The Sum of All Fears.pdf - Delta Force

driving an unobtrusive vehicle on a random path, but in his current position his
security arrangements were ceremonial in addition to being practical. There was
one other consideration, of course . . .
'Nothing like a low profile,' Jack muttered to Adler.
'Don't sweat it. Every time I've come here it's been the same way. First time?'
'Yep. First time in Rome. I wonder how I've ever missed coming here – always
wanted to, the history and all.'
'A lot of that,' Adler agreed. 'Think we might make a little more?'
Ryan turned to look at his colleague. Making history was a new thought to him.
Not to mention a dangerous one. 'That's not my job, Scott.'
'If this does work, you know what'll happen.'
'Frankly, I never bothered thinking about that.'
'You ought to. No good deed ever goes unpunished.'
'You mean Secretary Talbot . . . ?'
'No, not him. Definitely not my boss.'
Ryan looked forward to see a truck scuttle out of the way of the motorcade. The
Italian police officer riding on the extreme right of the motorcycle escort
hadn't flinched a millimeter.
'I'm not in this for credit. I just had an idea, is all. Now I'm just the
advance man.'
Adler shook his head slightly and kept his peace. Jesus, how did you ever last
this long in government service?
The striped jumpsuits of the Swiss Guards had been designed by Michaelangelo.
Like the red tunics of the British guardsmen, they were anachronisms from a
bygone era when it had made sense for soldiers to wear brightly-coloured
uniforms, and also, like the guardsmen uniforms, they were kept on more for
their attractiveness to tourists than for any practical reason. The men and
their weapons look so quaint. The Vatican guards carried halberds, evil-looking
long-handled axes made originally for infantrymen to unhorse armored knights –
as often as not by crippling the horse the enemy might be riding; horses didn't
fight back very well, and war is ever a practical business. Once off his mount,
an armored knight was dispatched with little more effort than that required to
break up a lobster – and about as much remorse. People thought medieval weapons
romantic somehow, Ryan told himself, but there was nothing romantic about what
they were designed to do. A modern rifle might punch holes in some other
fellow's anatomy. These were made to dismember. Both methods would kill, of
course, but at least rifles made for neater burial.
The Swiss guards had rifles, too, Swiss rifles made by SIG. Not all of them wore
Renaissance costumes, and since the attempt on John Paul II, many of the guards
had received additional training, quietly and unobtrusively, of course, since
such training did not exactly fit the image of the Vatican. Ryan wondered what
Vatican policy was on the use of deadly force, whether the chief of the guards
chafed at the rules imposed from on high by people who certainly did not
appreciate the nature of the threat and the need for decisive protective action.
But they'd do their best within their constraints, grumbling among themselves
and voicing their opinions when the time seemed right, just like everyone else
in that business.