Net Force - Tom Clancy [42]
The Ukrainian came to stand next to Plekhanovs rock. He looked around. Interesting imagery, he said.
Plekhanov snapped the cap back into place on the water bottle, and stuck it into his pack where it lay on the rock next to him. I spend too much time in RW civilization-why bring it with me into VR?
A bit quiet for my tastes, the Ukrainian said. But to each his own.
Have a seat.
The Ukrainian shook his head. I need to get back soon.
Plekhanov shrugged. You have news for me?
The Americans have discovered the location of those planning the attack upon their embassy in Kiev. They will be acting upon this information shortly.
Plekhanov looked at the ants on the tree trunk. Took them long enough. Perhaps we should be less subtle in our clues.
It was the Ukrainians turn to shrug. I dont understand why we did not simply allow the attack to go forward.
Plekhanov smiled. Because damaging a perfectly good Ukrainian building serves no purpose. Why drain any more from your already sparse treasury to repair it? Why risk killing your innocent countrymen?
The plotters are also my countrymen.
But hardly innocent. That band of fanatics is a loose cannon, overfilled with explosive powder. Sooner or later, it would have gone off and done as much damage to those nearest it as any target. We need such things removed from our deck-and the Americans will do that for us. The Americans have spent their time and money uncovering the plot, and it has also made them nervous in the process. They will be worried about such things, spending yet more time and funds to protect their other embassies. We kill several birds with one stone here, my friend. Do you still play pocket billiards?
Da.
Then you know that sinking a single ball means little, especially early in the game, unless one positions himself for the next shot.
This is true.
If we are to run the table, we must consider our next position with each play.
The Ukrainian bowed slightly, a military gesture done mostly with the head.
As usual, Vladimir, you are correct. He glanced at his watch. I must get back.
Plekhanov held up one hand, gesturing toward the trail. Please. Good to see you again.
Ill call later.
It is not necessary, but thank you.
After the Ukrainian had gone, Plekhanov watched the ants for a short time. He inspected his pocket watch. He had time before he needed to get back. Perhaps a quick walk on that side trail he had been meaning to explore? Yes. Why not? Things were unfolding more smoothly than even in his best-case scenarios. Indeed they were.
Monday, September 20th, 7 a.m. Quantico
Alexander Michaels sat in the stern of the houseboat, watching a brown pelican dive for fish. Pelicans were saltwater birds, he believed, but he liked their look and so had included them in his scenario. He was on a southern Louisiana river, a large bayou, actually, and the brown water flowed sluggishly toward the distant and unseen Gulf of Mexico. A small, flat-bottomed green-anodized aluminum bateau approached from a side channel, the harsh drone of its outboard motor enough to shoo the diving pelican away. Michaels stood, walked to the railing, leaned against it, and watched the boat come.
Jay Gridley sat in the rear of the flat-nosed bateau, one hand on the motors control arm. He throttled the motor down so that it popped and burbled, swung the little boat sideways as it drew near and allowed it to drift to a gentle stop against the houseboats stern. Metal thunked against fiberglass. Gridley threw a nylon rope up to Michaels, who caught the rope and wrapped the end around a brass cleat under the rail. Gridley stepped to the short ladder and clambered up onto the houseboat.
Permission to come aboard, Capn?
Michaels shook his head in mild amusement. Granted.
Once he was on the craft, the younger man looked around. Funny, Id have thought youd be in the Prowler.
Michaels shrugged. It would spoil the RW version for me if I did that. Carll never run as good there as it would here.
Thats true. Well, its not a bad scenario. Commercial