Dead or Alive - Tom Clancy [145]
“John, is this all night? That costs more, two and a half.”
“So much?” he asked, with a smile.
“There’s an old saying: You get what you pay for.”
“Not tonight. I must be off later.”
You don’t overnight here? she wondered. Is this just your fuck pad? He must have a ton of money to throw around. This place must have set him back a million, maybe a million and a half. If he were a man who enjoyed sex that much, then she sure as hell wanted him to be a regular customer. Men never appreciated how women like her evaluated men, and in what depth. Men were such fools, Melinda thought, even the rich ones. Especially the rich ones. She watched him reach for an envelope. This he handed over.
As always, Melinda opened the envelope and counted the bills. It was important that men knew that this was a business transaction, even one delivered with the best simulated love that money could buy. Quite a few men had leaned toward wanting their relationship to be more than that. She had a supremely charming way of steering the conversation in other directions.
The envelope went into the Gucci purse, next to Little Mr. Colt with his mother-of-pearl handle. When she arose, it was with the best of smiles. The business part was over. Now love could begin.
41
WAS IT a mistake? the Emir wondered. Things were rarely entirely clear at his level of operational responsibility. The target country was inconsequential, actually, but the target itself of great significance—or potential significance. The effects of the attack would spread like ripples in a pond, lapping soon enough at the shores of their true target.
Of all his worries about the current operation, his commander on the ground did not count among them. Ibrahim was ambitious but also careful and thorough, and he’d kept his team small and well organized in every detail. Then again, the real test would come when the plan went operational, which was the decision that he presently faced. Timing was everything, along with the ability to focus on the “big picture,” as the Americans called it. There were a number of pieces moving about the board, and each had to move in the right direction and at the right pace, lest any one of them get caught alone and without support. If that happened, the rest would fall in turn, and Lotus would collapse. And he would likely die before seeing Lotus come to fruition. If he moved too fast, his life could end before it bloomed; too slow, the same result.
So he’d let Ibrahim continue with his on-scene reconnaissance, but he’d withhold final approval on the operation until he knew the disposition of the other pieces.
And if Ibrahim succeeds? he asked himself. And what then? Would this Kealty react as they expected? Their profile of him—code-named CASCADE—seemed certain of it, but the Emir had long ago learned to be wary of the vagaries of the human mind.
CASCADE … an apt title. He found both it and the concept behind it amusing. Certainly the Western intelligence agencies had psychological profiles of him—he’d read one, in fact—so he found it entertaining to be largely basing their most ambitious operation on a profile of their own.
Kealty was the consummate politician, which in American politics was taken as synonymous for leader. How and when this ignorance had started he didn’t know. Nor did he care. The American people had chosen for themselves the politician who had most ably portrayed himself as a leader, never asking whether the image matched the character behind it. CASCADE said it did not, and the Emir agreed. Worse still—or better still, depending on your perspective—Kealty had surrounded himself with sycophants and favor-holders who did nothing to improve his credentials.
So what happens when a weak man of flawed character is faced with a cascade of catastrophes? He crumbles, of course—and with him, the country.
As promised,