"Clancy, Tom - Jack Ryan 03 - The Cardinal of the Kremlin" - читать интересную книгу автора (Clancy Tom)

Ortiz and the Captain sorted through the equipment brought :o them. Included was the maintenance manual for the Mi-M's laser equipment, and radio code sheets, in addition to Jther things they'd seen before. By noon he had it all fully
catalogued and began making arrangements to ship it all t the embassy; from there it would be flown immediately t California for a complete evaluation.
The Air Force VC-137 lifted off right on time. It was a customized version of the venerable Boeing 707. The "V" prefix on its designation denoted that it was designed to carrj VIP passengers, and the aircraft's interior reflected this. Jacl lay back on the couch and abandoned himself to the fatigu< that enveloped him. Ten minutes later a hand shook hi
shoulder.
"The boss wants you," another member of the team said
"Doesn't he ever sleep?" Jack growled.
"Tell me about it."
Ernest Alien was in the VIP-est accommodations on thi aircraft, a cabin set exactly atop the wing spar with six plusl swivel chairs. A coffeepot sat on the table. If he didn't haw some coffee he'd soon be incoherent. If he did, he'd be unable to go back to sleep. Well, the government wasn't paying hin to sleep. Ryan poured himself some coffee.
"Yes, sir?"
"Can we verify it?" Alien skipped the preliminaries.
"I don't know yet," Jack replied. "It's not just a questiot of National Technical Means. Verifying the elimination of л many launchersЧ"
"They're giving us limited on-site inspection," noted a jur
ior member of the team.
"I'm aware of that," Jack replied. "The question is, does that really mean anything?" The other question is, why ail they suddenly agree to something we've wanted for over thirty
years . . . ?
"What?" the junior member asked.
"The Soviets have put a lot of work into their new mobile launchers. What if they have more of them than we knowl about? Do you think we can find a few hundred mobile mis) siles?" -
"But we have surface-scanning radar on the new birds]
andЧ"
"And they know it, and they can avoid it if they want toЧ wait a minute. We know that our carriers can and do evadf Russian radar-ocean-recon satellites. If you can do it with Х
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out. Alien looked on without comment, allowing his underling to pursue the line in his stead. A clever old fox, Ernie Alien.
"So, CIA is going to recommend againstЧdamn it, this is the biggest concession they've ever made!"
"Fine. It's a big concession. Everyone here knows that. Before we accept it, maybe we ought to make sure that they haven't conceded something that they've made irrelevant to the process. There are other things, too."
"So you're going to opposeЧ"
"I'm not opposing anything. I'm saying we take our time and use our heads instead of being carried away by euphoria."
"But their draft treaty isЧit's almost too good to be true." The man had just proved Ryan's point, though he didn't see it quite that way.
"Dr. Ryan," Alien said, "if the technical details can be worked out to your satisfaction, how do you view the treaty?"
"Sir, speaking from a technical point of view, a fifty-percent reduction in deliverable warheads has no effect at all on the strategic balance. It'sЧ"
"That's crazy!" objected the junior member.
Jack extended his hand toward the man, pointing his index finger like the barrel of a gun. "Let's say I have a pistol pointed at your chest right now. Call it a nine-millimeter Browning. That has a thirteen-round clip. I agree to remove seven rounds from the clip, but I still have a loaded gun, with six rounds, pointed at your chestЧdo you feel any safer now?" Ryan smiled, keeping his "gun" out.
"Personally, I wouldn't. That's what we're talking about here. If both sides reduce their inventories by half, that still leaves five thousand warheads that can hit our country. Think about how big that number is. All this agreement does is to reduce the overkill. The difference between five thousand and ten thousand only affects how far the rubble flies. If we start talking about reducing the number to one thousand warheads on either side, then maybe I'll start thinking we're on to something."
"Do you think the thousand-warhead limit is achievable?" Alien asked.
"No, sir. Sometimes I just wish it were, though I've been told that a thousand-warhead limit could have the effect of making nuclear war 'winnable,' whatever the hell that means."
26 Х TOMCLANCY
Jack shrugged and concluded: "Sir, if this current agreement goes through, it'll look better than it is. Maybe the symbolic value of the agreement has value in and of itself; that's a factor to be considered, but it's not one within my purview. The monetary savings to both sides will be real, but fairly minor in terms of gross military expenditures. Both sides retain half of their current arsenalsЧand that means keeping the newest and most effective half, of course. The bottom line remains constant: in a nuclear war, both sides would be equally dead. I do not see that this draft treaty reduces the 'threat of war,' whatever that is. To do that, we either have to eliminate the damned things entirely or figure something to keep them from working. If you ask me, we have to do the latter before we can attempt the former. Then the world becomes a safer placeЧmaybe." "That's the start of a whole new arms race." "Sir, that race started so long ago that it isn't exactly new."
Z.
rea Clipper
MORE photos of Dushanbe coming in," the phone told Ryan. "Okay, I'll be over in a few minutes." Jack rose and crossed the hall to Admiral Greer's office. His boss had his back to the blazing white blanket that covered the hilly ground outside the CIA headquarters building. They were still clearing it off the parking lot, and even the railed walkway outside the seventh-floor windows had about ten inches' worth.
"What is it, Jack?" the Admiral asked.
"Dushanbe. The weather cleared unexpectedly. You said you wanted to be notified."
Greer looked at the TV monitor in the corner of his office. It was next to the computer terminal that he refused to useЧ at least when anyone might watch his attempts to type with his index fingers and, on good days, one thumb. He could have the real-time satellite photos sent to his office "live," but of late he'd avoided that. Jack didn't know why. "Okay, let's trot over."
Ryan held open the door for the Deputy Director for Intelligence, and they turned left to the end of the executive corridor on the building's top floor. Here was the executive elevator. One nice thing about it was that you didn't have to wait very long.
"How's the jet lag?" Greer asked. Ryan had been back for nearly a day now.
"Fully recovered, sir. Westbound doesn't bother me very
28 Х TOM CLANCY
much. It's the eastbound kind that still kills me." God, it's
nice to be on the ground.
The door opened and both men walked across the building to the new annex that housed the Office of Imagery Analysis. This was the Intelligence Directorate's own private department, separate from the National Photographic Intelligence Center, a joint CIA-DIA effort which served the whole intelligence community.