The Bear and the Dragon - Tom Clancy [183]
"So, the little guys walking better?" Clark asked.
"You know, the enthusiasm he has for it is kinda funny, the big grin every time he makes it from the TV to the coffee table, like hes won the marathon, got a big gold medal, and a kiss from Miss America on his way to Disney World."
"The big things are made up of a lot of little things, Domingo," Clark observed, as the aircraft started its takeoff run. "And the horizons a lot closer when youre that short."
"I suppose, Mr. C. Does seem kinda amusing, though … and kinda cute," he allowed.
"Not bad duty being the father of a little guy, is it?"
"I got no complaints," Chavez agreed, leaning his seat back now that the gear was up.
"Hows Ettore working out?" Back to business, Clark decided. This grandpa stuff had its limitations.
"Hes in better shape now. Needed about a month to get caught up. He took some razzing, but he handled it just fine. You know, hes smart. Good tactical instincts, considering hes a cop and not a soldier."
"Being a cop in Sicily isnt like walking a beat on Oxford Street in London, you know?"
"Yeah, guess so," Chavez agreed. "But on the simulator he hasnt made a single shoot/no-shoot mistake yet, and thats not bad. The only other guy who hasnt blown one is Eddie Price." The computerized training simulator back at Hereford was particularly ruthless in its presentation of possible tactical scenarios, to the point that in one a twelve-year-old picked up an AK-74 and hosed you if you didnt pay close enough attention. The other nasty one was the woman holding the baby whod just happened to pick up a pistol from a dead terrorist and turn innocently to face the incoming Men of Black. Ding had taken her down once, to find a Cabbage Patch doll on his desk the next morning with a packet of McDonalds ketchup spread across the face. The RAINBOW troopers had a lively, if somewhat perverse, institutional sense of humor.
"So, what exactly are we supposed to be doing?"
"The old Eighth Chief Directorate of the KGB, their executive protective service," John explained. "Theyve got worries about domestic terrorists—from the Chechens, I guess, and other internal nationalities who want out of the country. They want us to help train up their boys to deal with them."
"How good are they?" Ding asked.
RAINBOW SIX shrugged. "Good question. The personnel are former KGB types, but with Spetsnaz training, so, probably career people as opposed to two-year in-and-outs in the Red Army. All probably titular commissioned officers, but with sergeants duties. I expect theyll be smart, properly motivated, probably in decent physical shape, and theyll understand the mission. Will they be as good as they need to be? Probably not," John thought. "But in a few weeks we ought to be able to point them in the right direction."
"So mainly were going to be training up their instructors?"
Clark nodded. "Thats how I read it, yeah."
"Fair enough," Chavez agreed, as the lunch menu appeared. Why was it, he wondered, that airline food never seemed to have what you wanted? This was dinner food, not lunch food. What the hell was wrong with a cheeseburger and fries? Oh, well, at least he could have a decent beer. The one thing hed come to love about life in the UK was the beer. There wouldnt be anything like it in Russia, he was sure.
Sunrise in Beijing was as drab as the polluted air could make it, Mark Gant thought. For some reason hed slipped out of synch with the local time, despite the black capsule and planned sleep. Hed found himself awake just at first light, which fought through air that was as bad as Los Angeles on its worst-ever day. Certainly there was no EPA in the PRC, and this place didnt even have much in the way of