Jack Ryan 5 - The Cardinal of the Kremlin Read Online Free PDF Page A

bright stars of yours?”
    Filitov went rigid for a moment. Yazov answered for hint
    “Colonel Filitov's sons died some years ago.”  
    “Oh! Oh, Colonel, I am so sorry,” Mrs. Foley said, and she really was.
    “It was long ago.” He smiled. “I remember your son well from the game, a fine young man. Love your children, dear lady, for you will not always have them. If you will excuse me for a moment.” Misha moved off in the direction of the rest rooms. Mrs. Foley looked to the Minister, anguish on her pretty face.
    “Sir, I didn't mean—”
    “You could not have known. Misha lost his sons a few years apart, then his wife. I met her when I was a very young man—lovely girl, a dancer with the Kirov Ballet. So sad, but we Russians are accustomed to great sadnesses. Enough of that. What team does your son play for?” Marshal Yazov's interest in hockey was amplified by the pretty young face.
    Misha found the rest room after a minute. Americans and Russians were sent to different ones, of course, and Colonel Filitov was alone in what had been the private water closet of a prince, or perhaps a czar's mistress. He washed his hands and looked in the gilt-edged mirror. He had but one thought: Again. Another mission. Colonel Filitov sighed and tidied himself up. A minute later he was back out in the arena. 
    “Excuse me,” Ryan said. Turning around, he'd bumped into an elderly gentleman in uniform. Golovko said something in Russian that Ryan didn't catch. The officer said something to Jack that sounded polite, and walked over, Ryan saw, to the Defense Minister.
    “Who's that?” Jack asked his Russian companion. .  
    “The Colonel is personal aide to the Minister,” Golovko replied.
    “Little old for a colonel, isn't he?”
    “He is a war hero. We do not force all such men to retire.”
    “I guess that's fair enough,” Jack commented, and turned aback to hear about this part of the room. After they had exhausted the St. George Hall, Golovko led Jack into the Adjacent St. Vladimir Hall. He expressed the hope that he and Ryan would next meet here. St. Vladimir Hall, he explained, was set aside for the signing of treaties. The two intelligence officers toasted one another on that.
     
    The party broke up after
    
     midnight
    
    . Ryan got into the seventh limousine. Nobody talked on the ride back to the embassy. Everyone was feeling the alcohol, and you didn't talk in cars, not in
    
    
     Moscow
    
    
    . Cars were too easy to bug. Two men fell asleep, and Ryan came close enough himself. What kept him awake was the knowledge that they'd fly out in another five hours, and if he was going to have to do that, he might as well keep tired enough to sleep on the plane, a skill he had only recently acquired. He changed his clothes and went down to the embassy's canteen for coffee. It would be enough to keep himself going for a few hours while he made his own notes.
    Things had gone amazingly well these past four days. Almost too well. Jack told himself that averages are made up of times when things went well and times they went poorly. A draft treaty was on the table. Like all draft treaties of late, it was intended by the Soviets to be more a negotiating too! than a negotiating document. Its details were already in the press, and already certain members of Congress were saying on the floor how fair a deal it was—and why don't we just agree to it?
    Why not, indeed?
    
     Jack wondered with an ironic smile. Verifiability. That was one reason. The other . . . was there another? Good question. Why had they changed their stance so much? There was evidence that General Secretary Narmonov wanted to reduce his military expenditures, but de| spite all the public perceptions to the contrary, nuclear arm| were not the place you did that. Nukes were cheap for what they did; they were a very cost-effective way of killing people. While a nuclear warhead and its missile were expensive gad] gets, they were far cheaper than the equivalent