The Sum of All Fears.pdf - Delta Force

'Glad to hear it. As you know, John Ryan has access to all sorts of highly
sensitive information. Were we not to keep an eye on such people, we would be
irresponsible. We've – this is a highly sensitive matter, Dr Katz.'
'I understand that.'
'We have indications that her husband might be acting . . . irregularly. We have
to check that out. Understand? We have to.'
'Okay.'
'That's all we ask.'
'Very well.'
'Thank you for your cooperation, sir.' The investigator shook hands and left.
Katz managed not to flush until the man was gone. He didn't really know Jack all
that well. They'd met at parties perhaps five or six times, traded a few jokes,
talked about baseball or the weather or maybe international relations. Jack had
never begged off on an answer, had never said I can't discuss that or anything.
Pleasant enough guy, Bernie thought. A good father by all accounts. But he
didn't know the man at all.
Katz did, however, know Cathy as well as he knew any other doctor. She was a
thoroughly wonderful person. If one of his kids should ever need eye surgery,
she was one of the three people in the world whom he would trust to do the fix,
and that was the highest compliment he could pay to anyone. She'd backed him up
on cases and procedures, and he'd backed her up. When one needed advice, it was
the other who got asked. They were friends, and associates. If they'd ever
decided to leave the Hopkins/Wilmer faculty, they would have set up an office
together, because a medical partnership is even harder to maintain than a good
marriage. He might have married her, Katz thought, if he'd had the chance. She
would have been an easy girl to love. She had to be a good mother. She drew a
disproportionate number of kids as patients because in some cases the surgeon
needed small hands, and hers were small, dainty, and supremely skillful. She
lavished attention on her little patients. The floor nurses loved her for it.
Everyone loved her, as a matter of fact. Her surgical team was extremely loyal
to her. They didn't come any better than Cathy.
Trouble at home? Jack's playing around behind her back . . . hurting my friend?
'That worthless son of a bitch.'
***
He was late again, Cathy saw. After nine this time. Couldn't he ever get home at
a decent hour?
And if not, why not?
'Hi, Cath,' he said on his way through to the bedroom. 'Sorry I'm late.'
When he was out of sight, she walked towards the closet and opened the door to
check the coat. Nothing. He'd had it cleaned the very next day, claiming that it
had been spotted. It had been spotted, Cathy remembered, but, but, but . . .
What to do?
She almost started crying again.
Cathy was back in her chair when Jack came through on his way towards the
kitchen. He didn't notice the look, didn't notice the silence. His wife stayed
in her place, not really seeing the television picture her eyes were fixed on
while her mind kept going over and over it, searching for an answer but finding