The Sum of All Fears.pdf - Delta Force

eyond his sight. It was a quality that went along with being the President's
Chief of Staff.
He poured his Diet Coke into an oversized coffee mug that featured an emblem of
the White House on one side and 'Arnie' engraved on the other, and regarded the
Deputy Director of Central Intelligence with a mixture of wariness and
affection. 'Thirsty?'
'I can handle a real Coke if you have one down there,' Jack observed with a
grin. Van Damm's left hand dropped below sight, and a red aluminum can appeared
on a ballistic path that would have terminated in Ryan's lap had he not caught
it. Opening the can under the circumstances was a tricky exercise, but Jack
ostentatiously aimed the can at van Damm when he popped the top. Like the man or
not, Ryan told himself, he had style. He was unaffected by his job, except when
he had to be. This was not such a time. Arnold van Damm only acted important for
outsiders. Insiders didn't need an act.
'The Boss wants to know what the hell is going on over there,' the Chief of
Staff opened.
'So do I.' Charles Alden, the President's National Security Advisor, entered the
room. 'Sorry I'm late, Arnie.'
'So do we, gentlemen,' Jack replied. 'That hasn't changed in a couple of years.
You want the best stuff we've got?'
'Sure,' Alden said.
'Next time you fly to Moscow, look out for a large white rabbit with waistcoat
and pocket watch. If he offers you a trip down a rabbit hole, take it and let me
know what you find down there,' Ryan said with mock gravity. 'Look, I'm not one
of those right-wing idiots who moans for a return to the Cold War, but then, at
least, the Russians were predictable. The poor bastards are starting to act like
we do now. They're unpredictable as hell. The funny part is, now I can
understand what a pain in the ass we always were to the KGB. The political
dynamic over there is changing on a daily basis. Narmonov is the sharpest
political in-fighter in the world, but every time he goes to work, it's another
crisis.'
'What sort of cat is he?' van Damm asked. 'You've met the man.' Alden had met
Narmonov, but van Damm had not.
'Only once,' Ryan cautioned.
Alden settled down in an armchair. 'Look, Jack, we've seen your file. So has the
Boss. Hell, I've almost got him to respect you. Two Intelligence Stars, the
submarine business, and, Jesus, the thing with Gerasimov. I've heard of still
waters running deep, fella, but never this deep. No wonder Al Trent thinks
you're so damned smart.' The Intelligence Star was CIA's highest decoration for
performance in the field. Jack actually had three. But the citation for the
third was locked away in a very safe place, and was something so secret that
even the new President didn't and would never know. 'So prove it. Talk to us.'
'He's one of those rare ones. He thrives on chaos. I've met docs like that.
There are some, a rare few, who keep working in emergency rooms, doing trauma
and stuff like that, after everybody else burns out. Some people just groove to
pressure and stress, Arnie. He's one of them. I don't think he really likes it,
but he's good at it. He must have the physical constitution of a horse – '