The Sum of All Fears.pdf - Delta Force

Now, that was so amazing that Ryan wondered how long people would be writing
books about it. Generations, at least. The next week, a KGB representative was
coming into Langley to seek advice on parliamentary oversight. Ryan had
counseled against letting him in – and the trip was being handled with the
utmost secrecy – because the Agency still had Russians working for it, and the
knowledge that KGB and CIA had instituted official contacts on anything would
terrify them (equally true, Ryan admitted to himself, of Americans still in the
employ of KGB . . . probably). It was an old friend coming over, Sergey Golovko.
Friend, Ryan snorted, turning to the sports page. The problem with the morning
paper was that it never had the results of last night's game . . .
Jack's return to the bathroom was more civilized. He was awake now, though his
stomach was even less happy with the world. Two antacid tablets helped that. And
the Tylenol were working. He'd reenforce that with two more at work. By
six-fifteen, he was washed, shaved, and dressed. He kissed his still-sleeping
wife on the way out – was rewarded by a vague hmmm – and opened the front door
in time to see the car pulling up the driveway. It troubled Ryan vaguely that
his driver had to awaken far earlier than he to get here on time. It bothered
him a little more who his driver was.
'Morning, Doc,' John Clark said with a gruff smile. Ryan slid into the front
seat. There was more leg room, and he thought it would insult the man to sit in
back.
'Hi, John,' Jack replied.
Tied it on again last night, eh, Doc? Clark thought. Damned fool. For someone as
smart as you are, how can you be so dumb? Not getting the jogging in either, are
you? he wondered, on seeing how tight the DDCI's belt looked. Well, he'd just
have to learn, as Clark had learned, that late nights and too much booze were
for dumb kids. John Clark had turned into a paragon of healthy virtue before
reaching Ryan's age. He figured that it had saved his life at least once.
'Quiet night,' Clark said next, heading out the driveway.
'That's nice.' Ryan picked up the dispatch box and dialed in the code. He waited
until the light flashed green before opening it. Clark was right, there wasn't
much to be looked at. By the time they were halfway to Washington, he'd read
everything and made a few notes.
'Going to see Carol and the kids tonight?' Clark asked as they passed over
Maryland Route 3.
'Yeah, it is tonight, isn't it?'
'Yep.'
It was a regular once-a-week routine. Carol Zimmer was the Laotian widow of Air
Force sergeant Buck Zimmer, and Ryan had promised to take care of the family
after Buck's death. Few people knew of it – fewer people knew of the mission on
which Buck had died – but it gave Ryan great satisfaction. Carol now owned a
7-Eleven between Washington and Annapolis. It gave her family a steady and
respectable income when added to her husband's pension, and, with the
educational trust fund that Ryan had established, guaranteed that each of the
eight would have a college degree when the time came – as it had already come
for the eldest son. It would be a long haul to finish that up. The youngest was
still in diapers.