Read Jack Ryan 7 - The Sum of All Fears for Free Online Page A

now was of such magnificent confusion as to earn the admiration of Phineas T. Barnum. The local S-A-C was trying to salvage what remained of his professional reputation by using the media to his advantage. What he hadn't figured out yet was that handling network teams dispatched from as far away as
    
    
     Denver
    
    
     and
    
    
     Chicago
    
    
     wasn't quite the same thing as dealing with the local reporters fresh from journalism school. It was very hard to call the shots with the pros.
    “Bill Shaw is going to have this guy's balls for brunch tomorrow,” Leary observed quietly.
    “That does us a whole lot of good,” Paulson replied. A snort. “Besides, what balls?”
    “What you got?” Black asked over the secure radio circuit.
    “Movement, but no ID,” Leary replied. “Bad light. These guys may be dumb, but they're not crazy.”
    “The subjects have asked for a TV reporter to come in with a camera, and the S-A-C has agreed.”
    “Dennis, have you—” Paulson nearly came off the scope at that.
    “Yes, I have,” Black replied. “He says he's in command.” The Bureau's negotiator, a psychiatrist with hard-won expertise in these affairs, was still two hours away, and the S-A-C wanted something for the evening news. Black wanted to throttle the man, but he couldn't, of course.
    “Can't arrest the guy for incompetence,” Leary said, his hand over the microphone. Well, the only thing these bastards don't have is a hostage. So, why not give 'em one! That'll give the negotiator something to do.
    “Talk to me, Dennis,” Paulson said next.
    “Rules of Engagement are in force, on my authority,” Supervisory Special Agent Black said. The reporter is a female, twenty-eight, blonde and blue, about five-six. Cameraman is a black guy, dark complexion, six-three. I told him where to walk. He's got brains, and he's playing ball."
    “Roger that, Dennis.”
    “How long you been on the gun, Paulson?” Black asked next. The book said that a sniper could not stay fully alert on the gun for more than thirty minutes, at which point the observer and sniper exchanged positions. Dennis Black figured that someone had to play by the book.
    “About fifteen minutes, Dennis. I'm okay . . . okay, I got the newsies.”
    They were very close, a mere hundred fifteen yards from the front door of the block building. The light was not good. The sun would set in another ninety minutes. It had been a blustery day. A hot south-westerly wind was ripping across the prairie. Dust stung the eyes. Worse, the wind was hitting over forty knots and was directly across his line of sight. That sort of wind could screw up his aim by as much as four inches.
    “Team is standing by,” Black advised. “We just got Compromise Authority.”
    “Well, at least he isn't a total asshole,” Leary replied over the radio. He was too angry to care if the S-A-C heard that or not. More likely, the dumbass had just choked again.
    Both sniper and observer wore ghillie suits. It had taken them two hours to get into position, but they were effectively invisible, their shaggy camouflage blending them in with the scrubby trees and prairie grass here. Leary watched the newsies approach. The girl was pretty, he thought, though her hair and makeup had to be suffering from the dry, harsh wind. The man on the camera looked like he could have played guard for the Vikings, maybe tough and fast enough to clear the way for that sensational new halfback, Tony Wills. Leary shook it off.
    “The cameraman has a vest on. Girl doesn't.” You stupid bitch, Leary thought. I know Dennis told you what these bastards were all about.
    “Dennis said he was smart.” Paulson trained the rifle on the building. “Movement at the door!”
    “Let's everyone try to be smart,” Leary murmured.
    “Subject One in sight,” Paulson announced. “Russell's coming out. Sniper One is on target.”
    “Got him,” three voices replied at once.
    John Russell was an enormous man. Six-five, over