Red Rabbit - Tom Clancy [39]
"Yes, sir, you have me there. I suppose it is a threat of sorts to their way of thinking."
"Of sorts? How does it look to them?" Jim Greer would have been one tough son of a bitch teaching graduate-level history or political science. Right up there with Father Tim at Georgetown.
"Noted, Admiral. It's a threat. And they will see it as such. I am not sure, however, how serious a threat they will take it to be. It's not as though they believe in God. To them, 'God' is politics, and politics is just a process, not a belief system as we understand the term."
"Jack, you need to learn to see reality through the eyes of your adversary. Your analytical ability is first-rate, but you have to work on perception. This isn't stocks and bonds, where you dealt with hard numbers, not perceptions of numbers. They say El Greco had a stigmatism in his eyes that gave everything a visual slant. They see reality through a different lens, too. If you can replicate that, you'll be one of the best around, but you have to make that leap of imagination. Harding's pretty good at that. Learn from him to see the inside of their heads."
"You know Simon?" Jack asked.
"I've been reading his analyses for years."
None of this is an accident, Jack, he told himself, with more surprise than there ought to have been. His second important lesson of the day. "Understood, sir."
"Don't sound too surprised, my boy."
"Aye-aye, sir," Ryan responded like a Marine shavetail. I won't make that mistake again, Admiral. And in that moment, John Patrick Ryan became a real intelligence analyst.
"I'll have the embassy deliver the STU to you. You know about keeping it secure," the DDI added as a cautionary note.
"Yes, sir. I can do that."
"Good. Lunchtime here."
"Yes, sir. Talk to you tomorrow." Ryan replaced the receiver in the cradle and then extracted the plastic key from the slot in the phone set. That went into his pocket. He checked his watch. Time to close up shop. He'd already cleared his desk of classified folders. A woman came around about 4:30 with a shopping cart to take them back to central-records storage. Right on cue, Simon came back in.
"What time's your train?"
"Six-ten."
"Time for a beer, Jack. Interested?"
"Works for me, Simon." He rose and followed his roommate out the door.
It was only a four-minute walk to the Fox and Cock, a very traditional pub a block from Century House. A little too traditional: It looked like a relic from Shakespeare's time, with massive wooden timbers and plaster walls. It had to be for architectural effect; no real building could have survived that long, could it? Inside was a cloud of tobacco smoke and a lot of people wearing jackets and ties. Clearly an upscale pub, a lot of the patrons were probably from Century House. Harding confirmed it.
"It's our watering hole. The publican used to be one of us, probably makes more here than he ever did at the shop." Without being bidden, Harding ordered two pints of Tetley's bitter, which arrived quickly. Then he ushered Jack to a corner booth.
"So, Sir John, how do you like it here?"
"No complaints so far." He took a sip. "Admiral Greer thinks you're pretty smart."
"And Basil thinks he's rather bright as well. Good chap to work for?" Harding asked.
"Yeah, big-time. He listens and helps you think. Doesn't stomp on you when you goof. He'd rather teach than embarrass you—that's my experience, anyway. Some of the more senior analysts have had him tear a stripe off their ass. I guess I'm not senior enough for that yet." Ryan paused. "You supposed to be my training officer over here, Simon?"
The directness of the question surprised his host. "I wouldn't say that exactly. I'm a Soviet specialist. You're more a generalist, I take it?"
"Try 'apprentice,' " Ryan suggested.
"Very well. What do you want to know?"
"How to think like a Russian."
Harding laughed into his beer. "That's something we all learn every day. The key is to remember that to them everything is politics, and politics, remember, is all about nebulous ideas, aesthetics. Especially in Russia, Jack. They can't