Jack Ryan 7 - The Sum of All Fears Read Online Free PDF Page A

of a new thought in the fog.
    “So?”
    “And the
    
    
     Vatican
    
    
     is a real country, with real diplomatic status, but no armed forces . . . they're Swiss . . . and
    
    
     Switzerland
    
    
     is neutral, not even a member of the UN. The Arabs do their banking and carousing there . . . gee, I wonder if he'd go for it . . . ?” Ryan's face went blank again, and van Damm saw Jack's eye center as the light bulb flashed on. It was always exciting to watch an idea being born, but less so when you didn't know what it was.
    “Go for what? Who go for what?” the Chief of Staff asked with some annoyance. Alden just waited.
    Ryan told them.
    “I mean, a large part of this whole mess is over the Holy Places, isn't it? I could talk to some of my people at
    
    
     Langley
    
    
    . We have a really good—”
    Van Damm leaned back in his chair. “What sort of contacts do you have? You mean talking to the Nuncio?”
    Ryan shook his head. “The Nuncio is a good old guy, Cardinal Giancatti, but he's just here for show. You've been here long enough to know that, Arnie. You want to talk to folks who know stuff, you go to Father Riley at
    
    
     Georgetown
    
    
    . He taught me when I got my doctorate at G-Town. We're pretty tight. He's got a pipeline into the General.”
    “Who's that?”
    “The Father General of the Society of Jesus. The head Jesuit, Spanish guy, his name is Francisco Alcalde. He and Father Tim taught together at St. Robert Bellarmine University in
    
    
     Rome
    
    
    . They're both historians, and Father Tim's his unofficial rep over here. You've never met Father Tim?”
    “No. Is he worth it?”
    “Oh, yeah. One of the best teachers I ever had. Knows D.C. inside and out. Good contacts back at the home office.” Ryan grinned, but the joke was lost on van Damm.
    “Can you set up a quiet lunch?” Alden asked. “Not here, someplace else.”
    “The Cosmos Club up in
    
    
     Georgetown
    
    
    . Father Tim belongs. The University Club is closer, but—”
    “Right. Can he keep a secret?”
    “A Jesuit keep a secret?” Ryan laughed. “You're not Catholic, are you?”
    “How soon could you set it up?”
    “Tomorrow or day after all right?”
    “What about his loyalty?” van Damm asked out of a clear sky.
    “Father Tim is an American citizen and he's not a security risk. But he's also a priest, and he has taken vows to what he naturally considers an authority higher than the Constitution. You can trust the man to honor all his obligations, but don't forget what all those obligations are,” Ryan cautioned. “You can't order him around, either.”
    “Set up the lunch. Sounds like I ought to meet the guy in any case. Tell him it's a get-acquainted thing,” Alden said. “Make it soon. I'm free for lunch tomorrow and next day.”
    “Yes, sir.” Ryan stood.
     
    *     *     *
     
    The Cosmos Club in
    
    
     Washington
    
    
     is located at the corner of
    
    
     Massachusetts
    
    
     and Florida Avenues. The former manor house of Sumner Welles, Ryan thought it looked naked without about four hundred acres of rolling ground, a stable of thoroughbred horses, and perhaps a resident fox that the owner would hunt, but not too hard. These were surroundings the place had never possessed, and Ryan wondered why it had been built in this place in this style, so obviously at odds with the realities of
    
    
     Washington
    
    
    , but built by a man who had understood the workings of the city so consummately well. Chartered as a club of the intelligentsia—membership was based on “achievement” rather than money—it was known in
    
    
     Washington
    
    
     as a place of erudite conversation, and the worst food in a town of undistinguished restaurants. Ryan led Alden into a small private room upstairs.
    Father Timothy Riley, S.J., was waiting for them, a briar pipe clamped in his teeth as he paged through the morning's Post. A glass sat at his right hand, a skim of sherry at the bottom of it. Father Tim was wearing