Jack Ryan 11 - Bear And The Dragon Read Online Free PDF

with a wink.
    “It's the only way I could get you a pay raise, Robby. And nice quarters, too,” he reminded his friend.
    “You left out the flight pay,” responded Vice Admiral R. J. Jackson, USN, retired. He paused at the door and turned. “What does that attack say about the situation over there in Russia?”
    Jack shrugged. “Nothing good. They just can't seem to get ahead of things, can they?”
    “I guess,” the Vice President agreed. “Problem is, how the hell do we help them?”
    “I haven't figured that one out yet,” Jack admitted. “And we have enough potential economic problems on our horizon, with Asia sliding down the tubes.”
    “That's something I have to learn, this economic shit,” Robby admitted.
    “Spend some time with George Winston,” Ryan suggested. “It's not all that hard, but you have to learn a new language to speak. Basis points, derivatives, all that stuff George knows it pretty good.”
    Jackson nodded. “Duly noted, sir.”
    “'Sir'? Where the hell did that come from, Rob?”
    “You still be the National Command Authority, oh great man,” Robby told him with a grin and a lower-Mississippi accent. “I just be da XO, which means Ah gits all the shit details.”
    “So, think of this as PCO School, Rob, and thank God you have a chance to learn the easy way. It wasn't like that for me -- ”
    “I remember, Jack. I was here as J-3, remember? And you did okay. Why do you think I allowed you to kill my career for me?”
    “You mean it wasn't the nice house and the drivers?”
    The Vice President shook his head. “And it wasn't to be a first-black, either. I couldn't say 'no' when my President asks, even if it's a turkey like you. Later, man.”
    “See ya at lunch, Robby,” Jack said as the door closed.
    “Mr. President, Director Foley on Three,” the speakerphone announced.
    Jack lifted the secure phone and punched the proper button. “Morning, Ed.”
    “Hi, Jack, we have some more on Moscow.”
    “How'd we get it?” Ryan asked first, just to have a way of evaluating the information he was about to receive.
    “Intercepts,” the Director of Central Intelligence answered, meaning that the information would be fairly reliable. Communications intelligence was the most trusted of all, because people rarely lied to one another over the radio or telephone. “It seems this case has a very high priority over there, and the militiamen are talking very freely over their radios.”
    “Okay, what do you got?”
    “Initial thinking over there is that Rasputin was the main target. He was pretty big, making a ton of money with his female...employees,” Ed Foley said delicately, “and trying to branch out into other areas. Maybe he got a little pushy with someone who didn't like being pushed.”
     
    “You think so?” Mike Reilly asked.
    “Mikhail Ivan'ch, I am not sure what I think. Like you, I am not trained to believe in coincidences,” replied Lieutenant Oleg Provalov of the Moscow Militia. They were in a bar which catered to foreigners, which was obvious from the quality of the vodka being served.
    Reilly wasn't exactly new to Moscow. He'd been there fourteen months, and before that had been the Assistant Special Agent in Charge of the New York office of the FBI -- but not for Foreign Counter-Intelligence. Reilly was an OC-Organized Crime-expert who'd spent fifteen busy years attacking the Five Families of the New York Mafia, more often called LCN by the FBI, for La Cosa Nostra. The Russians knew this, and he'd established good relations with the local cops, especially since he'd arranged for some senior militia officers to fly to America to participate in the FBI's National Academy Program, essentially a Ph.D. course for senior cops, and a degree highly prized in American police departments.
    “You ever have a killing like this in America?”
    Reilly shook his head. “No, you can get regular guns pretty easy at home, but not anti-tank weapons. Besides, using them makes