Patriot games - Tom Clancy [19]
"The Queen's Police Medal for starters, and the thanks of Her Majesty," Ashley said. "One thing that has confused us. Doctor Ryan. You left the military with a physical disability, yet you evidenced none of this yesterday."
"You know that after I left the Corps, I went into the brokerage business. I made something of a name for myself, and Cathy's father came down to talk to me. That's when I met Cathy. I passed on the invitation to move to New York, but Cathy and I hit it right off. One thing led to another, and pretty soon we were engaged. I wore a back brace then, because every so often my back would go bad on me. Well, it happened again right after we got engaged, and Cathy took me into Johns Hopkins to have one of her teachers check me out. One was Stanley Rabinowisz, professor of neurosurgery there. He ran me through three days of tests and said he could fix me good as new.
"It turned out that the docs at Bethesda had goofed my myelogram. No reflection on them, they were sharp young docs, but Stan's about the best there is. Good as his word, too. He opened me up that Friday, and two months later I was almost as good as new," Ryan said. "Anyway, that's the story of Ryan's back. I just happened to fall in love with a pretty girl who was studying to be a surgeon."
"Your wife is certainly a most versatile and competent woman," Owens agreed.
"And you found her pushy," Ryan observed.
"No, Doctor Ryan. People under stress are never at their best. Your wife also examined Their Royal Highnesses on the scene, and that was most useful to us. She refused to leave your side until you were under competent medical care; one can hardly fault her for that. She did find our identification procedures a touch longwinded, I think, and she was quite naturally anxious about you. We might have moved things along more quickly-"
"No need to apologize, sir. My dad was a cop. I know the score. I understand you had trouble identifying us."
"Just over three hours-a timing problem, you see. We had your passport out of your coat, and your driving license, which, we were glad to see, had your photograph. Our initial request to your Legal Attache was just before five, and that made it noon in America. Lunchtime, you see. He called the FBI's Baltimore field office, who in turn called their Annapolis office. The identification business is fairly straightforward-first they had to find some chaps at your Naval Academy who knew who you were, when you came over, and so forth. Next they found the travel agent who booked your flight and hotel. Another agent went to your motor vehicle registration agency. Many of these people were off eating lunch, and we reckon that cost us roughly an hour. Simultaneously he-the Attache-sent a query to your Marine Corps. Within three hours we had a fairly complete history on you-including fingerprints. We had your fingerprints from your travel documents and the hotel registration, and they matched your military records, of course."
"Three hours, eh?" Dinnertime here, and lunchtime at home, and they did it all in three hours. Damn.
"While all that was going on we had to interview your wife several times to make sure that she related everything she saw-"
"And she gave it to you exactly the same way every time, right?" Ryan asked.
"Correct," Owens said. He smiled. "That is quite remarkable, you know."
Ryan grinned. "Not for Cathy. Some things, medicine especially, she's a real machine. I'm surprised she didn't hand you a roll of film."
"She said that herself," Owens replied. "The photographs in the paper are from a Japanese tourist-that's a cliche, isn't it?-half a block away with a telephoto lens. You might be interested to know that your Marine Corps thinks rather highly of you, by the way." Owens consulted his notes. "Tied for first in your class at Quantico, and your fitness reports were excellent."
"So, you're satisfied I'm a good guy?"
"We were convinced of that from the first moment,"