The Sum of All Fears.pdf - Delta Force

Was it that simple? Cathy wondered. She could forgive him almost anything. Could
she forgive him this? Not because she would want to forgive him. Because there
was more to it than her pride. There were also kids, and kids needed a father,
even a neglectful one. Was her pride more important than their needs? The other
side of that – what sort of household would they have if Mom and Dad didn't get
along? Wasn't that even more destructive? After all, she could always find . . .
. . . another Jack?
She started crying again. She cried for herself, for her own inability to make a
decision, for the injury to her character. It was the sort of weeping that did
nothing for the problem, except make it worse. Part wanted him gone. Part wanted
him back. No part knew what to do.
***
'You understand that this is strictly confidential,' the investigator said,
rather than asked. The man before him was short and over-weight, with soft, pink
hands. The Bismarck mustache was obviously an affectation to make him look
manly. In fact he didn't took terribly impressive at all, until you took a close
look at his face. Those dark eyes didn't miss a thing.
'Doctors are accustomed to confidentiality,' Bernie Katz replied, handing the
credentials back. 'Make it fast. I have rounds in twenty minutes.'
The investigator thought that his assignment did have a certain elegance to it,
though he wasn't sure that he approved. The problem was that playing around
wasn't exactly a felony, though it did usually disqualify a man from a high
security clearance. After all, if a man could break a promise made in a church,
then why not one made merely on paper?
Bernie Katz leaned back, waiting as patiently as he was able, which wasn't very
patient. He was a surgeon, accustomed to doing things and making his own
decisions, not waiting for others. One hand twirled at his mustache as he rocked
in the chair.
'How well do you know Dr Caroline Ryan?'
'Cathy? I've worked with her on and off for eleven years.'
'What can you tell me about her?'
'She's a brilliant surgeon, technically speaking, exceptional judgment, superbly
skilled. She's one of the best instructors we have on staff. She's also a good
friend. What seems to be the problem here?' Katz's eyes narrowed on his visitor.
'Sorry, I'm the guy asking the questions.'
'Yeah, I can tell. Get on with it,' Katz said coldly, examining the man,
watching body language, expression, demeanor. He didn't like what he saw.
'Has she made any comments lately . . . I mean, trouble at home, that sort of
thing?'
'You do understand, I hope, that I am a physician, and things said to me are
privileged.'
'Is Cathy Ryan your patient?' the man asked.
'I've examined her in the past. We all do that here.'
'Are you a psychiatrist?'
Katz nearly growled back an answer. Like most surgeons, he had a temper. 'You
know the answer to that.'
The investigator looked up from his notes and spoke matter-of-factly. 'In that