Patriot games - Tom Clancy [118]
Admiral James Greer was in civilian clothes, as usual, leaning back in a high-backed swivel chair, reading an inevitable folder and sipping at inevitable coffee. Ryan had never seen him otherwise. He was in his middle sixties, a tall, patrician-looking man whose voice could be as courtly or harsh as he wished. His accent was that of Maine, and for all his sophistication, Ryan knew him to be a farmer's son who'd earned his way into the Naval Academy, then spent forty years in uniform, first as a submarine officer, then as a full- time intelligence specialist. Greer was one of the brightest people Ryan had ever met. And one of the trickiest. Jack was convinced that this gray-haired old gentleman could read minds. Surely that was part of the job description for the Deputy Director, Intelligence, of the Central Intelligence Agency. All the data gathered by spies and satellites, and God only knew what else, came across his desk. If Greer didn't know it, it wasn't worth knowing. He looked up after a moment.
"Hello, Doctor Ryan." The Admiral rose and came over. "I see you're right on time."
"Yes, sir. I remembered what a pain the commute was last summer." Without being asked, Marty Cantor got everyone coffee as they sat on chairs around a low table. One nice thing about Greer was that he always had good coffee. Jack remembered.
"How's the arm, son?" the Admiral asked.
"Almost normal, sir. I can tell you when it's going to rain, though. They say that may go away eventually, but it's like arthritis."
"And how's your family?"
The man doesn't miss a trick. Jack thought. But Jack had one of his own. "A little tense at the moment, sir. I broke the news to Cathy last night. She's not real happy about it, but then neither am I." Let's get down to business, Admiral.
"So what exactly can we do for you?" Greer's demeanor changed from pleasant old gentleman to professional intelligence officer.
"Sir, I know this is asking a lot, but I'd like to see what the Agency has on these ULA characters."
"Not a hell of a lot." Cantor snorted. "These boys cover their tracks like real pros. They're being bankrolled in a pretty big way-that's inferred, of course, but it has to be true."
"Where does your data come from?"
Cantor looked over to Greer and got a nod. "Doctor, before we go any further, we have to talk about classification."
Resignedly: "Yeah. What do I have to sign?"
"We'll take care of that before you leave. We'll show you just about everything we've got. What you have to know now is that this stuff is classified SI-codeword."
"Well, that's no surprise." Ryan sighed. Special-Intelligence- Codeword was a level of classification higher than top secret. People had to be individually cleared for the data, which was identified by a special codeword. Even the codeword itself was secret. Ryan had only twice before seen data of this sensitivity. But now they're going to lay it all out in front of me, he thought as he looked at Cantor. Greer must really want me back to open a door like this. "So, like I said, where does it come from?"
"Some from the Brits-actually from the PIRA via the Brits. Some new stuff from the Italians-"
"Italians?" Ryan was surprised for a moment, then realized what the implications of that were. "Oh. Okay, yeah, they have a lot of people down in sand-dune country, don't they?"
"One of them ID'd your friend Sean Miller last week. He was getting off a certain ship that was, miraculously enough, in the English Channel on Christmas Day," Greer said.
"But we don't know where he is?"
"He and an unknown number of associates headed south." Cantor smiled. "Of course the whole country is south of the Med, so that's not much of a help."
"The FBI has everything we have, and so do the Brits," Greer said. "It's not much to go on, but we do have a team sifting through it."
"Thanks for letting me take a look. Admiral."
"We're not doing this out of charity, Doctor Ryan," the Admiral pointed out. "I'm hoping that you might find something useful. And this thing