Pausing mid-step as he climbed out, Chavez looked to his left. What he saw nearly sent him tumbling back into the runabout.
A slender lance corporal with green eyes administered an on-the-spot correction to a Marine PFC who he must have thought was being too rough bringing the Vietnamese roustabouts aboard. The correction was direct, colorful in its language, and over quickly.
Chavez, still dizzy and near hypothermia, squinted, turning his head slightly to be certain he wasn’t seeing things. Satisfied, he chuckled to himself, suddenly much warmer than he had been.
“You kiss your mama with that mouth, Marine?”
The green-eyed lance corporal braced, wheeling to look directly at Chavez. His jaw dropped and his eyes flew wide.
“Dad?”
John Clark was almost finished with a call from Mary Pat Foley when his phone buzzed. He’d been expecting to hear from Ding, but this was an unknown number, so he let it go to voicemail. The same number called back twice more in rapid succession, prompting him to put the director of national intelligence on hold — something he was certain few people ever got to do.
It was Ding, calling on a borrowed phone.
Clark’s helicopter touched down on the USS
Clark had time to brief Chavez of the basics of Foley’s call, but little else. The urgency of the situation in China drove him to want to return to the hotel immediately and formulate a plan, but the idea of spending a minute or two with his grandson made him step back and take a breath. Jack and Lisanne were already working logistics for a quick move and they were all waiting on direction from Adam Yao, anyway. He could spare a couple minutes.
Captain Jackson made certain everyone was comfortable in the wardroom and then, grinning, said, “Looks like the Marine has a question or two.”
“That I do, sir,” JP said. His nose was crooked now. Telltale scars above his right eyebrow and his lower lip had taken the brunt of what looked to have been a serious fight. Shoulder blades pinned, he stood so straight Clark thought his back might snap. Clark suppressed a smile, remembering the hundreds of times as a grandfather that he’d told the boy to stand up straight. As much of a Navy man as he was, he had to admit there wasn’t any straight back like a Marine straight back.
Captain Jackson gave JP a soft nod. “Stand at ease, son. In fact, have a seat. Not sure how much your dad is going to tell you, but it’d probably be best if you were sitting down for whatever it is.”
The younger Chavez moved mechanically, looking warily back and forth from his father to his grandfather and the captain as he sidled in on a chair at the long table.
Clark took a seat beside him, resting a hand on his grandson’s shoulder. “What do you want to know?”
“I thought you and Dad were forensic investigators. I mean, I’m smart enough to figure out there was some security work involved, considering your backgrounds. I know you guys travel… but last I heard, Mom told me Dad was supposed to be on some business trip to Singapore. Now I run into him on his way out to an oil rig that gets bombed, and you’re able to commandeer a helicopter on a moment’s notice to my ship from Ho Chi Minh City… That’s just…”
Clark laid his hands flat on the table and studied them for a moment, deciding whether or not to speak, then said, “The family business. That’s what it is.”
JP looked at his father. “Seriously? Are you guys mercs?”
“Hell, no,” Ding said. “Far from it.”
“We’re more what you’d call contractors,” Clark said.
Captain Jackson turned to leave. “I’ll see myself out so you can read him in to whatever this is.”
Clark gave a dry chuckle. “You’re involved, Skipper. At least your family is.”
Jackson nodded. “I thought as much. Jack Ryan was my uncle Robby’s dearest friend. Ryan tapped him to be his vice president.”
“That’s true,” Clark said. “But I was thinking of your other uncle. Tim.”
Jackson cocked his head. “How’s that?”
“Years ago — I hate to admit how many — I recruited our young Marine’s daddy for a special mission. It remains classified, but what we were doing isn’t important. Your uncle Tim was a platoon leader at Fort Ord and I sort of snatched Staff Sergeant Chavez out from under his nose. He got a pretty good ass-chewing for trying to find out what was going on, if I remember correctly.”
Jackson laughed. “I remember hearing him talk about spooks invading his turf.”
“Spooks…” JP Chavez stared into space, then turned to look directly at his father. “Does Mom know?”
“She does,” Ding said.
JP’s gaze shifted to Clark, who answered before he could ask. “Your grandma has known what I do since before I even really started doing it.”
“I guess there’s a lot you can’t tell me.”
