071
Published: 2020-06-09T00:00:00+00:00

37

WASHINGTON, D.C.

THE WHITE HOUSE

President Ryan stood in front of the Oval Office fireplace with a portrait of an austere George Washington hanging over the mantel.

Ryan had a smile plastered on his face, a look his wife, Cathy, characterized as “sincerely phony.” It was the smile he flashed with practiced perfection at every important state function including this one, the receiving of Ambassador Christyakov’s credentials.

The two men both stood facing the flashing cameras, right hands held in a firm handshake, left hands holding the exchanged documents, putting the official and historical act on digital record. The official White House press photographer had already taken several good shots, then quit the room. It was the Russian state photographers that were still grinding away.

The event was a bit of a coup for the new ambassador. Maksim Christyakov was only thirty-nine years old and stood half a head taller than Ryan, with thick blond hair and dark blue eyes. He looked more like a Viking than the squat Soviet diplomats Ryan had known as a young analyst. But of course, Christyakov was Nordic. The Rus people were formally known as the Viking Rus, Scandinavians who raided the Black and Baltic Seas during the Middle Ages, settling along the Volga. Russians and Belarussians derived their very name from them.

It was quite a physical contrast. Such optics mattered these days, unfortunately. Perhaps they always did. But Ryan knew the Russian state Internet bots would push this image out into the ether with relentless enthusiasm. Score one for the Russians in the beauty department, Ryan supposed.

In truth, Christyakov’s appointment to the position was a remarkable achievement for a man without prior diplomatic experience. The well-connected Russian was part of the New Wave reforms that President Nikita Yermilov had recently instituted in his pro-democracy and anti-corruption drive. A joke, if there ever was one, Ryan thought, as the LED flashes fired.

“I think that should do it,” Scott Adler said gently, as he stepped between the two camera operators and the President.

Ryan scanned the room. It was crowded with Christyakov’s fawning retinue, along with a few of the SecState’s senior executives and staff. The President flashed a look at Adler he knew all too well.

“Ladies and gentlemen, thank you for attending our brief ceremony.” Adler pointed at the door. “There are refreshments waiting for you in the Diplomatic Reception Room, if you’ll follow me.”

Ryan watched the parade of people file out behind Adler and waited for the Secret Service agent to close the door behind them before he spoke with the ambassador.

Today’s meeting was a real challenge.

Buck Logan thought the Russians were behind the piracy crisis, and right now, that was the best hypothesis. Admiral Pike’s carrier strike group would arrive on scene in a few days and put eyes on the situation. Ryan wanted answers sooner, if possible.

There was nothing Ryan wouldn’t do to protect the nation and to serve its best interests, including war, if it came to that. Too often it had come to war for other men who sat behind his desk and even for him in the recent past.

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