Tom Clancy's op-centre_ mirror image - Tom Clancy [78]
"True," said Aho, "nor did they want to sneak in. They believed in panicking the countryside as they approached their target, forcing local officials to deal with domestic unrest as well as the invaders."
"And here we are, sir, coming by mini-sub," George said.
"We call them midget marauders," said Aho. "A little more gung-ho, don't you think?"
"Yes, sir," George said as they stopped in front of the majestic, sprawling Presidential Palace, which was built for the Russian Czars who ruled the city starting in 1812. after fires burned down the wooden buildings that Queen Christina of Sweden had built there over the previous two centuries. Aho led the private through a side entrance.
The Palace was quiet at this hour. After presenting his credentials to a guard, Aho greeted several members of the skeletal night staff, then took George to a small office at the far end of a narrow, dimly lighted corridor. Beside the six-panel door was a bronze plaque that said Defense Minister. Aho used two keys to let them in.
"Minister Niskanen has several offices in the city," said Aho. "He uses this one when he is on good terms with the President. He is not using it now." The Major grinned and said quietly, "There's something else that's changed. In the days of generals like Halfdan or Olaf Tryggvason, or monarchs like Knut or Svein Forkbeard, leaders didn't take disagreements to a parliament or congress or the press. They put a slave girl up against the wall, threw axes at her, and the man who hit her lost. Then everyone went back to drinking and the dispute was forgotten."
"I can see where that wouldn't work today, sir," George noted.
"Oh, it would work," Aho said. "It just wouldn't be very popular. "
A light was on, and George saw a woman standing behind the desk, leaning on her rigid arms and looking down at a map. She was slight, with large, blue eyes framed by short-cropped dirty-blond hair. Her mouth was small and her lips naturally ruddy, her nose was strong and ended in a little upturn, and her skin was extremely pale with a faint smattering of freckles on her cheeks. She was dressed in a black jumpsuit.
"Ms. James," said Aho as he shut the door and doffed his hat, "Private George."
"Glad to meet you, ma'am," George said, smiling at her as he put down his rucksack.
Peggy looked up briefly, then resumed examining her map. "Good evening, Private," she said. "You look like you're about fifteen."
Her clipped accent and brusque manner reminded George of a young Bette Davis. "Fifteen and a half," he said, walking toward the desk. "If you mean neck size."
She looked up. "And you're a comedian.
"I have many talents, ma'am," he said. Still smiling, George leapt on the desk, his feet straddling the map; in the same quick move, he'd snatched up a letter opener and put the blade to Peggy's throat. "I've also been trained to kill, quickly and silently."
Their eyes locked, and almost at once George realized that that had been a mistake. She'd done it to distract him as she brought her rigid forearms together hard on either side of his wrist. The letter opener clattered to the desktop and, a moment later, she swung her stiff right leg across the map, kicking his legs out from under him. As he fell to his side, she grabbed the front of his shirt and pulled him to the floor, dropping him on his back and putting her foot on his neck.
"Just make sure," she said, "that if you plan to kill, you do so without the speech. All right?"
"All right," he said, kicking up with both feet so that he was momentarily resting on his shoulder blades. Locking his ankles around Peggy's neck, he pulled her down and flipped her onto her back. "Though I'll make