by Mark Greaney
The CIA moved Adam Yao onto Air Force One out of sight of the press and even traveling administration personnel. Almost no one on board knew that a man on a stretcher had been carried onto the aircraft after the curtains were closed. The only personnel aware were the CIA officers and medical staff who brought him from the embassy, along with two Secret Service agents who checked everyone extra carefully these days, even Adam Yao, though he was flat on his back with a bandage around his leg.
For his part, Yao had been sullen since he’d regained consciousness in the clinic in the embassy. He’d responded to direct questions from his doctors, but he hadn’t said much else. No one had even tried to debrief him yet. CIA had a serious protocol for debriefs, and the officer’s health was paramount. Apologies were made to the Chinese that they couldn’t speak to the man, but the Chinese had their hands full with the goings-on to their south, so they’d not made much of a fuss.
Air Force One was well out over the Sea of Japan when President Ryan entered the medical office and sat down next to the injured CIA NOC. Adam tried to pull himself higher on his pillow. He couldn’t have stood up if his life depended on it, and even though he knew it would have been respectful to do so, he also knew better than to try.
But he did raise a weak hand with an IV tube running from it.
Ryan said, “It’s an honor to meet you, Mr. Yao.”
“Likewise, sir.” His voice was weak, a result of the drugs and exhaustion, but he was aware. He looked over his President. The cast on his left arm, the sling on his right arm. “Oh my gosh. Are you okay?”
Ryan smiled. The kid had missed a lot of happenings over the past week.
“I’m okay. And I am told you are going to be fine. Little frostbite. Broken kneecap, a laceration, a mild infection that should clear up in a few days.”
Adam just nodded. He said nothing else.
Ryan thought he detected a problem. “Is there something bothering you?”
“I’m sorry for asking this, Mr. President. I don’t want to sound ungrateful, but I have to know. Did we make some deal with the Chinese to get me out?”
Ryan did not hesitate in his response. “None at all. I added you onto the end of a deal that had already been made. A deal in both our nations’ interests.” He shrugged. “Hell, a deal that worked out for everyone. Ultimately, even the North Koreans, although I don’t expect a thank-you card and a tray of cookies anytime soon.”
Adam blew out a long sigh, utterly relieved. With a smile he said, “They would be awful cookies, I can guarantee that.”
“That’s good intel,” Ryan joked, and he patted Yao on the arm with his cast. “Can I get you anything?”
“I have everything I need now. Thank you.”
Then Ryan turned serious. “The work you have done has made an incredible difference. Hwang is talking to us, and he made a statement that went out all over the world about the rare earth mine. It’s hard to predict what will happen inside the DPRK now that Choi’s gone. We expect chaos in the short term, but in the long term, we think it will have a positive effect.”
“What about the foreign nationals working at the Chongju mine?”
Ryan said, “Hwang has provided that information to us, and we will be passing it on to the Australians, French, Canadians, and others before he speaks publicly. These countries will need to appeal directly to the North Koreans. It’s all we can do.”
Ryan added, “We cannot thank you enough for what you’ve done. You’ve sacrificed a lot.
“It was my call that put you in North Korea. I knew when I complained to our intelligence execs that the HUMINT wasn’t acceptable that they would redouble efforts to change that. And I knew that meant some young man or young woman would be going into harm’s way. I don’t take that lightly, at all. I know it must be hard to appreciate that the old people running this country really do care about the young people they cajole into the dangerous missions. But I was there once, in your shoes. A long time ago.”
“I know you were, sir. And I hope you know I’m happy you sent me. I’m glad I got to make a little difference.”
Adam coughed and Ryan got the impression he wanted to say something else.
“What is it?”
Adam said, “I met your son. A great guy.”
Jack chuckled softly. “Should I ask where you met him?”
Adam shrugged. “I wouldn’t.”
Jack let it go. Finally, he stood. “Get well, Mr. Yao. Your country needs you.”
“Yes, Mr. President.”
—
Jack Ryan went up to his office on Air Force One to make some calls. Andrea had come out of her coma and she was talking now; she was due to fly back to the U.S. the next morning with her husband and young son, and Ryan wanted to speak with her immediately to thank her for everything she’d done. As much as he wanted to hear her voice, he knew she’d want to hear his as well, because even though she was in a hospital bed five thousand miles away from her President right now, he was still her protectee, and she would feel the unease of not having seen him get to safety in Mexico.
Ryan sat down at his desk with a wince, and he asked his secretary to place the call. While he waited, he looked at the photos of his family on his desk. He had a few years more to devote to his country, and then he would be able to give himself back to his family fully, and as he looked at a picture of his entire clan, he thought about a day when they wouldn’t have to worry about the possibility of getting a call like the one Cathy had gotten last week.
Ryan smiled. That day was coming.
But then he looked at Jack Junior in the photo. His smile faded. That day wouldn’t come for Cathy so soon, after all. His son had pushed himself headlong into danger and danger had pushed back, more than once, this Ryan Senior knew. He also knew that, someday, he might get the call that the husbands and wives and parents of all those Secret Service agents got last week, giving him the news that his son had been killed in the line of duty, and the thought of it utterly chilled him, so he did the only thing he could think to do.
He shut his eyes and prayed for peace.
—
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