Red Rabbit - Tom Clancy [270]
By 4:00 local time, Jack could be sure that somebody would be at work at Langley. He asked one more question of the Rabbit.
"Oleg Ivan'ch, do you know if KGB can crack our secure phone systems?"
"I think not. I am not sure, but I know that we have an agent in Washington—code name CRICKET—whom we have asked to get information on your STU telephones for us. As yet he has not been able to provide what our communications people wish. We are afraid that you can read our telephone traffic, however, and so we mainly avoid using telephones for important traffic."
"Thanks." And Ryan went back to the STU in the next room. The next number was another he had memorized.
"This is James Greer."
"Admiral, this is Jack."
"I am told the Rabbit is in his new hutch," the DDI said by way of a greeting.
"That is correct, sir, and the good news is that he believes our comms are secure, including this one. The earlier fears appear to have been exaggerated or misinterpreted."
"Is there bad news?" the DDI asked warily.
"Yes, sir. Yuriy Andropov wants to kill the Pope."
"How reliable is that assertion?" James Greer asked at once.
"Sir, that's the reason he skipped. I'll have chapter and verse to you in a day or two at most, but it's official, there is a no-shit KGB operation to assassinate the Bishop of Rome. We even have the operation designator. You will want to let the Judge in on that, and probably NCA will want to know as well."
"I see," Vice Admiral Greer said from thirty-four hundred miles away. "That's going to be a problem."
"Damned straight it is." Ryan took a breath. "What can we do about it?"
"That's the problem, my boy," the DDI said next. "First, can we do anything about it? Second, do we want to do anything about it?"
"Admiral, why would we not want to do something about it?" Ryan asked, trying to keep his voice short of insubordinate. He respected Greer as a boss and as a man.
"Back up, son. Think it all the way through. First, our mission in life is to protect the United States of America, and no one else—well, allies, too, of course," Greer added for the tape recorders that had to be on this line. "But our primary duty is to our flag, not to any religious figure. We will try to help him if we can, but if we cannot, then we cannot."
"Very well," Ryan responded through gritted teeth. What about right and wrong? He wanted to ask, but that would have to wait a few moments.
"We do not ordinarily give away classified information, and you can imagine how tightly held this defection is going to be," Greer went on.
"Yes, sir." But at least it wasn't going to be NoForn—not for distribution to foreigners. The Brits were foreigners, and they already knew all about BEATRIX and the Rabbit, but the Brits weren't big on sharing, except, sometimes, with America, and usually with a big quid pro quo tacked onto it. It was just how things worked. Similarly, Ryan wasn't allowed to discuss a single thing about some operations he was cleared into. TALENT KEYHOLE was the code name: the reconnaissance satellites, though CIA and the Pentagon had fallen all over themselves giving the raw data to the British during the Falklands War, plus every intercept the National Security Agency had from South America. Blood was still thicker than water. "Admiral, how will it look in the papers if it becomes known that the Central Intelligence