Patriot games - Tom Clancy [191]
"Ah, but what does your government think?" the Russian asked with another jolly laugh.
"I'm a historian, not a soothsayer. In this town they all work for the Post. Ask them."
"In any case," the Russian went on, "our Naval Attache is most interested to meet you and discuss your book. We are having a reception at the embassy on the twelfth of next month. The good Father is coming, he can watch over your soul. Might you and your wife attend?"
"For the next few weeks I plan to be at home with my family. My girl needs me there for a while."
The diplomat was not to be put off. "Yes, I can understand that. Some other time, perhaps?"
"Sure, give me a call sometime this summer." Are you kidding?
"Excellent. Now if you will excuse me, I wish to speak to Professor Hunter." The diplomat shook hands again and walked off to the knot of historians who were hanging on Hunter's every word.
Ryan turned to Father Riley, who'd watched the exchange in silence while sipping at his champagne.
"Interesting guy, Sergey," Riley said. "He loves to hit people for reactions. I wonder if he really believes in his system or if he's just playing the game for points ?"
Ryan had a more immediate question. "Father, what in the hell was that all about?"
Riley chuckled. "You're being checked out. Jack."
"Why?"
"You don't need me to answer that. You're working at CIA. If I guess right, Admiral Greer wants you on his personal staff. Marty Cantor is taking a job at the University of Texas next year, and you're one of the candidates for his job. I don't know if Sergey's aware of that, but you probably looked like the best target of opportunity in the room, and he wanted to get a feel for you. Happens all the time."
"Cantor's job? But-nobody told me that!"
"The world's full of surprises. They probably haven't finished the full background check on you yet, and they won't pop the offer until they do. I presume the information you're looking at is still pretty limited?"
"I can't discuss that, Father."
The priest smiled. "Thought so. The work you've done over there has impressed the right people. If I have things right, they're going to bring you along like a good welterweight prospect." Riley got another glass of champagne. "If I know James Greer, he'll just sort of ease you into it. What did it, you see, was that Canary Trap thing. It really impressed some folks."
"How do you know all this?" Ryan asked, shocked at what he'd just heard.
"Jack, how do you think you got over there in the first place? Who do you think got you that Center for Strategic and International Studies fellowship? The people there liked your work, too. Between what I said and what they said, Marty thought you were worth a look last summer, and you worked out better than anyone expected. There are some people around town who respect my opinion."
"Oh." Ryan had to smile. He'd allowed himself to forget the first thing about the Society of Jesus: they know everyone, from whom they can learn nearly everything. The President of the university belonged to both the Cosmos and University clubs, with which came access to the most important ears and mouths in Washington. That's how it would start. Occasionally a man would need advice on something, and being unable to consult the people he worked with, he might try to discuss it with a clergyman. No one was better qualified for this than a Jesuit, meticulously educated, well versed in the ways of the world, but not spoiled by it-most of the time. Like any clergyman, each was a good listener. So effective was the Society at gathering information that the State Department's code-breakers had once been tasked to break the Jesuits' own cipher systems; the assignment had started a small revolt in the "Black Chamber" until they'd realized what sort of information was finding its way to them.
When Saint Ignatius Loyola had founded the order, the ex-soldier set it on a path to do only two things: