Debt of Honor - Tom Clancy [363]
"Fighters overhead," a female voice warned, just as it would on the real mission.
"Coming down some," Richter replied to the computer voice, slipping down below the ridgeline to the right. "If you can find me fifty feet off the ground, then I lose, honey."
"I hope this stealth shit really works." The initial intelligence reports were very concerned with the radar in the Japanese F-15's. Somehow it had taken down one B-1 and crippled another, and nobody was quite sure how it had happened.
"We're gonna find that one out." What else could the pilot say? In this case the computer decided that the stealth shit really did work. The last hour of the virtual flight was routine terrain-dodging, but strenuous enough that when he landed his Comanche, Richter needed a shower which, he was sure, would not be available where they were going. Though a pair of skis might be useful.
"What if the other guys—"
"Then I suppose we learn to like rice." You couldn't worry about everything. The lights came on, the helmets came off, and Richter found himself sitting in a medium-sized room.
"Successful insertion," the major grading the exercise decided. "You gents ready for a little trip?"
Richter picked up a glass of ice water from the table in the back of the room. "You know, I never really thought I'd drive a snake that far."
"What about the rest of the stuff?" his weapons-operator wanted to know.
"It'll be uploaded when you get there."
"And the way out?" Richter asked. It would have been better had they briefed him in on that one.
"You have a choice of two. Maybe three. We haven't decided that one yet. It's being looked at," the SOCOM officer assured them.
The good news was that they all seemed to have penthouse apartments. That was to be expected, Chavez thought. Rich dudes like these bastards would have the whole top floor of whatever building they picked. It made people like that feel big, he supposed, to be able to look down on everyone else, like people in the L.A. high-rises had looked down on the barrios of his youth.
None of them had ever been soldiers, though. You never wanted to skyline yourself that way. Better to be down in the weeds with the mice and the peons. Well, everybody had their limitations, Ding told himself.
It was just a matter, then, of finding a tall spot. That proved easy. Again the pacific nature of the city worked in their favor. They merely picked the proper building, walked in, took the elevator to the top floor, and from there walked to the roof. Chavez set up his camera on a tripod, selected his longest lens, and started shooting. Even doing it all in daylight was no hardship, the instructions had told them, and the weather gods cooperated, giving them a gray, overcast afternoon. He shot ten frames of each building, rewinding and ejecting the film cassettes, which went back into their boxes for labeling.
The entire operation took half an hour.
"You get used to trusting the guy?" Chavez asked after they made the pass.
"Ding, I just got used to trusting you," Clark replied quietly, easing the tension of the moment.
38—The River Rubicon
"So?"
Ryan took his time considering the answer. Adler deserved to know something. There was supposed to be honor in negotiations. You never really told the whole truth, but you weren't supposed to lie either.
"So continue as before," the National Security Advisor said.
"We're doing something." It was not a question.
"We're not sitting on our hands, Scott. They're not going to cave in are they?"
Adler shook his head. "Probably not."
"Encourage them to rethink their position," Jack suggested. It wasn't very helpful, but it was something to say.
"Cook thinks there are political forces working over there to moderate matters. His counterpart