“I understand David Wallace is over from the Bureau, but he will always tend to think in terms of making a criminal case for eventual prosecution. I’d much rather run it like a CIA operation. Prosecution if we can, but discovering the threat so we can stanch the flow of leaked intel has to be our first priority.”
“I wouldn’t have it any other way,” Foley said.
“There’s a guy I’d like to be my deputy,” Hendricks said. “Retired from the Navy. He helped me get out of Somalia years ago on his destroyer. You and I crossed paths with many good folks over the course of our careers. Most, you simply thank them and move on. But this guy and I clicked. Became good friends.” She looked at Foley. “I’m sure there’s someone like that in your past.”
“Yeah,” Foley said. “My guy’s the President.”
“Then you know what I’m talking about. Honestly, my husband was always a little jealous of my ‘Navy friend.’”
“That’s not going to be a problem? Nothing that will—”
“Hey, I passed my polygraph,” Hendricks said. “Seriously, it wasn’t like that. And anyway, look at me. I’m pretty certain the days of my husband thinking some dude’s gonna ravish me while I’m out on assignment are long gone.”
“Those days never end, my friend,” Foley said. “Believe me.”
Hendricks laughed and waved away the thought. “Anyway, he’s just a really good person. Someone we can trust — and he’s of Chinese descent.”
“A retired admiral?”
Hendricks nodded.
Foley tapped a finger against her temple and gave Hendricks a conspiratorial wink. “We’re probably thinking about the same guy…”
Back in her car in the Liberty Crossing visitor parking lot, Monica Hendricks sent a text via Signal. The messaging app was end-to-end encrypted, but habit made her careful with her words unless she was talking on an STU or some other dedicated secure device.
Her friend was cordial, if a little terse, but that could have been the fact that they were thumb-typing. He gave her a quick rundown on his life like he was giving a bottom-line-up-front briefing to the Joint Chiefs. She did the same. Three sentences to encapsulate the status of her life.
He cut to the chase. What’s up?
Something I need to run by you.
Shoot.
Hendricks thought for a moment, then typed. It needs to be in person. She was of the generation that texted in complete sentences and checked her spelling and grammar before hitting send.
Okay. It must be important, then.
Something important enough to keep me from walking out the door. She sent that, then added, I’d come to you, but things are crazy busy. Can you come to D.C.?
Pulsing dots… but only for a moment.
I’ll break the news to Sophie.
I’m sorry it’s last-minute. Today would be best, if at all possible.
Admiral Peter Li’s answer came back almost immediately, as she knew it would.
I’ll be there.
“This is exactly the kind of problem you’re good at,” Cathy Ryan said, slouching across the study in an overstuffed leather chair.
Jack Ryan found himself mesmerized by this gorgeous, rock-solid oasis of sanity in an insane world. Blond hair askew over her forehead, eyes half closed, she balanced an astonishingly bright cobalt-blue Paul Green pump on the toe of her astonishingly beautiful foot.
A world-renowned ophthalmic surgeon, Dr. Cathy Ryan had performed three retinal surgeries that morning. Dealing with vessels and nerves smaller than a human hair, there was zero room for error. Not particularly physical, but heavy lifting nonetheless.
Ryan stretched out on the well-worn cushions of the leather sofa of his private study off the Oval Office, tie loose, shoes off. Hands folded across his chest, his head turned sideways so he could lie down and still look at his wife.
“Not sure if I’m good at it,” he said. “But a Chinese mole inside CIA is definitely a problem.”
“But that’s not the problem you were talking about.”
Ryan rubbed his eyes with the heels of his hands. “We have some incredibly brave and devoted patriots of Asian heritage in our intelligence organizations, and we’re about to put the screws to the vast majority of them, basically tell them we’ve stopped trusting them because of who their grandparents are. But the fact remains, the PRC likes to utilize people who have ties to China, to appeal to their sense of what it means to be Chinese. It’s a hard reality.”
“Are you sure this mole is of Chinese descent?”
“Not at all,” Ryan said. “But we have to consider the possibility. It troubles me that we actively recruit intelligence officers who speak native Mandarin, and then turn on them like this for the same reason we hired them. If we move too far in one direction, I ruin dozens of careers. Don’t move far enough, and a mole continues to bleed us dry of critical intelligence, endangering lives. It would be all too easy to have a purge.”
