Without remorse - Tom Clancy [274]
'Thank you, sir.' Kelly took it.
'Mr Clark, sir?' A sailor stuck his head into the compartment. 'The admirals are looking for you. Up in officer country, sir.'
'Doctor Rosen,' Sam said, lifting the phone.
'Hi, doctor. This is Sergeant Douglas.'
'What can I do for you?'
'We're trying to track down your friend Kelly. He isn't answering his phone. Do you have any idea where he is?'
'I haven't seen him in a long time,' the surgeon said guardedly.
'You know anybody who has?'
'I'll check around. What's the story?' Sam added, asking what he knew might be a highly inconvenient question, wondering what sort of answer he might get.
'I, uh, can't say, sir. I hope you understand.'
'Ummhmm. Yeah, okay, I'll ask.'
'Feeling better?' Ritter asked first.
'Some,' Kelly allowed. 'What's the story on the Russian?'
'Clark, you just might have done something useful:' Ritter gestured to a table with no fewer than ten piles of documents on them.
'They're planning to kill the prisoners,' Greer said.
'Who? The Russians?' Kelly asked.
'The Vietnamese. The Russians want them alive. This guy you picked up is trying to take them home,' Ritter said, lifting a sheet of paper. 'Here's his draft of the letter justifying it.'
'Is that good or bad?'
The outside noises were different, Zacharias thought. More of them, too. Shouts with purpose to them, though he didn't know what purpose. For the first day in a month, Grishanov hadn't visited him, even for a few minutes. The loneliness he felt became even more acute, and his only company was the realization that he'd given to the Soviet Union a graduate-level course in continental air-defense. He hadn't meant to do it.. He hadn't even known what he was doing. That was no consolation, however. The Russian had played him for a fool, and Colonel Robin Zacharias, USAF, bad just given it all up, outsmarted by some kindness and fellowship from an atheist ... and drink. Stupidity and sin, such a likely combination of human weaknesses, and he'd done it all.
He didn't even have tears for his shame. He was beyond that, sitting on the floor of his cell, staring at the rough, dirty concrete between his bare feet. He'd broken faith with his God and his country, Zacharias told himself as his evening meal was pushed through the slot at the bottom of his door. Thin, bodiless pumpkin soup and maggoty rice. He made no move towards it.
Grishanov knew he was a dead man. They wouldn't give him back. They couldn't even admit that they had him. He'd disappear, as other Russians in Vietnam had disappeared, some at SAM sites, some doing other things for those ungrateful little bastards. Why were they feeding him so well? It had to be a large ship, but it was also his first time at sea. Even the decent food was hard to get down, but he swore not to disgrace himself by succumbing to motion sickness mixed with fear. He was a fighter pilot, a good one who had faced death before, mainly at the controls of a malfunctioning aircraft. He remembered wondering at the time what they'd tell his Marina. He wondered now. A letter? What? Would his family be looked after by his fellow officers in PVO Strany? Would the pension be sufficient?
'Are you kidding me?'
'Mr Clark, the world can be a very complicated place. Why did you think the Russians like them?'
'They give them weapons and training, don't they?'
Ritter stubbed out his Winston. 'We give those things to people all over the world. They're not all nice folks, but we have to work with them. It's the same for the Russians, maybe less so, but still pretty much the same. Anyway, this Grishanov guy was going to a considerable effort to keep our people alive.' Ritter held up another sheet. 'Here's a request for better food - for a doctor, even.'
'So what do we do with him?' Admiral Podulski asked.
'That, gentlemen, is our department,' Ritter said, looking at Greer, who nodded.
'Wait a minute,' Kelly objected. 'He was pumping them for information.'
'So?' Ritter asked. "That was his job.'
'We're getting away from the real issue here,' Maxwell said.
James Greer