The Bear and the Dragon - Tom Clancy [105]
"Has its moments, but the coffee heres still pretty good."
"It was better on Big John, once upon a time."
"Where?"
"John F Kennedy, back when I was an 0-3, and doing fun work, like driving Tomcats off the boat."
"Robby, hate to tell you, my friend, but youre not twenty-six anymore."
"Jack, you have such a way of brightening up my days for me. Ive walked past deaths door before, but its safer and a hell of a lot more fun to do it with a fighter plane strapped to your back."
"Whats your day look like?"
"Believe it or not, I have to drive down to the Hill and preside at the Senate for a few hours, just to show I know what the Constitution says Im supposed to do. Then a dinner speech in Baltimore about who makes the best brassieres," he added with a smile.
"What?" Jack asked, looking up from the PDB. The thing about Robbys sense of humor was that you never really knew when he was kidding.
"National meeting of artificial fiber manufacturers. They also make bulletproof vests, but bras get most of their fibers, or so my research staff tells me. Theyre trying to make a few jokes for the speech."
"Work on your delivery," the President advised the Vice President.
"You thought I was funny enough way back when," Jackson reminded his old friend.
"Rob, I thought I was funny enough way back when, but Arnie tells me Im not sensitive enough."
"I know, no Polish jokes. Some Polacks learned to turn on their TVs last year, and theres six or seven who know how to read. That doesnt count the Polish gal who doesnt use a vibrator because it chips her teeth."
"Jesus, Robby!" Ryan almost spilled his coffee laughing. "Were not even allowed to think things like that anymore."
"Jack, Im not a politician. Im a fighter jock. I got the flight suit, the hack watch, and the dick to go along with the job title, ydig?" the Vice President asked with a grin. "And I am allowed to tell a joke once in a while."
"Fine, just remember this isnt the ready room on the Kennedy. The media lacks the sense of humor enjoyed by naval aviators."
"Yeah, unless they catch us in something. Then its funnier n hell," the retired Vice Admiral observed.
"Rob, youre finally catching on. Glad to see it." Ryans last sight of the departing subordinate was the back of a nicely tailored suit, accompanied by a muttered vulgarity.
"So, Misha, any thoughts?" Provalov asked. Reilly took a sip of his vodka. It was awfully smooth here. "Oleg, you just have to shake the tree and see what falls out. It could be damned near anything, but dont know means dont know. And at the moment, we dont know." Another sip. "Does it strike you that two former Spetsnaz guys are a lot of firepower to go after a pimp?"
The Russian nodded. "Yes, of course, Ive thought of that, but he was a very prosperous pimp, wasnt he, Misha? He had a great deal of money, and very many contacts inside the criminal establishment. He had power of his own. Perhaps hed had people killed as well. We never had his name come up in a serious way in any murder investigations, but that doesnt mean that Avseyenko was not a dangerous man in his own right, and therefore worthy of such high-level attention."
"Any luck with this Suvorov guy?"
Provalov shook his head. "No. We have a KGB file for him and a photograph, but even if that is for the right person, we havent found him yet."
"Well, Oleg Gregoriyevich, it looks as though you have a real head-scratcher on your hands." Reilly lifted his hand to order another round.
"You are supposed to be the expert on organized crime," the Russian lieutenant reminded his FBI guest.
"Thats true, Oleg, but I aint no gypsy fortune-teller, and I aint the Oracle of Delphi either. You dont know who the real target was yet, and until you learn that, you dont know jack shit. Problem is, to find out who the target was, you have to find somebody who knows something about the crime. The two things are wrapped up together, bro. Get one, get both. Get neither, get nothing." The drinks arrived. Reilly paid and took another hit.
"My captain is not