Debt of Honor - Tom Clancy [58]
He never saw the cutout. As he stood there in the third car of the train, close to the rear door, hanging on to an overhead bar and reading a paper, he didn't even notice the insertion of the envelope into the pocket of his overcoat. It was always that way—at the usual place the coat got just a touch heavier. He'd turned once to look and seen nothing. Damn, he'd joined the right outfit.
Eighteen minutes later the train entered the terminal, and the people emerged from it like a horizontal avalanche, exploding outward into the capacious station. The salaryman ten feet away tucked his "illustrated novel" into his briefcase and walked off to his job, wearing his customarily impassive mien, doubtless concealing thoughts of his own. Nomuri headed his own way, buttoning his coat and wondering what his new instructions were.
"Does the President know?"
Ryan shook his head. "Not yet."
"You think maybe he ought to?" Mary Pat Foley asked.
"At the proper time."
"I don't like putting officers at risk for—"
"At risk?" Jack asked. "I want him to develop information, not to make a contact, and not to expose himself. I gather from the case notes I've seen so far that all he has to do is make a follow-up question, and unless their locker rooms are different from ours, it shouldn't expose him at all."
"You know what I mean," the Deputy Director (Operations) observed, rubbing her eyes. It had been a long day, and she worried about her field officers. Every good DDO did, and she was a mother who'd once been picked up by the KGB's Second Chief Directorate herself.
Operation SANDALWOOD had started innocently enough, if an intelligence operation on foreign soil could ever be called innocent. The preceding operation had been a joint FBI/CIA show, and had gone very badly indeed: an American citizen had been apprehended by the Japanese police with burglar tools in his possession—along with a diplomatic passport, which in this particular case had been more of a hindrance than a help. It had made the papers in a small way. Fortunately the media hadn't quite grasped what the story was all about. People were buying information. People were selling information. It was often information with "secret" or higher classifications scrawled across the folders, and the net effect was to hurt American interests, such as they were.
"How good is he?" Jack asked.
Mary Pat's face relaxed at little. "Very. The kid's a natural. He's learning to fit in, developing a base of people he can hit for background information. We've set him up with his own office. He's even turning us a nice profit. His orders are to be very careful," Mrs. Foley pointed out yet again.
"I hear you, MP," Ryan said tiredly. "But if this is for-real—"
"I know, Jack. I didn't like what Murray sent over either."
"You believe it?" Ryan asked, wondering about the reaction he'd get.
"Yes, I do, and so does Murray." She paused. "If we develop information on this, then what?"
"Then I go to the President, and probably we extract anyone who wants to be extracted."
"I will not risk Nomuri that way!" the DDO insisted, a little too loudly.
"Jesus, Mary Pat, I never expected that you would. Hey, I'm tired, too, okay?"
"So you want me to send in another team, let him just bird-dog it for them?" she asked.
"It's your operation to run, okay? I'll tell you what to do, but not how. Lighten up, MP." That statement earned the National Security Advisor a crooked smile and a semi-apology.
"Sorry, Jack. I keep forgetting you're the new guy on this block."
"The chemicals have various industrial uses," the Russian colonel explained to the American colonel.
"Good for you. All we can do is burn ours, and the smoke'll kill you."
The rocket exhaust from the liquid propellants