The Sum of All Fears.pdf - Delta Force

day. Inside an hour, he was on the move again, this time to the State
Department, By lunch he was on his way home to pack, managing to nap for three
hours along the way. He stopped back at Alden's White House office for a session
that dragged far into the night. Alden had really taken charge there, and the
skull session in his office covered a huge amount of ground. Before dawn Jack
headed off to Andrews Air Force Base. He was able to call his wife from the VIP
Lounge. Jack had hoped to take his son to a ball game over the weekend, but for
him there wouldn't be a weekend. A final courier arrived from CIA, State, and
the White House, delivering two hundred pages of data that he'd have to read on
the way across the Atlantic.
CHAPTER 4
Promised Land
The U.S. Air Force's Ramstein air base is set in a German valley, a fact which
Ryan found slightly unsettling. His idea of a proper airport was one on land
that was flat as far as the eye could see. He knew that it didn't make much of a
difference, but it was one of the niceties of air travel to which he'd become
accustomed. The base supported a full wing of F-16 fighter-bombers, each of
which was stored in its own bomb-proof shelter which in its turn was surrounded
by trees – the German people have a mania for green things that would impress
the most ambitious American environmentalists. It was one of those remarkable
cases in which the wishes of the tree-huggers coincided exactly with military
necessity. Spotting the aircraft shelters from the air was extremely difficult,
and some of the shelters – French-built – had trees planted on top of them,
making camouflage both aesthetically and militarily pleasing. The base also
housed a few large executive aircraft, including a converted 707 with 'The
United States of America' painted on it. Resembling a smaller version of the
President's personal transport, it was known locally as 'Miss Piggy,' and was
assigned to the use of the commander of USAF units in Europe. Ryan could not
help but smile. Here were over seventy fighter aircraft tasked to the
destruction of Soviet forces which were now drawing back from Germany, housed on
an environmentally admirable facility, which was also home to a plane called
Miss Piggy. The world was truly mad.
On the other hand, traveling Air Force guaranteed excellent hospitality and VIP
treatment worthy of the name, in this case at an attractive edifice called the
Cannon Hotel. The base commander, a full colonel, had met his VC-20B Gulfstream
executive aircraft and whisked him off to his Distinguished Visitor's quarters
where a slide-out drawer contained a nice collection of liquor bottles to help
him to conquer jetlag with nine hours of drink-augmented sleep. That was just as
well, because the available television service consisted of a single channel. By
the time he awoke at about six in the morning, local, he was almost in sync with
the time zones, stiff and hungry, having almost survived another bout with
travel shock. He hoped.
Jack didn't feel like jogging. That was what he told himself. In fact he knew
that he couldn't have jogged half a mile with a gun to his head. And so he
walked briskly. He soon found himself being passed by early-morning exercise