Primary Target (1999) Read Online Free PDF Page B

that Hartwell Prost?"
    "None other."
    Greg raked an unruly cowlick from his forehead. "What's your guess?"
    "I don't know, but it isn't good news," Dalton quietly replied. "My secretary wouldn't have told anyone where to locate me unless there was a major problem."
    Prost and the young woman stopped on a rise, her arms on her hips while he waved to the two fishermen.
    Returning the friendly gesture, Scott and Greg sloshed out of the river and met the couple on a gravelbar below the vegetation line.
    The president's national security adviser had fatigue- i nduced bags under his olive-gray eyes and a firm set to his angular jaw. Medium in stature, Prost had wiry salt-andpepper hair and a warm, fatherly demeanor that made him look very professorial.
    Born to a life of wealth and privilege, Hartwell Huntington Prost IV had eschewed a secure career in his family-owned investment empire. Instead, much to the dismay of his father, Hartwell joined the CIA after graduating with honors from Harvard Law.
    Now a retired chief of the elite Directorate of Operations--known to insiders as "the DO"--Prost was still regarded as one of the most ingenious spymasters in the history of the Agency.
    The attractive, darkly tanned woman was wearing a khaki jumpsuit that complemented her athletic figure. Allowing a hint of a smile, she made brief eye contact with Scott.
    Interesting, Dalton thought as he gave her a friendly smile and casually checked her military-style name tag. In bold letters under a set of embossed Air Force wings was the name JACKIE SULLIVAN. The name and face seemed vaguely familiar, but he couldn't remember from where or when.
    Although O'Donnell had met Prost on two previous occasions, introductions were quickly exchanged. Since Greg was not "officially" in the loop, Jackie glanced at Dalton to see how he was going to handle the situation.
    Diplomatically, Scott smiled at his friend. "Greg, why don't you take the Explorer back to the cabin. I'll catch a ride in the helo."
    "Sure," the friendly man replied with disguised relief, then turned to the visitors. "If you have time, stop by for some fresh salmon."
    After Prost and Sullivan thanked him for the invitation, O'Donnell lugged the two large fish away while the trio walked to a log at the edge of the gravel bar. A tense, restless energy filled the air, the strain showing on Frost's face. "Your secretary"--Prost quietly chuckled--"is a very cautious woman."
    Scott struggled to wipe the grin off his face. "She's, ah ... what I would describe as mission-oriented."
    "A former Marine, huh?"
    "Through and through."
    "That's what I thought."
    Once they were seated, Prost cast a glance down the serpentine river, then turned to Dalton and apologized. "Well," he began, and raised his voice a little, "I sure know how to ruin a perfect day for fishing."
    Displaying an understanding smile, Scott overcame the awkward moment. "Don't worry about it. What's up?" "Iran," Prost said contemptuously. "It looks like they may have shot down a Tomcat--a TARPS bird."
    Scott's smooth face, chiseled in strong, clean lines, was devoid of expression. "What about the crew?"
    "We don't know anything yet. They just disappeared into thin air, no Mayday or anything that--" Prost paused in mid-sentence. "At any rate, that's not what I came here to see you about."
    Prost turned sideways and threw a leg over the log. "Before we discuss why I'm here, maybe I should bring you up to date on the Iranian situation. We--actually the Agency and the State Department--have irrefutable evidence that Tehran has a stockpile of nuclear-tipped missiles; and Russia's fingerprints are all over the warheads."
    Casting a quick look at Sullivan, Scott paused a moment. Where have I seen her? "How'd they confirm it?"
    Prost allowed a slight smile of satisfaction to spread across his face. "One of Sandia's remote monitoring systems detected a breach in security at a nuclear weapons storage vault near Moscow. When our people arrived,