The Sum of All Fears.pdf - Delta Force

obtuse of men would be able to tell the difference between themselves and women,
there was little point in trying to conceal the truth. The truth was that Dr
Elliot was not physically unattractive and enjoyed dressing to emphasize the
fact. Tall at five feet eight inches, and with a slender figure that long work
hours and mediocre food sustained, she did not like playing second-fiddle to
Charlie Alden. And besides, Alden was a Yalie. She'd most recently been
Professor of Political Science at Bennington, and resented the fact that Yale
was considered more prestigious by whatever authorities made such judgments.
Current work schedules at the White House were easier than those of only a few
years earlier, at least in the national-security shop. President Fowler did not
feel the need for a first-thing-in-the-morning intelligence briefing. The world
situation was far more pacific than any of his predecessors had known, and
Fowler's main problems were of the domestic political variety. Commentary on
that could readily be had from watching morning TV news shows, something Fowler
did by watching two or more TV sets at the same time, something that had
infuriated his wife and still bemused his staffers. That fact meant that Dr
Alden didn't have to arrive until 8:00 or so to get his morning briefing, after
which he would brief the President at 9:30. President Fowler didn't like dealing
directly with the briefing officers from CIA. As a result, it was E.E. who had
to arrive just after six so that she could screen dispatches and message
traffic, confer with the CIA watch officers (she didn't like them either), and
their counterparts from State and Defense. She also got to read over The Early
Bird, and to highlight items of interest for her boss, the estimable Dr Charles
Alden.
Like I'm a goddamned addle-brained simpering secretary, E.E. fumed.
Alden, she thought, was a logical contradiction. A liberal who talked tough, a
skirt-chaser who supported women's rights, a kindly, considerate man who
probably enjoyed using her like a goddamned functionary. That he was also a
distinguished observer and an amazingly accurate forecaster of events, with an
even dozen books – each of them thoughtful and perceptive – was beside the
point. He was in her job. It had been promised to her while Fowler had still
been a longshot candidate. The compromise that had placed Alden in his west-wing
corner office and her in the basement was merely another of those acts that
political figures use as excuses to violate their word without anything more
than a perfunctory apology. The Vice President had demanded and gotten the
concession at the convention; he'd also gotten what should have been her office
on the main level for one of his own people, relegating her to this most
prestigious of dungeons. In return for that, the Veep was a team player, and his
tireless campaigning was widely regarded as having made the difference. The Vice
President had delivered California, and without California, J. Robert Fowler
would still be governor of Ohio. And so she had a twelve-by-fifteen office in
the basement, playing secretary and/or administrative assistant to a goddamned
Yalie who appeared once a month on the Sunday talk shows, and hobnobbed with
chiefs of state with her as lady-in-goddamned-waiting.
Dr Elizabeth Elliot was in her normal early-morning mood, which was foul, as any
White House regular could testify. She walked out of her office and into the
White House Mess for a refill of her coffee cup. The strong drip coffee only