"Good.  Somebody has to fly out to brief our fleet commander, then go on to talk to the Brits, if we get their carrier, as I expect we will.  The judge says we ought to let Admiral Davenport go out with you.  So, you fly out to Kennedy tonight, then on to Invincible."

"Mr. President, I—"

"Come now, Dr. Ryan," Pelt smiled thinly.  "You are uniquely suited to this.  You already have access to the intelligence, you know the British commander, and you're a naval intelligence specialist.  You fit.  Tell me, how eager do you think the navy is about getting this Red October?"

"Of course they're interested in it, sir.  To get a chance to look at it, better yet to run it, take it apart, and run it some more.  It would be the intelligence coup of all time."

"That's true. But maybe they're a little too eager."

"I don't understand what you mean, sir," Ryan said, though he understood it just fine.  Pelt was the president's favorite.  He was not the Pentagon's favorite.

"They might take a chance that we might not want them to take."

"Dr. Pelt, if you're saying that a uniformed officer would—"

"He's not saying that.  At least not exactly.  What he's saying is that it might be useful for me to have somebody out there who can give me an independent, civilian point of view."

"Sir, you don't know me."

"I've read a lot of your reports."  The chief executive was smiling.  It was said he could turn dazzling charm on and off like a spotlight.  Ryan was being blinded, knew it, and couldn't do a thing about it.  "I like your work.  You have a good feel for things, for facts.  Good judgment.  Now, one reason I got to where I am is good judgment, too, and I think you can handle what I have in mind.  The question is, will you do it, or won't you?"

"Do what, exactly, sir?"

"After you get out there, you stay put for a few days, and report directly to me.  Not through channels, directly to me.  You'll get the cooperation you need.  I'll see to that."

Ryan didn't say anything.  He'd just become a spy, a field officer, by presidential fiat.  Worse, he'd be spying on his own side.

"You don't like the idea of reporting on your own people, right?  You won't be, not really.  Like I said, I want an independent, civilian opinion.  We'd prefer to send an experienced case officer out, but we want to minimize the number of people involved in this.  Sending Ritter or Greer out would be far too obvious, whereas you, on the other hand, are a relative—"

"Nobody?" Jack asked.

"As far as they're concerned, yes," Judge Moore replied.  "The Soviets have a file on you.  I've seen parts of it.  They think you're an upper-class drone, Jack."