Read Jack Ryan 2 - Patriot Games for Free Online

Kalashnikov assault rifles lay in wait for their Rolls-Royce; only to have their carefully-laid plans foiled by the bold intervention of J. P. Ryan, formerly a second lieutenant in the United States Marine Corps, and now an historian . . .
    Ryan flipped to the editorial page. The lead item, signed by the publisher, screamed for vengeance while praising Ryan, America, and the United States Marine Corps, and thanked Divine Providence with a flourish worthy of a Papal Encyclical.
    “Reading about yourself?” Ryan looked up. Sir Charles Scott was standing at the foot of his bed with an aluminum chart.
    “First time I ever made the papers.” Ryan set them down.
    “You've earned it, and it would seem that the sleep did you some good. How do you feel?”
    “Not bad, considering. How am I?” Ryan asked.
    “Pulse and temperature normal -- almost normal. Your color isn't bad at all. With luck we might even avoid a postoperative infection, though I should not wish to give odds on that,” the doctor said. “How badly does it hurt?”
    “It's there, but I can live with it,” Ryan answered cautiously.
    “It is only two hours since your last medication. I trust you are not one of those thickheaded fools who do not want pain medications?”
    “Yes, I am,” Ryan said. He went on slowly. “Doctor, I've been through this twice before. The first time, they gave me too much of the stuff, and coming off was -- I'd just as soon not go through that again, if you know what I mean.”
    Ryan's career in the Marine Corps had ended after a mere three months with a helicopter crash on the shores of Crete during a NATO exercise. The resulting back injury had sent Ryan to Bethesda Naval Medical Center, outside Washington, where the doctors had been a little too generous with their pain medications, and Ryan had taken two weeks to get over them. It was not an experience he wanted to repeat.
    Sir Charles nodded thoughtfully. “I think so. Well, it's your arm.” The nurse came back in as he made some notations on the chart. “Rotate the bed a bit.”
    Ryan hadn't noticed that the rack from which his arm hung was actually circular. As the head of the bed came up, his arm dropped to a more comfortable angle. The doctor looked over his glasses at Ryan's fingers.
    “Would you wiggle them, please?” Ryan did so. “Good, that's very good. I didn't think there'd be any nerve damage. Doctor Ryan, I am going to prescribe something mild, just enough to keep the edge off it. I will require that you take the medications which I prescribe.” Scott's head came around to face Ryan directly. “I've never yet got a patient addicted to narcotics, and I do not propose to start with you. Don't be pigheaded: pain, discomfort will retard your recovery -- unless, that is, you want to remain in hospital for several months?”
    “Message received, Sir Charles.”
    “Right.” The surgeon smiled. “If you should feel the need for something stronger, I shall be here all day. Just ring nurse Miss Kittiwake here.” The girl beamed in anticipation.
    “How about something to eat?”
    “You think you can keep something down?”
    If not, Kittiwake will probably love to help me throw up. “Doc, in the last thirty-six hours I've had a continental breakfast and a light lunch.”
    “Very well. We'll try some soft foods.” He made another notation on the chart and flashed a look to Kittiwake: Keep an eye on him. She nodded.
    “Your charming wife told me that you are quite obstinate. We'll see about that. Still and all you are doing rather nicely. You can thank your physical condition for that -- and my outstanding surgical skill, of course.” Scott chuckled to himself. “After breakfast an orderly will help you freshen up for your more, ah, official visitors. Oh, don't expect to see your family soon. They were quite exhausted last night. I gave your wife something to help her sleep; I hope she took it. Your darling little daughter was all done in.” Scott gave