Read Jack Ryan 2 - Patriot Games for Free Online Page B

your occupation?” Owens checked off something on his pad.
    “I guess you could say I have a couple of jobs. I'm an instructor in history at the U.S. Naval Academy in Annapolis. I lecture occasionally at the Naval War College in Newport, and from time to time I do a little consulting work on the side.”
    “That's all?” Ashley inquired with a friendly smile -- or was it friendly? Ryan asked himself. Jack wondered just how much they'd managed to find out about him in the past -- what? fifteen hours or so -- and exactly what Ashley was hinting at. You're no cop, Ryan thought. What exactly are you? Regardless, he had to stick to his cover story, that he was a part-time consultant to the Mitre Corporation.
    “And the purpose of your visit to this country?” Owens went on.
    “Combination vacation and research trip. I'm gathering data for a new book, and Cathy needed some time off. Sally is still a preschooler, so we decided to head over now and miss the tourist season.” Ryan took a cigarette from the pack Wilson had left behind. Ashley lit it from a gold lighter. “In my coat -- wherever that is -- you'll find letters of introduction to your Admiralty and the Royal Naval College at Dartmouth.”
    “We have the letters,” Owens replied. “Quite illegible. I'm afraid, and I fear your suit is a total loss also. What the blood did not ruin, your wife and our sergeant finished off with a knife. So when did you arrive in Britain?”
    “It's still Thursday, right? Well, we got in Tuesday night from Dulles International outside Washington. Arrived about seven-thirty, got to the hotel about nine-thirty or so, had a snack sent up, and went right to sleep. Flying always messes me up -- jet lag, whatever. I conked right out.” That was not exactly true, but Ryan didn't think they needed to know everything.
    Owens nodded. They had already learned why Ryan hated flying. “And yesterday?”
    "I woke up about seven, I guess, had breakfast and a paper sent up, then just kinda lazed around until about eight-thirty. I arranged to meet Cathy and Sally in the park around four, then caught a cab to the Admiralty building -- close, as it turned out, I could have walked it. As I said, I had a letter of introduction to see Admiral Sir Alexander Woodson, the man in charge of your naval archives -- he's retired, actually. He took me down to a musty sub-sub-basement. He had the stuff I wanted all ready for me.
    “I came over to look at some signal digests. Admiralty signals between London and Admiral Sir James Somerville. He was commander of your Indian Ocean fleet in the early months of 1942, and that's one of the things I'm writing about. So I spend the next three hours reading over faded carbon copies of naval dispatches and taking notes.”
    “On this?” Ashley held up Ryan's clipboard. Jack snatched it from his hands.
    “Thank God!” Ryan exclaimed. “I was sure it got lost.” He opened it and set it up on the bedstand, then typed in some instructions. “Ha! It still works!”
    “What exactly is that thing?” Ashley wanted to know. All three got out of their chairs to look at it.
    “This is my baby.” Ryan grinned. On opening the clipboard he revealed a typewriter-style keyboard and a yellow Liquid Crystal Diode display. Outwardly it looked like an expensive clipboard, about an inch thick and bound in leather. “It's a Cambridge Datamaster Model-C Field Computer. A friend of mine makes them. It has an MC-68000 microprocessor, and two megabytes of bubble memory.”
    “Care to translate that?” Taylor asked.
    “Sorry. It's a portable computer. The microprocessor is what does the actual work. Two megabytes means that the memory stores up to two million characters -- enough for a whole book -- and since it uses bubble memory, you don't lose the information when you switch it off. A guy I went to school with set up a company to make these little darlings. He hit on me for some start-up capital. I use an Apple at home, this