Red Rabbit - Tom Clancy [153]
"Finishing up," she warned her husband.
"Okay, Mary Pat, you have me thinking." And with that his formidable mind started sifting through ideas. Sometimes he needs a little push, Mary Pat thought, but once you had him going in the right direction, he was like George Patton with the bit in his teeth. She wondered how much sleeping Ed would be doing tonight. Well, she'd be able to tell, wouldn't she?
* * *
"BASIL LIKES YOU," Murray said. The womenfolk were in the kitchen. Jack and Dan were out in the garden, pretending to inspect the roses.
"Really?"
"Yeah, a lot."
"Damned if I know why," Ryan said. "I haven't turned much work out yet."
"Your roomie reports to him about you every day. Simon Harding is a comer, in case nobody told you. That's why he went with Bas to Number Ten."
"Dan, I thought you were Bureau, not Agency," Jack noted, wondering just how far the Legal Attaché spread himself.
"Well, the guys down the hall are pals, and I interface with the local spooks some." The guys down the hall was Dan's way of saying CIA people. Yet again Jack wondered just which branch of the government Murray actually belonged to. But everything about him said "cop" to one who knew what to look for. Was this some elaborate kind of disguise, too? No, not possible. Dan had been the personal troubleshooter for Emil Jacobs, the quiet, competent FBI Director, and that was far too elaborate for a government cover. Besides, Murray didn't run agents in London, did he?
Did he? Nothing was ever what it seemed to be. Ryan hated that aspect of his CIA job, but he had to admit that it kept his mind fully awake. Even drinking a beer in his backyard.
"Well, nice to hear, I suppose."
"Basil's hard to impress, my boy. But he and Judge Moore like each other. Jim Greer, too. Basil just plain loves his analytical ability."
"He's pretty smart," Ryan agreed. "I've learned a lot from him."
"He's making you one of his stars."
"Really?" It didn't always seem that way to Ryan.
"Haven't you noticed how quick he's moving you up? Like you were a professor from Harvard or something, fella."
"Boston College and Georgetown, remember?"
"Yeah, well, us Jesuit products run the world—we're just humble about it. They don't teach 'humble' at Harvard."
For sure they don't encourage their graduates to do anything as plebeian as police work, Ryan thought. He remembered the Harvard kids in Boston, many of whom thought they owned the world—because daddy had bought it for them. Ryan preferred to make the purchase himself, doubtless because of his working-class background. But Cathy wasn't like those upper-class snots, and she had been born with a golden spoon in her mouth. Of course, nobody was ever disgraced to point to his son or daughter the doctor, and certainly not to a graduate of Johns Hopkins. Maybe Joe Muller wasn't so bad a guy after all, Ryan thought briefly. He'd helped raise a pretty good daughter. Too bad he was an overbearing asshole to his son-in-law.
"So, you like it at Century House?"
"Better than Langley. Too much like a monastery out there. At least in London you live in a city. You can step out for a beer or do some shopping over lunch."
"Shame the building's coming apart. It's the same trouble they've had in some other buildings in London—the mortar or grout, whatever you call it, it's defective. So the facade's peeling off. Embarrassing, but the contractor's gotta be long dead. Can't take a corpse to court."
"You never have?" Jack asked, lightheartedly.
Murray shook his head. "No, I've never popped a cap on anyone. Came close once, but stopped short. Good thing, too. Turned out the mutt wasn't armed. Would have been embarrassing to explain that to the judge," he added, sipping his beer.
"So, how are the local cops doing?" It was Murray's job to interface with them after all.
"They're pretty good, really. Well