Red Rabbit by Tom Clancy EPUB & PDF – eBook Details Online
- Status: Available for Free Download
- Authors: Tom Clancy
- Language: English
- Genre: Espionage Thrillers
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RUMBLINGS AND DREAMS
“WHEN DO YOU START, JACK?” Cathy asked in the quiet of their bed.
And her husband was glad it was their bed. Comfortable as the New York
hotel had been, it is never the same, and besides, he’d had quite enough of his
father-in-law, with his Park Avenue duplex and immense sense of selfimportance. Okay, Joe Muller had a good ninety million in the bank and his
diversified portfolio, and it was growing nicely with the new presidency, but
enough was enough.
“Day after tomorrow,” her husband answered. “I suppose I might go in
after lunch, just to look around.”
“You ought to be asleep by now,” she said.
There were drawbacks to marrying a physician, Jack occasionally told
himself. You couldn’t hide much from them. A gentle, loving touch could
convey your body temperature, heart rate, and Christ knew what else, and
docs hid their feelings about what they found with the skill of a professional
poker player. Well, some of the time.
“Yeah, long day.” It was short of five in the evening in New York, but his
“day” had lasted longer than the normal twenty-four. He really had to learn to
sleep on airplanes. It wasn’t as though his seat had been uncomfortable. He’d
upgraded the government-issue tickets to first class on his own American
Express card, and soon the frequent-flyer miles would build up so much that
such upgrades would be automatic. Yeah, great, Jack thought. They’d know
him by sight at Heathrow and Dulles. Well, at least he had his new black
diplomatic passport and didn’t have to be troubled with inspections and such.
Ryan was technically assigned to the U.S. Embassy at London’s Grosvenor
Square, just across the street from the building that had housed Eisenhower’s
WW2 office, and with that assignment came the diplomatic status that made
him a super-person, un-trammeled by such inconveniences as civil law. He
could smuggle a couple pounds of heroin into England, and no one could so
much as touch his bags without permission—which he could summarily
withhold, claiming diplomatic privilege and urgent business. It was an open
secret that diplomats didn’t trouble themselves with customs duties for such
things as perfumes for their wives (or significant others) and/or booze for
themselves, but to Ryan’s Catholic measure of personal conduct, these were
venial sins, not mortal.
The usual muddle of thoughts in a fatigued brain, he recognized. Cathy
would never allow herself to operate in this mental state. Sure, as an intern
they’d kept her on duty for endless hours—the idea being to get her
accustomed to making good decisions under miserable circumstances—but
part of her husband wondered how many patients were sacrificed on the altar
of medical boot camp. If trial lawyers ever managed to figure out how to
make money off of that…
Cathy—Dr. Caroline Ryan, M.D., FACS, her white lab coat and plastic
name tag announced—had struggled through that phase of her training, and
more than once her husband had worried about her drive home in her little
Porsche sports car, after thirty-six straight hours on duty in obstetrics, or
pediatrics, or general surgery, fields she wasn’t interested in herself, but about
which she had to know a little in order to be a proper Johns Hopkins doc.
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