“It sounds like there has been some kind of misunderstanding over there,” Ryan said. He wanted badly to take the man to task, but he bit his tongue.
Captain Wyeth translated quietly into her mouthpiece, but Ryan doubted President Gumelar could even hear her over the whooshing pulse in his ears. It didn’t matter. The man was smart. He understood everything Ryan was saying, including the nuances.
“This is a delicate situation,” Gumelar said, sounding a little constipated. “The Indonesian people take religion quite seriously.”
“I understand completely,” Ryan said, taking it slow. “But no one from my embassy has been able to get in to see Father West.”
“I will look into that personally, Mr. President,” Gumelar said.
“I appreciate it,” Ryan said. “Now let us be honest with each other, as friends.”
“Of course.”
Ryan thought he heard a gulp.
“Gugun,” he said. “You and I both know that something is going on behind the scenes here. Do you have any inkling what that could be?”
Gumelar released a pent-up sigh. “I am afraid I do not,” he said. “But I tend to agree. Please understand, Jack, my hands are tied regarding your friend. The courts have decided he will stand trial for proselytizing Christianity and blasphemy against Islam.”
“Who are the witnesses?”
“We will find out at trial.”
“And when will that be?”
Gumelar sighed again. “I do not know.”
“Okay,” Ryan said. “We’ll talk about this more when I arrive.”
“Mr. President?”
“We were already planning a visit,” Ryan said. “Were we not? As you said, this is a delicate situation, best discussed in person.”
“Jack,” Gumelar said, pleading now. “This would not be a convenient time.”
“Nonsense, Gugun,” Ryan said. “The timing could not be better. Two world leaders working out a misunderstanding. Our people expect it of us.”
“Mr. President,” Gumelar said, his voice rising in pitch and timbre. “Your friend’s arrest has inflamed anti-Christian sentiment among some of my people. I am afraid your presence here would undermine my—”
“You’re a busy man,” Ryan said. “I don’t want to trouble you with the details. My office will be in touch with your office. I look forward to visiting with you in person.”
The “where I may very well kick your ass” was implied.
Sergeant Rodney Scott, United States Marine Corps, had read that only somewhere around fifteen percent of military personnel had parents who had also served — down from forty percent only a generation before.
The Scotts did their part to move the dial on that average. Military service was a family business. Rodney’s grandfather had served on Navy SEAL Team Two, dubbed by the Vietcong the fearsome “men with green faces.” Both of Scott’s parents had served in the first Gulf War — his father with the Army in 10th Special Forces, his mother as an A 10 Warthog mechanic for the Air Force. Rodney’s older sister joined the Naval Reserve and became a public affairs officer when Rodney was a senior in high school. Unwilling to let his sister get one up on him, he decided to join as well. For a time, he thought he might go the reserve route, but since he had to go to boot camp either way, he decided he’d go ahead and sign on for active duty. And since he was joining up, he might as well jump in with both feet and become a Marine. So twenty-three days after graduating from Memorial High School in Port Arthur, Texas, Rodney Scott, state 800-meter champion and drummer in his own band, stepped off the bus at Marine Corps Recruit Depot Parris Island and took his spot on the yellow footprints. Now his kid brother was about to join the Marine Corps at MCRD San Diego. Poor kid. He had no idea what great and terrible things awaited him when he got off that bus…
Good times indeed, but back then, enduring the shouts of what looked to be a very angry drill instructor, Rodney Scott could never have imagined that in a few short years he would become Sergeant Scott, handpicked for the elite HMX-1, as crew chief of Marine One.
