“Okay,” Ryan said, leaning back in his chair. “I have to be honest, though. I’m mildly stunned that you came here in person — and I’m not an easy man to stun anymore.”
“I understand completely,” Chadwick said. She tried, but couldn’t quite bring herself to say “Mr. President.” “This is odd as hell for me, too. You stand for virtually everything I am against. But for all that, this program seems like something you could support. If your side of the House finds out you’re behind it, they’ll come aboard as well. The thing is…” Her voice trailed off.
Ryan waited a beat, prodding when she didn’t continue. “What?”
“It would be cool if we could work together on the language, so the thing has both our stamps on it.”
Van Damm’s brow furrowed, the way it did when he didn’t like the smell of something. “You know that ‘working together’ means some of your people hammering out details with some of our people? The President doesn’t have time for daily sit-downs over a bill that should be hashed out by the legislative branch.”
“Fully aware,” Chadwick said, swallowing what pride she had left. She addressed Ryan instead of his lackey — who was too smart for his own good. “I would just ask for one or two of those sit-downs, mano a mano, so to speak.”
He gave a noncommittal nod. “I’m happy to take a look at your proposal.”
“To be honest,” Chadwick said. “I’m tired of fighting you, Mr. President.” There, that wasn’t so hard. “We disagree on a shitload of key matters. But in order to get anything done, we need to find something on which we can work together. It’s time you and I bury the hatchet.”
Van Damm shot a glance at the President, and then let his gaze settle on Chadwick. “Not in his back, I hope.”
“I get it, Arnie,” Chadwick said. “But you know me. I’ve been a front-stabber from the beginning—”
There was a knock at the door and Betty Martin stepped in, beckoning the chief of staff. “That call you were waiting on.”
Van Damm thanked her and then turned to Ryan. “Don’t you dare agree to anything while I’m gone.”
Ryan waved him off. “I’ll be fine, Arnie.”
The door shut, leaving Chadwick more alone than she’d ever felt in her life. She was definitely in the lion’s den now. She held her breath.
It was time to see what the all-powerful Jack Ryan was made of.
When he didn’t sleep, Father West paced — and he rarely slept. For the first few days — or at least, spans of time he believed to be days — he had prayed. His prayers were fervent. The heartfelt pleas of a man alone. He tried saying the rosary, counting the Hail Marys on his fingers, but he lost his place numerous times. As he prayed, he shuffled back and forth in the dim six-by-eight concrete cell. He moved methodically, like the internal workings of an old clock that was losing time and faith with every step. That was the interesting thing about God. He seemed to wait until one hit rock bottom before stepping in. Or, West thought, maybe he was just going crazy. Either way, his head hurt a little less at the moment, and that was something.
He’d been blindfolded with a paper bag when they drove him off the mountain — an odd item for a blindfold, so he suspected his arrest hadn’t been part of their plan for the day. It was impossible to know where they’d brought him, but it wasn’t far out of Bandung, if not one of the prisons in the city itself.
Wherever it was, he was underground, a bad place to be in an area famous for earthquakes and volcanic eruptions. The concrete cell was bare but for a thin mattress, sodden with humidity and sweat, and two buckets, one for water, the other a toilet. He could have cursed his fate, but experience caused him to think instead,
He chuckled at the thought, of the stupidity of clinging to any shred of the positive at a time like this. The scrape of his shuffling feet covering his own whispered laughter. He sounded crazy, even to himself — which, he thought, meant he’d not gone crazy yet. The insane were not quite so self-aware. That made him laugh again. Three steps done, he turned on his heels and began the three-step journey back to the cell door.
He swayed a little in the turn. The inability to track time made him dizzy, unmoored. That was the point, wasn’t it? They wanted to tenderize his mind so he would talk, but they’d yet to ask him any questions. He had no idea how long he’d been here, but he was absolutely certain that if they kept him alone much longer, it wouldn’t matter what they asked him.
