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

Irish-Americans -- have made out pretty well. We're in all the
professions, business, and politics, but your prototypical Irish-American
is still a basic police officer or firefighter. The cavalry that won the
West was a third Irish, and there are still plenty of us in uniform --
especially the Marine Corps, as a matter of fact. Half of the local FBI
office lived in my old neighborhood. They had names like Tully, Sullivan,
O'Connor, and Murphy. My dad was a police officer for half his life, and
the priests and nuns who educated me were mostly Irish, probably.
"Do you see what I mean, Your Majesty? In America we are the forces of
order, the glue that holds society together -- so what happens?
"Today, the most famous Irishmen in the world are the maniacs who
leave bombs in parked cars, or assassins who kill people to make some sort
of political point. I don't like that, and I know my dad wouldn't tike it.
He spent his whole working life taking animals like that off the street
and putting them in cages where they belong. We've worked pretty hard to
get where we are -- too hard to be happy about being thought of as the
relatives of terrorists." Jack smiled. "I guess I understand how Italians
feel about the Mafia. Anyway, I can't say that all this stuff paraded
through my head yesterday, but I did kind of figure what was going on. I
couldn't just sit there like a dummy and let murder be committed before my
eyes and not do something. So I saw my chance and I took it."
The Queen nodded thoughtfully. She regarded Ryan with a warm, friendly
smile for a few moments and turned to look at her husband. The two
communicated without words. They'd been married long enough for that, Ryan
thought. When she turned back, he could see that a decision had been
reached.
"So, then. How shall we reward you?"
"Reward, ma'am?" Ryan shook his head. "Thank you very much, but it's
not necessary. I'm glad I was able to help. That's enough."
"No, Doctor Ryan, it is not enough. One of the nicer things about
being Queen is that one is permitted to recognize meritorious conduct,
then to reward it properly. The Crown cannot appear to be ungrateful." Her
eyes sparkled with some private joke. Ryan found himself captivated by the
woman's humanity. He'd read that some people found her to be less than
intelligent. He already knew they were far off the mark. There was an
active brain behind those eyes, and an active wit as well. "Accordingly,
it has been decided that you shall be invested as a Knight Commander of
the Victorian Order."
"What -- er, I beg your pardon, ma'am?" Ryan blinked a few times as
his brain tried to catch up with his ears.
"The Victorian Order is a recent development intended to reward those
persons who have rendered personal service to the Crown. Certainly you
qualify. This is the first case in many years that an heir to the throne
has been saved from almost certain death. As an historian yourself, you
might be interested to learn that our own scholars are in disagreement as
to when was our most recent precedent -- in any event, you will henceforth
be known as Sir John Ryan."
Again Jack thought that he must look rather funny with his mouth open.
"Your Majesty, American law --"
"We know," she interrupted smoothly. "The Prime Minister will be