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

feigned surprise. “The President says that's a thing of the past.”
    The Chief of Staff grunted. “Politicians talk a lot. That's what they're paid for. Will Narmonov make it?”
    Ryan looked out the window in disgust, mainly at his own ability to answer the question. “Look at it this way: Andrey Il'ych has got to be the most adroit political operator they've ever had. But he's doing a high-wire act. Sure, he's the best around, but remember when Karl Wallenda was the best high-wire guy around? He ended up as a red smear on the sidewalk because he had one bad day in a business where you only get one goof. Andrey Il'ych is in the same kind of racket. Will he make it? People have been asking that for eight years! We think so—I think so—but . . . but, hell this is virgin ground, Arnie. We've never been here before. Neither has he. Even a god-damned weather forecaster has a data base to help him out. The two best Russian historians we have are Jake Kantrowitz at
    
     Princeton
    
     and Derek Andrews at
    
    
     Berkley
    
    
    , and they're a hundred-eighty degrees apart at the moment. We just had them both into
    
    
     Langley
    
    
     two weeks ago. Personally I lean towards Jake's assessment, but our senior Russian analyst thinks Andrews is right. You guys pays your money and you takes your choice. That's the best we got. You want pontification, check the newspapers.”
    Van Damm grunted and went on. “Next hot spot?”
    “The nationalities question is the big killer,” Jack said. “You don't need me to tell you that. How will the
    
     Soviet Union
    
     break up—what republics will leave—when and how, peacefully or violently? Narmonov is dealing with that on a daily basis. That problem is here to stay.”
    “That's what I've been saying for about a year. How long to let things shake out?” Alden wanted to know.
    “Hey, I'm the guy who said
    
    
     East Germany
    
    
     would take at least a year to change over— I was the most optimistic guy in town at the time, and I was wrong by eleven months. Anything I or anyone else tells you is a wild-ass guess.”
    “Other trouble spots?” van Damm asked next.
    “There's always the
    
     Middle East
    
    —” Ryan saw the man's eyes light up.
    “We want to move on that soon.”
    “Then I wish you luck. We've been working on that since Nixon and Kissinger back during the '73 semifinals. It's chilled out quite a bit, but the fundamental problems are still there, and sooner or later it's going to be thawed. I suppose the good news is that Narmonov doesn't want any part of it. He may have to support his old friends, and selling them weapons is a big money-maker for him, but if things blow up, he won't push like they did in the old days. We learned that with
    
    
     Iraq
    
    
    . He might continue to pump weapons in—I think he won't, but it's a close call—but he will do nothing more than that to support an Arab attack on
    
    
     Israel
    
    
    . He won't move his ships, and he won't alert troops. I doubt he's willing even to back them if they rattle their sabers a little. Andrey Il'ych says those weapons are for defense, and I think he means it, despite the word we're getting from the Israelis.”
    “That's solid?” Alden asked. “State says different.”
    “State's wrong,” Ryan replied flatly.
    “So does your boss,” van Damm pointed out.
    “In that case, sir, I must respectfully disagree with the DCI's assessment.”
    Alden nodded. “Now I know why
    
    
     Trent
    
    
     likes you. You don't talk like a bureaucrat. How have you lasted so long, saying what you really think?”
    “Maybe I'm the token.” Ryan laughed, then turned serious. “Think about it. With all the ethnic crap he's dealing with, taking an active role bears as many dangers as advantages. No, he sells weapons for hard currency and only when the coast is clear. That's business, and that's as far as it goes.”
    “So, if we can find a way to settle things down . . . ?” Alden mused.
    “He might