The Sum of All Fears.pdf - Delta Force

'About how it looks,' Pete said. 'The chopper's broke.'
'I wish they'd be more careful,' Special Agent Helen D'Agustino observed as she
brushed her hair.
'Not their fault.' Connor lifted the phone to the Secret Service command center,
located a few blocks west of the White House. 'This is Connor. The chopper is
down with a mechanical problem. Back-up is being kept at Annacostia because of
weather conditions. Anything on the board I need to know about?'
'No, sir,' the junior agent responded. On his status board, in LED characters he
could see that the President of the United States – designated 'POTUS' on his
display – was shown to be at Camp David. The First Lady of the United States
-'FLOTUS' – space was blank. The Vice President was at his official residence on
the ground of the U.S. Naval Observatory off of Massachusetts Avenue, North
West, along with his family. 'Everything's nice and calm, far as we know.'
'How are the roads down there?' Pete asked.
'Bad. Every Carryall we have is out retrieving people.'
'Thank God for Chevrolet.' Like the FBI, the Secret Service used the big Chevy
four-wheel-drive trucks to get around. Heavily armored and with roughly the fuel
efficiency of a tank, the Carryall was able to do things that only a tank could
excel. 'Okay, it's nice and snug up here.'
'I bet the Marines are freezing their cojones off.'
'What about Dulles?'
'The Prime Minister is due in at eighteen hundred. The guys say Dulles has one
runway open now. They expect to have everything clear by afternoon. Storm's
slacking off a little here, finally. You know, the funny thing . . .'
'Yeah.' Connor didn't need to hear the rest. The funny thing was that weather
like this made the job of the Secret Service easier. 'Okay, you know where to
reach us.'
'Right. See ya tomorrow, Pete.'
Connor looked outside when he heard the noise. A Marine was driving a snow-plow,
trying to clear the paths between the cabins. Two more were working on the
roads. It seemed rather odd. The equipment was painted in the Pentagon's
woodland camouflage pattern of greens and browns, but the Marines were in their
whites. There were even white pull-over covers for their M-16A2 rifles. Anyone
who tried to get in here today would find, too late, that the perimeter guard
force was totally invisible, and these Marines were all combat veterans. At
times like this, even the Secret Service could relax, and that came rarely
enough. There came a knock on the door. Daga got it.
'Morning papers, ma'am.' A Marine corporal handed them over.
'You know,' D'Agustino observed after she closed the door, 'sometimes I think
the guys who deliver these things are the only people you can really depend on.'
'What about the Marines?' Pete asked with a laugh.
'Oh, them, too.'
***
'Aspect change in Sierra-16!' the sonarman called. 'Target is coming left.'
'Very well,' Dutch Claggett replied. 'Mr Pitney, you have the conn.'
'Aye aye, sir, I have the conn,' the navigator said as the XO went into the
sonar room. The fire-control tracking party perked up, waiting to restart their