Page 134 of Tom Clancy Line of Sight

“Worse than that, we’ve got a situation.”

Jack read him in on the video and possible missile strike.

“Good God Almighty, Jack. This is a nightmare scenario. We need to start an immediate evacuation.”

“Bad idea. Whatever asshole is watching the video feed will see it and order an immediate launch. Besides, the city is jammed. You couldn’t empty that place out if you tried.”

“Damn it, you’re right.”

“I’m on the way now to shut it down—if I can locate it.”

“I don’t know how you managed to step in front of this stampede, Jack, but you’ve got to find a way to stop it.”

“With only thirty-five minutes left until the launch, I can’t promise you I’ll get it done.”

“I’m calling Mary Pat Foley now to fill her in. Keep me posted. And for the love of God, watch your six, will you?”

63

WASHINGTON, D.C.

The dreaded three a.m. phone call had been a talking point in nearly every presidential campaign for the past twenty years, a metaphor for the gut-wrenching, unexpected national emergencies that usually cropped up at the most inconvenient moments.

The clock read 3:41 a.m. when President Ryan’s cell phone rang. He picked it up from the nightstand, yawning. His wife stirred. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing, hon. Go back to sleep.”

But Dr. Cathy Ryan knew better, having received a few early-morning emergency eye surgery phone calls herself over the years. Nobody called at this time of the morning for either of them unless it was a blood-soaked catastrophe in the making.

“I’ll put on a pot of coffee.” She dragged a comforting hand across his shoulder as she shuffled past him toward the kitchen, yawning.

Ryan smiled, grateful for the amazing woman sharing his crazy life.

“How bad is it, Mary Pat?”

“As bad as it gets.”

DNI Foley filled him in on the events of the last twenty-four hours as relayed to her by Gerry, and the ticking clock winding down toward Armageddon with the Russians. The civilian aircraft had been blown out of the sky just a few hours before, but because no Americans were on board, the President wasn’t notified, even though his son apparently had been the target.

“Mr. President, if Jack can’t find those rockets and take them out...”

“Yeah, I know. We need to get the Russians in on this ASAP.”

“We don’t have a lot of options right now.”

“Hell, we don’t have any, since we don’t even have a target at this point. Right now, it’s all up to Jack.”

—

The first call President Ryan made was to his chief of staff, Arnie Van Damm. Arnie was a veteran of as many three a.m. phone calls as he was, because Arnie was the first person Ryan always called at a time like this.

“Arnie, you’ve got five minutes to organize a conference call with Scott, Bob, and Mary Pat. And patch it over to the Situation Room.”

“What’s this about?”

“No time to explain.” Ryan checked his watch.Shit.He’d already burned four minutes. “And now we’ve got just thirty minutes to go.”

“It’ll take at least twenty.”