Red Rabbit - Tom Clancy [86]
"Daddy!" Sally fairly screamed, as she ran to his arms. Jack scooped her up and gave and got a hug. "How's my big girl?"
"Fine."
Cathy was at the stove, fixing dinner. He set Sally down and headed to his wife for a kiss. "How is it," her husband asked, "that you're always home first? At home you're usually later."
"Unions," she replied. "Everybody clocks out on time here, and 'on time' is usually pretty early—not like Hopkins." Where, she didn't add, just about everyone on the professional staff worked late.
"Must be nice to work bankers' hours."
"Even dad doesn't leave his office this early, but everybody over here does. And lunch means a full hour—half the time away from the hospital. Well, " she allowed, "the food's a little better that way."
"What's for dinner?"
"Spaghetti." And Jack saw that the pot was full of her special meat sauce. He turned to see a baguette of French bread on the counter.
"Where's the little guy?"
"Living room."
"Okay." Ryan headed that way. Little Jack was in his crib. He'd just mastered sitting up—it was a little early for that, but that was fine with his dad. Around him was a collection of toys, all of which found their way into his mouth. He looked up to see his father and managed a toothless smile. Of course, that merited a pickup, which Jack accomplished. His diaper felt dry and fresh. Doubtless, Miss Margaret had changed him before scooting off—as always, before Jack made it home from the shop. She was working out fairly well. Sally liked her, and that was the important part. He set his son back down, and the little guy resumed playing with a plastic rattle and watching the TV—especially the commercials. Jack went off to the bedroom to change into more comfortable clothes, then back to the kitchen. Then the doorbell chimed, much to everyone's surprise. Jack went to answer it.
"Dr. Ryan?" the voice asked in American English. It was a guy of Ryan's height and general looks, dressed in a jacket and tie, holding a large box.
"That's right."
"I got your STU for you, sir. I work comms at the embassy," the guy explained. "Mr. Murray said I should bring this right over."
The box was a cardboard cube about two and a half feet on a side, and blank, with no printing on it. Ryan let the man into the house and led him directly to his den. It took about three minutes to extract the oversized phone from the box. It went next to Jack's Apple IIe computer.
"You're NSA?" Ryan asked.
"Yes, sir. Civilian. Used to be in the Army Security Agency, E-5. Got out and got a pay increase as a civilian. Been over here two years. Anyway, here's your encryption key." He handed over the plastic device. "You know how these things work, right?"
"Oh yeah." Ryan nodded. "Got one on my desk downtown."
"So you know the rules about this. If anything breaks, you call me"—he handed over his card—"and nobody but me or one of my people is allowed to look at the inside. If that happens, the system self-destructs, of course. Won't start a fire or anything, but it does stink some, 'cause of the plastic. Anyway, that's it." He broke down the box.
"You want a Coke or anything?"
"No, thanks. Gotta get home." And with that, the communications expert walked back out the door to his car.
"What was that, Jack?" Cathy asked from the kitchen.
"My secure phone," Jack explained, returning to his wife's side.
"What's that for?"
"So I can call home and talk to my boss."
"Can't you do that from the office?"
"There's the time difference and, well, there are some things I can't talk about there."
"Secret-agent stuff," she snorted.
"That's right." Just like the pistol he had in his closet. Cathy accepted the presence of his Remington shotgun with some equanimity—he used it for hunting, and she was prepared to tolerate that, since you could cook and eat the birds, and the shotgun was unloaded. But she was less comfortable with a pistol. And so, like civilized married people, they