The sum of all fears - Tom Clancy [262]
Could Holtzman not do a story on this?
Not hardly, Bobby boy, the reporter told himself.
The ride home was smooth as silk. Ryan caught as much sleep as he could, while the sergeant who took care of the cabin read through assembly instructions for some of the toys Jack had picked up.
"Yo, sarge." The pilot was back in the cabin for a stretch. "Whatcha doin'?"
"Well, Maj, our DV here picked up some stuff for the kiddies." The NCO handed over a page of directions. Tab-1 into Slot-A, use 7/8ths bolt, tighten with a wrench, using
"I think I'd rather tinker with broke engines "
"Roger that," the sergeant agreed. "This guy's got some bad times ahead."
CHAPTER 24
Revelation
"I don't like being used." Holtzman said, leaning back with his hands clasped at the base of his neck.
He sat in the conference room with his Managing Editor, another long-term Washington-watcher who'd won his spurs in the feeding frenzy that had ended the presidency of Richard Nixon. Those had been heady times. It had given the entire American media a taste for blood that had never gone away. The only good part about it, Holtzman thought, was that they didn't cozy up to anyone now. Any politician was a potential target for the righteous wrath of America's investigatorial priesthood. The fact of it was healthy, though the extent of it occasionally was not.
"That's beside the point. Who does? So, what do we know is true?" the editor asked.
"We have to believe her that the White House isn't getting good data. That's nothing new at CIA, though it's not as bad as it used to be. The fact of the matter is that Agency performance has improved somewhat - well, there is the problem that Cabot has lopped off a lot of heads. We also have to believe what she says about Narmonov and his military."
"And Ryan?"
"I've met him at social functions, never officially. He's actually a fairly nice guy, good sense of humor. He must have a hell of a record. Two Intelligence Stars - what for, we do not know. He fought Cabot on downsizing the Operations Directorate, evidently saved a few jobs. He's moved up very fast. Al Trent likes him, despite that run-in they had a few years ago. There's gotta be a story in that, but Trent flatly refused to discuss it the only time I asked him. Supposedly they kissed and made up, and I believe that like I believe in the Easter Bunny."
"Is he the sort to play around?" the editor asked next.
"What sort is that? You expect they're issued a scarlet "A" for their shirts?"
"Very clever, Bob. So, what the hell are you asking me?"
"Do we run a story on this or not?"
The editor's eyes widened in surprise. "Are you kidding? How can we not run a story on this?"
"I just don't like being used."
"We've been through that! I don't, either. Granted that it's obvious in this case, but it's still an important story, and if we don't run it, then the Times will. How soon will you have it ready?"
"Soon," Holtzman promised. Now he knew why he'd declined a promotion to Assistant Managing Editor. He didn't need the money, his book income absolved him of the necessity of working at all. He liked being a journalist, still had his idealism, still cared about what he did. It was a further blessing, he thought, that he was absolved of the necessity of making executive decisions.
The new feed-water pump was everything the Master Shipwright had promised on the installation side, Captain Dubinin noted. They'd practically had to dismantle a whole compartment to get it in, plus torch a hole through the submarine's double hull. He could still look up and see sky through what should have been a curved steel overhead, something very unnerving indeed for a submarine officer. They had to make sure that the pump worked satisfactorily before they welded shut the 'soft patch' through which it had arrived. It could have been worse. This submarine had a steel hull. Those Soviet submarines made of titanium were the devil to weld shut.
The