The sum of all fears - Tom Clancy [178]
"What's that?"
"I cross-referenced this from another file. There was some trouble at the 7-Eleven, some local punks were bothering the Zimmer family. Ryan's principal bodyguard is a CIA officer named Clark. He used to be a field officer, and now is a protective guy. I wasn't able to get his file," Goodley explained. "Anyway, this Clark guy evidently assaulted a couple of gang kids. Sent one to the hospital. I checked a newspaper clipping. It was in the news, a little item - concerned citizen sort of thing. Clark and another CIA guy - the paper identified them as federal employees, no CIA connection - were supposedly accosted by four street toughs. This Clark guy must be a piece of work. The gang leader had his knee broken and was hospitalized. One other was just knocked unconscious, and the rest just stood there and wet their pants. The local cops treated it as a gang problem - well, a former gang problem. No formal charges were pressed."
"What else do you know about this Clark?"
"I've seen him a few times. Big guy; late forties, quiet, actually seems kind of shy. But he moves - you know what he moves like? I took karate courses once. The instructor was a former Green Beret, Vietnam veteran, all that stuff. Like that. He moves like an athlete, fluid, economical, but it's his eyes. They're always moving around. He looks at you sideways and decides if you're a threat or not a threat " Goodley paused. At that moment he realized what Clark really was. Whatever else he was, Ben Goodley was no fool. " that is one dangerous guy."
"What?" Liz Elliot didn't know what he was talking about.
"Excuse me. I learned that from the karate teacher up at Cambridge. The really dangerous ones don't seem dangerous. You just sort of lose track of them in the room. My teacher, he was mugged on the subway station right there by Harvard. I mean, they tried to mug him. He left three kids bleeding on the bricks. They thought he was just a janitor or something - he's an African-American, about fifty now, I guess. Looks like a janitor or something the way he dresses, not dangerous at all. That's what Clark is like, just like my old sensei Interesting," Goodley said. "Well, he's a SPO, and they're supposed to be good at their job.
"I speculate that Ryan found out that some punks were bothering Mrs Zimmer, and had his bodyguard straighten things out. The Anne Arundel County police thought it was just fine."
"Conclusions?"
"Ryan has done some very good work, but he's blown some big ones, too. Fundamentally, he's a creature of the past. He's still a Cold War guy. He's got problems with the Administration, like a few days ago when you didn't attend the CAMELOT game. He doesn't think you take your job seriously, thinks that not playing those war-games is irresponsible."
"He said that?"
"Almost a direct quote, I was in the room with Cabot when he came in and bitched."
Elliot shook her head. That's a Cold Warrior talking. If the President does his job right, and if I do my job right, there won't be any crises to manage. That's the whole point isn't it?"
"And so far, you guys seem to be doing all right," Goodley observed.
The National Security Advisor ignored the remark, looking at her notes.
The walls were in place, and weather-sealed with plastic sheeting. The air-conditioning system was already running, removing both humidity and dust from the air. Fromm was at work with the machine-tool tables. Table was too pedestrian a term. They were designed to hold several tons each, and had screw jacks on each sturdy leg. The German was leveling each machine with the aid of spirit-levels built into the frames.
"Perfect," he said, after three hours of work. It had to be perfect. Now it was. Under each table was a full meter of reinforced concrete