The Sum of All Fears.pdf - Delta Force

CHAPTER 17
Processing
The days were shorter now, Jack told himself. It wasn't that he was all that
late, just that the days were shortening. The earth's orbit around the sun, and
the way the axis of rotation was not perpendicular with the plane of the . . .
ecliptic? Something like that. His driver dropped him off in front of the door,
and he walked tiredly in, wondering when the last day had been, outside of the
weekends, when he'd seen his house in daylight and not outlined by electric
lights. About the only good news was that he didn't bring work home – but that
wasn't quite true either, was it? He brought no documents home, but it was less
easy to clear out his mind than to clear off his desk.
Ryan heard the sounds of a normal house, the TV tuned to Nickelodeon. The
washing machine was making noise. Have to have that fixed. He walked into the
family room to announce himself.
'Daddy!' Jack Jr ran over to deliver a hug, followed by a plaintive look.
'Daddy, you promised to take me to a baseball game.'
Oh, shit . . . The kids were back in school, and there couldn't be more than a
dozen home games left up in Baltimore. He had to, had to, had to . . . When?
When could he break loose? The new communications center project was only
half-done, and that was his baby, and the contractor was a week behind, and he
had to get that back on line if it was going to be ready when it was supposed to
be . . .
'I'm going to try, Jack,' Ryan promised his son, who was too young to understand
about any obligation beyond a father's promise.
'Daddy, you promised.'
'I know.' Shit! Jack made a mental note. He had to do something about that.
'Bed time,' Cathy announced. 'Tomorrow's a school day.'
Ryan hugged and kissed both of his children, but the exercise in affection
merely left an empty spot in his conscience. What sort of a father was he
turning into? Jack Jr's First Communion was next April or May, and who could say
if he'd be home for that? Better find out the date so that he could schedule it
now. Try to schedule it now. Jack reminded himself that little things like
promises to his kids were –
Little things?
God, how did this ever happen? Where has my life gone?
He watched the kids head to their rooms, then himself headed to the kitchen. His
dinner was in the oven. He set the plate on the breakfast counter before walking
to the refrigerator. He was buying wine in boxes now. It was much more
convenient, and his taste in wine was getting far less selective of late. The
cardboard boxes held a Mylar bag full of – Australian, wasn't it? About where
California wines had been twenty years earlier. The vintage in question was very
fruity, to mask its inadequacies, and had the proper alcohol content, which was
what he was mainly after anyway. Jack looked at the wall clock. If he were very
lucky, he might get six and a half, maybe seven hours of sleep before a new day
started. He needed the wine to sleep. At the office, he lived on coffee, and his