The sum of all fears - Tom Clancy [351]
"If you're tracking the guy, at least you always know where he is. You can even launch a SLOT buoy and call in assets to help you dispose of him. Think about it. They're getting pretty quiet. If you break off as soon as you detect the guy, what's to say you don't blunder into him again? So, instead, we track at a nice, safe distance and just keep an eye on him."
"Uh, Captain, that's fine as far as it goes, but what if the other guy gets a sniff of us, or what if he just reverses course and boogies backwards at high speed?"
"Good point. So, we trail on his quarter instead of just off his stern that will make an accidental closure less likely. Banging straight aft for a trailer is a logical defensive measure, but he can't go punching holes all over the ocean, can he?"
Jesus, this guy is trying to develop tactics "Sir, let me know if you sell that one to OP-01."
Instead of trailing dead aft, I'm going to hold off his northern quarter now. It gives us better performance off the tail anyway. It should actually be safer."
That part of it made sense, Claggett thought. "You say so, Cap'n. Maintain fifty-K yards?"
"Yes, we still want to be a little cautious."
The second storm, as predicted, hadn't done very much, Ghosn saw. There was a light dusting - that seemed to be the term they used - on the vehicles and parking lot. Hardly enough to bother with, it duplicated the most severe winter storm he'd ever seen in Lebanon.
"How about some breakfast?" Marvin asked. "I hate to work on an empty stomach."
The man was remarkable, Ibrahim thought. He was completely free of jitters. Either very brave or something else. Ghosn considered that. He'd killed the Greek policeman without a blink, had taught a brutal lesson to one of the organization's combat instructors, shown his prowess with firearms, and been completely contemptuous of danger when they'd uncovered the Israeli bomb. There was something missing in this man, he concluded. The man was fearless, and such men were not normal. It wasn't that he was able to control his fear as most soldiers learned to do. Fear simply wasn't there. Was it merely a case of trying to impress people? Or was it real? Probably real, Ghosn thought, and if it were, this man was truly mad, and therefore more dangerous than useful. It made things easier for Ghosn to think that.
The motel didn't offer room service from its small coffee shop. All three walked out into the cold to get their breakfasts. Along the way, Russell picked up a paper to read about the game.
Qati and Ghosn only needed a brief look to find one more reason to hate Americans. They ate eggs with bacon or ham, and pancakes with sausage - in all three cases, products of the most unclean of animals, the pig. Both men found the sight and smell of pork products repulsive. Marvin didn't help when he ordered some as unconsciously as he'd ordered coffee. The Commander, Ghosn noted, ordered oatmeal, and halfway through breakfast he went suddenly pale and left the table.
"What's the matter with him anyway? Sick?" Russell asked.
"Yes, Marvin, he is quite ill." Ghosn looked at the greasy bacon on Russell's plate and knew the smell of it had set Qati's stomach off.
"I hope he's able to drive."
"That will not be a problem." Ghosn wondered if that were true. Of course it was, he told himself, the Commander had been through tougher times - but such bluster was for others, not for times like this. No, because there had never been such a time as this, the Commander would do what must be done. Russell paid for the breakfast with cash, leaving a large tip because the waitress looked like a Native American.
Qati was pale when they got back to the rooms, and wiping his face after a long bout of nausea.
"Can I get you something, man?" Russell asked. "Milk, something good for your stomach?"
"Not now, Marvin. Thank you."
"You say so, man." Russell opened his paper. There was nothing to do for the next few hours but wait. The morning line on the game, he saw, was Minnesota by six and a half. He decided