Jack Ryan 3 - Red Rabbit Read Online Free

Delmonico's, but close enough to remind you of home. I hope you guys brought a grill. We tend to take them up on the roof to cook out. We import charcoal, too. Ivan just doesn't seem to understand about that.” The apartment had no balcony, perhaps to protect them from the diesel smell that pervaded the city.
    “What about going to work?” Foley asked.
    “Better to take the metro. It really is great,” Barnes told him.
    “Leaving me with the car?” Mary Pat asked, with a hopeful smile. This was going exactly to plan. That was expected, but anything that went well in this business came as something of a surprise, like the right presents under the Christmas tree. You always hoped Santa got the letter, but you could never be sure.
    “You might as well learn how to drive in this city,” Barnes said. “At least you have a nice car.” The previous resident in this apartment had left behind a white Mercedes 280 for them, which was indeed a nice car. Actually, a little too nice at only four years old. Not that there were all that many cars in Moscow, and the license plates surely marked it as belonging to an American diplomat, and thus easy to spot by any traffic cop, and by the KGB vehicle that would follow it most places it went. Again, it was reverse-English. Mary Pat would have to learn to drive like an Indianapolis resident on her first trip to New York. “The streets are nice and wide,” Barnes told her, “and the gas station is only three blocks that way.” He pointed. “It's a huge one. The Russians like to build them that way.”
    “Great,” she observed for Barnes's benefit, already dropping into her cover as a pretty, ditsy blonde. Around the world, the pretty ones were supposed to be the dumb ones, and blondes most of all. It was a hell of a lot easier to play dumb than to be smart, after all, Hollywood actors notwithstanding.
    “What about servicing the car?” Ed asked.
    “It's a Mercedes. They don't break much,” Barnes assured them. “The German embassy has a guy who can fix anything that goes bad. We're cordial with our NATO allies. You guys soccer fans?”
    “Girls' game,” Ed Foley responded immediately.
    “That's rather coarse of you,” Nigel Haydock observed.
    “Give me American football any time,” Foley countered.
    “Bloody foolish, uncivilized game, full of violence and committee meetings,” the Brit sniffed.
    Foley grinned. “Let's eat.”
    They sat down. The interim furniture was adequate, something like you'd find in a no-tell motel in Alabama. You could sleep on the bed, and the bug spray had probably done for all the crawly things. Probably.
    The sandwiches were okay. Mary Pat went to get glasses and turned on the taps—
    “Recommend against that one, Mrs. Foley,” Nigel warned. “Some people come down with stomach complaints from the tap water…”
    “Oh?” She paused. “And my name's Mary Pat, Nigel.”
    Now they were properly introduced. “Yes, Mary Pat. We prefer bottled water for drinking. The tap water is good enough for bathing, and you can boil it in a pinch for coffee and tea.”
    “It's even worse in Leningrad,” Nigel warned. “The natives are more or less immunized, they tell me, but we foreigners can get some serious GI problems there.”
    “What about schools?” Mary Pat had been worried about that.
    “The American-British school looks after the children well,” Penny Haydock promised. “I work there myself part-time. And the academic program there is top-drawer.”
    “Eddie's starting to read already, isn't he, honey?” the proud father announced.
    “Just 'Peter Rabbit' and that sort of thing, but not bad for four,” an equally pleased mother confirmed for the rest. For his part, Eddie had found the sandwich plate and was gnawing through something. It wasn't his treasured bologna, but a hungry kid is not always discriminating. There were also four large jars of Skippy's Super Chunk peanut butter packed away in a safe place. His parents