The Sum of All Fears.pdf - Delta Force

'Yes.'
The car stopped briefly. Russell had already removed his jacket and tie, still
wondering if this could be the final act of the trap, but he didn't really care
anymore. What would happen would happen. He flexed his hands as he walked back
up the street.
Sergeant Spiridon Papanicolaou increased speed to approach the corner. If they
were heading into this rabbit warren of narrow lanes, he could not maintain
visual contact without getting closer. Well, if they identified him, he'd call
for help. Police work was unpredictable, after all. As he approached the corner,
he saw a man standing on the side street, looking at a paper. Not either of the
men he was shadowing. This one wasn't wearing a jacket, though his face was
turned away, and the way he was standing there was like something in a movie.
The sergeant smiled wryly at that – but the smile stopped at once.
As soon as Papanicolaou was fully onto the sidestreet, he saw the Fiat, no more
than twenty meters away, and backing up rapidly towards him. The police officer
stood on the brakes to stop his taxi, and started to think about reversing
himself when an arm reached across his face. His hands came off the wheel to
grab it, but the powerful hand gripped his chin, and another seized the back of
his neck. His instinct to turn and see what was happening was answered by the
way one hand wrenched his head to the left, and he saw the face of the American
– but then he felt his vertebrae strain for a brief instant and snap with an
audible sound that announced his death to Papanicolaou as surely and irrevocably
as a bullet. Then he knew. The man did have odd features, like something else
from a movie, like something . . .
Russell jumped out of the way and waved. The Fiat pulled forward again, then
went into reverse and slammed hard into the taxi. The driver's head lolled
forward atop its broken neck. Probably the man was dead already, Russell knew,
but that wasn't a matter of concern. Yes, it was. He felt for a pulse, then made
sure the neck was well and truly snapped – he worked it around to make sure the
spine was severed, too – before moving to the Fiat. Russell smiled to himself as
he got in. Gee, that wasn't so hard . . .
'He's dead. Let's get the hell out of here!'
'Are you sure?'
'I broke his neck like a toothpick. Yeah, he's dead, man. It was easy. Little
pencil-neck of a guy.'
'Like me, you mean?' The driver turned and grinned. He'd have to dump the car,
of course, but the joy of their escape and the satisfaction of the killing was
sufficient to the moment. And he had found a comrade, a worthy one. 'Your name
is?'
'Marvin.'
'I am Ibrahim.'
***
The President's speech was a triumph. The man did know how to deliver a good
performance, Ryan told himself as the applause rippled across the General
Assembly auditorium in New York. His gracious, if rather cold, smile thanked the
assembled representatives of a hundred sixty or so countries. The cameras panned
to the Israeli delegation, whose clapping was rather more perfunctory than that