Patriot games - Tom Clancy [133]
Sally left the room and found a TV that didn't have a news show on.
"Good news," Jack said.
"Oh?"
"I finished up at CIA today."
"So what are you smiling about?"
"There just isn't anything I see to make me suspect that we have anything to worry about." Jack explained for several minutes, keeping within the bounds of classification-mostly. "They've never operated over here. They don't have any contacts over here that we know of. The real thing is that we're not good targets for them."
"Why?"
"We're not political. The people they go after are soldiers, police, judges, mayors, stuff like that-"
"Not to mention the odd prince," Cathy observed.
"Yeah, well, we're not one of those either, are we?"
"So what are you telling me?"
"They're a scary bunch. That Miller kid-well, we've talked about that. I'll feel a little better when they have him back in the can. But these guys are pros. They're not going to mount an op three thousand miles from home for revenge."
Cathy took his hand. "You're sure?"
"Sure as I can be. The intelligence biz isn't like mathematics, but you get a feel for the other guy, the way his head works. A terrorist kills to make a political point. We ain't political fodder."
Cathy gave her husband a gentle smile. "So I can relax now?"
"I think so. Still, keep an eye on the mirror."
"And you're not going to carry that gun anymore," she said hopefully.
"Babe, I like shooting. I forgot what fun a pistol can be. I'm going to keep shooting at the Academy, but, no, I won't be wearing it anymore."
"And the shotgun?"
"It hasn't hurt anybody."
"I don't like it, Jack. At least unload it, okay?" She walked off to the bedroom to change.
"Okay." It wasn't that important. He'd keep the box of shells right next to the gun, on the top shelf of the closet. Sally couldn't reach it. Even Cathy had to stretch. It would be safe there. Jack reconsidered all his actions over the past three and a half weeks and decided that they had been worthwhile, really. The alarm system on the house wasn't such a bad idea, and he liked his new 9mm Browning. He was getting pretty good scores. If he kept at it for a year, maybe he could give Breckenridge a run for his money.
He checked the oven. Another ten minutes. Next he turned up the TV. The current segment on the MacNeil-Lehrer News Hour was- I'll be damned.
"Joining us from our affiliate WGBH in Boston is Padraig-did I pronounce that right?-O'Neil, a spokesman for Sinn Fein and an elected member of the British Parliament. Mr. O'Neil, why are you visiting America at this time?"
"I and many of my colleagues have visited America many times, to inform the American people of the oppression inflicted upon the Irish people by the British government, the systematic denial of economic opportunity and basic civil rights, the total abrogation of the judicial process, and the continuing brutality of the British army of occupation against the people of Ireland," O'Neil said in a smooth and reasonable voice. He had done all this before.
"Mr. O'Neil," said someone from the British Embassy in Washington, "is the political front-man for the Provisional Wing of the so-called Irish Republican Army. This is a terrorist organization that is illegal both in Northern Ireland and in the Irish Republic. His mission in the United States is, as always, to raise money so that his organization can buy arms and explosives. This source of income for the IRA was damaged by the cowardly attack against the Royal Family in London last year, and his reason for being here is to persuade Irish-Americans that the IRA had no part in that."
"Mr. O'Neil," MacNeil said, "how do you respond to that?"
The Irishman smiled at the camera as benignly as Bob Keeshan's Captain Kangaroo. "Mr. Bennett, as usual, skirts over the legitimate political issues here. Are Northern Ireland 's Catholics denied economic and political opportunity-yes, they are. Have the legal processes in Northern Ireland been subverted for political reasons by the British government-yes, they have. Are