The Sum of All Fears.pdf - Delta Force

started. 'Oh God, oh, sweet merciful Jesus!'
Paulson walked to the Chevy Carryall and locked his rifle in the rigid guncase.
Leary and one other agent stayed with him, telling him that he had done exactly
the right thing. They'd do that until Paulson got over his stress period. It
wasn't the sniper's first kill, but while they had all been different incidents,
they were all the same, all things to be regretted. The aftermath to a real
shooting does not include a commercial.
The reporter suffered the normal post-traumatic hysteria. She ripped off her
blood-soaked blouse, forgetting that there was nothing under it. An agent
wrapped a blanket around her and helped to steady her down. More news crews were
converging on the scene, most heading towards the building. Dennis Black got his
people together to clear their weapons and help with the two civilians. The
reporter recovered in a few minutes. She asked if it had really been necessary,
then learned that her cameraman had taken a shot that had been stopped by the
Second Chance vest the Bureau had recommended to both of them, but which she had
rejected. She next entered the elation phase, just as happy as she could be that
she could still breathe. Soon the shock would return, but she was a bright
journalist, despite her youth and inexperience, and had already learned
something important. Next time, she'd listen when someone gave her good advice;
the nightmares would merely punctuate the importance of the lesson. Within
thirty minutes, she was standing up without assistance & wearing her back-up
outfit, giving a level if brittle account of what had happened. But it was the
tape footage that would impress the people at Black Rock, headquarters of CBS.
The cameraman would get a personal letter from the head of the News Division.
The footage had everything: drama, death, a courageous (and attractive)
reporter, and would run as the lead piece for the evening news broadcast for
this otherwise slow news day, to be repeated by all the network morning shows
the next day. In each case the anchor would solemnly warn people that what they
were about to see might disturb the sensitive – just to make sure that everyone
understood that something especially juicy was about to screen. Since everyone
had more than one chance to view the event, quite a few had their tape machines
turning the second time around. One of them was the head of the Warrior Society.
His name was Marvin Russell.
***
It had started innocently enough. His stomach was unsettled when he awoke. The
morning jogs became a little more tiresome. He didn't feel quite himself. You're
over thirty, he told himself. You're not a boy anymore. Besides, he'd always
been vigorous. Maybe it was just a cold, a virus, the lingering effects of bad
water, some stomach bug. He'd just work his way out of it. He added weight to
his pack, took to carrying a loaded magazine in his rifle. He'd gotten lazy,
that's all. That was easily remedied. He was nothing if not a determined man.
For a month or so, it worked. Sure, he was even more tired, but that was to be
expected with the extra five kilos of weight he carried. He welcomed the
additional fatigue as evidence of his warrior's virtue, went back to simpler
foods, forced himself to adopt better sleep habits. It helped. The muscle aches
were no different from the time he'd entered this demanding life, and he slept
the dreamless sleep of the just. What had been tough became tougher still as his