The Sum of All Fears.pdf - Delta Force

'I pay attention to things.'
'So I see . . . this changes our plans somewhat.' The driver's mind was racing.
Unlike Russell, he knew that he hadn't been set up. Though he had been unable to
establish his guest's bonafides, no intelligence or police officer would have
given him that warning. Well, probably not, he corrected himself. But there was
one way to check that. He was also angry at the Greeks. One of his comrades had
disappeared off the streets of Piraeus in April, to turn up in Britain a few
days later. That friend was now in Parkhurst Prison on the Isle of Wight. They'd
once been able to operate in relative impunity in Greece, most often using the
country as a safe transit point. He knew that doing actual operations here had
been a mistake – just having the country as a sallyport had been quite valuable
enough, an advantage not to be squandered – but that didn't mitigate his anger
at the Greek police.
'It may be necessary to do something about this.'
Russell's eyes went back to the driver. 'I don't have a weapon.'
'I do. I would prefer not to use it. How strong are you?'
By way of answering, Russell reached out his left hand and squeezed the driver's
right knee.
'You have made your point,' the driver said with a level voice. 'If you cripple
me, I cannot drive.' Now, how do we do this. . . ? 'Have you killed before?'
'Yes,' Russell lied. He hadn't ever personally killed a man, but he'd killed
enough other things. 'I can do that.'
The driver nodded and increased speed on his way out of town. He had to find . .
.
Papanicolaou frowned. They were not heading to the airport. Too bad. Good thing
he hadn't called it in. Well. He allowed himself to lay back, shielding himself
with other vehicles. The paint job on the Fiat made it easy to spot, and as
traffic thinned out, he could take it a little more casually. Maybe they were
going to a safe house. If so, he'd have to be very careful, but also if so, he'd
have a valuable piece of information. Identifying a safe house was about the
best thing he could accomplish. Then the muscle boys could move in, or the
intelligence squad could stake it out, identifying more and more faces, then
assaulting the place in such a way as to arrest three or even more of the
bastards. There could be a decoration and promotion at the end of this
surveillance. Again he thought of making a radio call, but – but what did he
really know? He was letting his excitement get away with him, wasn't he? He had
a probable identification on a face without a name. Might his eyes have deceived
him? Might the face be something other than what he thought? A common criminal,
perhaps?
Spiridon Papanicolaou grumbled a curse at fate and luck, his trained eyes locked
on the car. They were entering an old part of Athens, with narrow streets. Not a
fashionable area, it was a working-class neighborhood with narrow streets,
mainly empty. Those with jobs were at them. Housewives were at the local shops.
Children played in parks. Quite a few people were taking their holidays on the
islands, and the streets were emptier than one might have expected. The Fiat
slowed suddenly and turned right into one of many anonymous sidestreets.
'Ready?'