The Sum of All Fears.pdf - Delta Force

then?'
'Will you help?' Ghosn asked.
'Ten years – more, twenty years I have studied and thought . . . How will it be
used?'
'Does that trouble you,"
'It will not be used in Germany?'
'Of course not,' Ghosn answered, almost in annoyance. What quarrel did the
Organization really have with the Germans, after all?
Something in Bock's mind, however, went click. He closed his eyes for a moment
to engrave the thought in his memory.
'Yes, I will help.'
'You will be well-paid,' Ghosn promised him. He saw a moment later that this was
a mistake. But that didn't matter, did it?
'I do not do such things for money! You think I am a mercenary?' Fromm asked
indignantly.
'Excuse me. I meant no insult. A skilled worker is someone to be rewarded for
his time. We are not beggars, you know.'
Neither am I, Fromm almost said, before his good sense intervened. These were
not the Argentines, were they? They were not Fascists, not capitalists, they
were revolutionary comrades who had also fallen upon bad political times . . .
though he was sure their fiscal situation was highly favorable indeed. The
Soviets had never given arms to the Arabs. It had all been sold for hard
currency, even under Brezhnev and Andropov, and if that had been good enough for
the Soviets when they still held the true faith . . . then . . .
'Forgive me. I merely stated a fact, and I did not mean to insult you, either. I
know you are not beggars. You are revolutionary soldiers, freedom fighters, and
I will be honored to assist you in any way I can.' He waved his hand. 'You may
feel free to pay me whatever you think fair – ' it would be plenty, more than a
mere million D-Mark! ' – but please understand that I do not sell myself for
money.'
'It is a pleasure to meet an honorable man,' Ghosn said, with a satisfied look.
Bock thought they had both laid it on rather thick, but kept his peace. He
already suspected how Fromm would be paid.
'So,' Ghosn said next. 'Where do we begin?'
'First, we think. I need paper and pencil.'
***
'And who might you be?' Ryan asked.
'Ben Goodley, sir.'
'Boston?' Ryan asked. The accent was quite distinctive.
'Yes, sir. Kennedy School. I'm a post-doctoral fellow and, well, now I'm a White
House Fellow also.'
'Nancy?' Ryan turned to his secretary.
'The Director has him on your calendar, Dr Ryan.'
'Okay, Dr Goodley,' Ryan said with a smile, 'come on in.' Clark took his seat
after sizing the new guy up.
'Want some coffee?'
'You have decaf?' Goodley asked.