"Clancy, Tom - Jack Ryan 02 - Patriot Games" - читать интересную книгу автора (Clancy Tom)

"No, Doctor Ryan. People under stress are never at their best. Your
wife also examined Their Royal Highnesses on the scene, and that was most
useful to us. She refused to leave your side until you were under
competent medical care; one can hardly fault her for that. She did find
our identification procedures a touch longwinded, I think, and she was
quite naturally anxious about you. We might have moved things along more
quickly --"
"No need to apologize, sir. My dad was a cop. I know the score. I
understand you had trouble identifying us."
"Just over three hours -- a timing problem, you see. We had your
passport out of your coat, and your driving license, which, we were glad
to see, had your photograph. Our initial request to your Legal Attache was
just before five, and that made it noon in America. Lunchtime, you see. He
called the FBI's Baltimore field office, who in turn called their
Annapolis office. The identification business is fairly straightforward --
first they had to find some chaps at your Naval Academy who knew who you
were, when you came over, and so forth. Next they found the travel agent
who booked your flight and hotel. Another agent went to your motor vehicle
registration agency. Many of these people were off eating lunch, and we
reckon that cost us roughly an hour. Simultaneously he -- the Attache --
sent a query to your Marine Corps. Within three hours we had a fairly
complete history on you -- including fingerprints. We had your
fingerprints from your travel documents and the hotel registration, and
they matched your military records, of course."
"Three hours, eh?" Dinnertime here, and lunchtime at home, and they
did it all in three hours. Damn.
"While all that was going on we had to interview your wife several
times to make sure that she related everything she saw --"
"And she gave it to you exactly the same way every time, right?" Ryan
asked.
"Correct," Owens said. He smiled. "That is quite remarkable, you
know."
Ryan grinned. "Not for Cathy. Some things, medicine especially, she's
a real machine. I'm surprised she didn't hand you a roll of film."
"She said that herself," Owens replied. "The photographs in the paper
are from a Japanese tourist -- that's a cliche, isn't it? -- half a block
away with a telephoto lens. You might be interested to know that your
Marine Corps thinks rather highly of you, by the way." Owens consulted his
notes. "Tied for first in your class at Quantico, and your fitness reports
were excellent."
"So, you're satisfied I'm a good guy?"
"We were convinced of that from the first moment," Taylor said. "One
must be thorough in major felony cases, however, and this one obviously
had more than its share of complications."
"There's one thing that bothers me," Jack said. There was more than
one, but his brain was working too slowly to classify them all.
"What's that?" Owens asked.
"What the hell were they -- the Royals, you call them? -- doing out on
the street with only one guard -- wait a minute." Ryan's head cocked to
one side. He went on, speaking rather slowly as his mind struggled to