Executive orders - Tom Clancy [470]
Better than nothing.
Does the working group have this?
Yes, Mr. President.
Maybe they can make some sense out of it. Andrea?
Yes, Mr. President?
Tell the driver it's time to get moving. He looked around. Where's Arnie?
I'M CALLING YOU on a cellular, Plumber said.
Fine, van Damm replied. I'm on one, too, as a matter of fact. The instruments on the aircraft were also secure, with STU-4 capability. He didn't say that. He just needed a retort. John Plumber was no longer on his Christmas card list. Unfortunately, his direct line was still on Plumber's Rolodex. What a shame he couldn't change it. And he'd have to tell his secretary not to put this guy through anymore, at least not when he was traveling.
I know what you're thinking.
Good, John. Then I don't have to say what I think.
Catch the broadcast tonight. I'll be on at the end.
Why?
See for yourself, Arnie. So long.
The chief of staff thumbed the kill switch on the phone and wondered what Plumber meant. He'd once trusted the man. Hell, he'd once trusted the man's colleague. He could have told the President about the call, but decided not to. He'd just delivered a pretty good speech, distractions and all, doing well in spite of himself, because the poor son of a bitch really did believe in more than he knew. It wouldn't be smart to drop something else on him. They'd tape the speech on the flight into California, and if it were fit to view, then he'd show it to POTUS.
I DIDN'T KNOW there was a flu bug around, he said, putting his shirt back on. It took time. The auto executive was sore all over.
There always is. Just it doesn't always make the news, the physician replied, looking over the vital signs his nurse had just written down. And you got it.
So?
So, take it easy. Don't go to the office. No sense infecting your whole company. Ride it out. You should be fine by the end of the week.
THE SNIE TEAM met at Langley. A ton of new information had come across from the Persian Gulf region, and they were sorting through it in a conference room on the sixth floor. Chavez's photo of Mahmoud Haji Daryaei had been blown up by the in-house photo lab and was now hanging on the wall. Maybe somebody would throw darts at it, Ding thought.
Track toads, the former infantryman snorted, watching the Predator video.
Kinda big to take on with a rifle, Sundance, Clark observed. Those things always scared the hell out of me.
LAWS rocket'll do 'em fine, Mr. C.
What's the range on a LAWS, Domingo?
Four, five hundred meters.
Those guns shoot two or three kilometers, John pointed out. Think about it.
I'm not up on the hardware, Bert Vasco said. He waved at the screen. What's this mean?
The answer came from one of CIA's military analysts. It means the UIR military is in much better shape than we'd expected.
An Army major brought over from the Defense Intelligence Agency didn't dispute that. I'm fairly impressed. It was a pretty vanilla exercise, nothing really complicated on the maneuver side, but they kept themselves organized for all of it. Nobody got lost-
You suppose they're using GPS now? the CIA analyst asked.
Anybody who subscribes to Yachting magazine can buy the things. The price is down to four hundred bucks, last time I looked, the officer told his civilian counterpart. It means they can navigate their mobile forces a lot better. More than that, it means their artillery will become a whole lot more effective. If you know where your guns are, where your forward observer is, and where the target is in relation to him, then your first round is going to be pretty much on the money.
Fourfold increase in performance?
Easy, the major replied. That elderly gent on the wall has a big stick to wave at his neighbors. I imagine he'll let them know about it, too.
Bert? Clark asked.
Vasco squirmed in his seat. I'm starting to worry. This is going faster than I expected. If Daryaei didn't have other things to worry about, I'd be more worried.
Like? Chavez asked.
Like he has a country to consolidate, and he has to know that