Patriot Games by Tom Clancy

“I know.”

“This can be pretty frustrating stuff, Marty,” Ryan said, getting that off his chest.

“Tell me about it,” Cantor chuckled. “Wait till you get involved with something really important — sorry, but you know what I mean. Like what the Politburo people really think about something, or how powerful and accurate their missiles are, or whether they have somebody planted in this building.”

“One problem at a time.”

“Yeah, that must be nice, sport, just to have one problem at a time.”

“When can I expect something on Martens?” Ryan asked.

“You’ll know when it comes in,” Cantor promised. ” ‘Bye.”

“Great.” Jack spent the rest of the day and part of another looking through the list of people Martens had dealt with. It was a relief to have to go back to teaching class the next two days, but he did find one possible connection. The Mercury motors found on the Zodiac used by the ULA had probably — the bookkeeping had broken down in Europe — gone through a Maltese dealer with whom Martens had done a little business.

The good news of the spring was that Ernie was a quick study. The dog got the hang of relieving himself outside within the first two weeks, which relieved Jack of a message from his daughter, “Daaaaddy, there’s a little proooblem . . . ” invariably followed by a question from his wife: “Having fun, Jack?” In fact, even his wife admitted that the dog was working out nicely. Ernie could only be separated from their daughter with a hard tug on his leash. He now slept in her bed, except when he patrolled the house every few hours. It was somewhat unnerving at first to see the dog — rather, to see a black mass darker than the night a few inches from one’s face — when Ernie seemed to be reporting that everything was clear before he headed back to Sally’s room for two more hours of protective slumber. He was still a puppy, with impossibly long legs and massive webbed feet, and he still liked to chew things. When that had included the leg of one of Sally’s Barbie dolls, it resulted in a furious scolding from his owner that ended when he started licking Sally’s face by way of contrition.

Sally was finally back to normal. As the doctors had promised her parents, her legs were fully healed, and she was running around now as she had before. This day would mark her return to Giant Steps. Her way of knocking glasses off tables as she ran past them was the announcement that things were right again, and her parents were too pleased by this to bring themselves to scold the girl for her unladylike behavior. For her part, Sally endured an abnormally large number of spontaneous hugs which she didn’t really understand. She’d been sick and she was now better. She’d never really known that an attack had happened. Jack was slow to realize. The handful of times she referred to it, it had always been “the time the car broke.” She still had to see the doctors every few weeks for tests. She both hated and dreaded these, but children adapt to a changing reality far more readily than their parents.

One of these changes was her mother. The baby was really growing now. Cathy’s petite frame seemed poorly suited to such abuse. After every morning shower, she looked at herself, naked, in a full-length mirror that hung on the back of the closet door and came away with an expression that was both proud and mournful as her hands traced over the daily alterations.

“It’s going to get worse,” her husband told her as he emerged from the shower next.

“Thanks, Jack, I really need to hear that.”

“Can you see your feet?” he asked with a grin.

“No, but I can feel them.” They were swelling, too, along with her ankles.

“You look great to me, babe.” Jack stood behind her, reaching his arms around to hold her bulging abdomen. He rested his cheek on the top of her head. “Love ya.”

“That’s easy for you to say!” She was still looking in the mirror. Jack saw her face in the glass, a tiny smile on her lips. An invitation? He moved his hands upward to find out. “Ouch! I’m sore.”

“Sorry.” He softened his grip to provide nothing more than support. “Hmph. Has something changed here?”

“It took you this long to notice?” The smile broadened a tad. “It’s a shame that I have to go through this for that to happen.”

“Have you ever heard me complain? Everything about you has always been A-plus. I guess pregnancy drops you to a B-minus. But only in one subject,” he added.

“You’ve been teaching too long, Professor.” Her teeth were showing now. Cathy leaned back, rubbing her skin against her husband’s hairy chest. For some reason she loved to do that.

“You’re beautiful,” he said. “You glow.”

“Well, I have to glow my way to work.” Jack didn’t move his hands. “I have to get dressed. Jack.”

” ‘How do I love thee, let me count the ways . . .’ ” he murmured into her damp hair. “One . . . two . . . three . . . ”

“Not now, you lecher!”

“Why?” His hands moved very gently.

“Because I have to operate in three hours, and you have to go to spook city.” She didn’t move, though. There weren’t all that many moments that they could be alone.

“I’m not going there today. I got stuck with a seminar at the Academy. I’m afraid the department is a little miffed with me.” He kept looking in the minor. Her eyes were closed now. Screw the department . . . “God, I love you!”

“Tonight, Jack.”

“Promise?”

“You’ve sold me on the idea, okay? Now I –” She reached up to grab his hands, pulled them downward, and pressed them against the taut skin of her belly.

He — the baby was definitely a he, insofar as that was what they called him — was wide awake, rolling and kicking, pushing at the dark envelope that defined his world.

“Wow,” his father observed. Cathy’s hands were over his, moving them about every few seconds to follow the movements of the baby. “What does that feel like?”

Her head leaned back a fraction. “It feels good — except when I’m trying to sleep or when he kicks my bladder during a procedure.”

“Was Sally this — this strong?”

“I don’t think so.” She didn’t say that it wasn’t the sort of thing you remember in terms of strength. It was just the singular feeling that your baby is alive and healthy, something that no man would ever understand. Not even Jack. Cathy Ryan was a proud woman. She knew that she was one of the best eye surgeons around. She knew that she was attractive, and worked hard to keep herself that way; even now, misshapen by her pregnancy, she knew that she was carrying it well. She could tell that from her husband’s biological reaction, in the small of her back. But more than that, she knew that she was a woman, doing something that Jack could neither duplicate nor fully comprehend. Welt, she told herself, Jack does things I don’t much understand either. “I have to get dressed.”

“Okay.” Jack kissed the base of her neck. He took his time. It would have to last until this evening. “I’m up to eleven,” he said as he stepped back.

She turned. “Eleven what?”

“Counting the ways,” Jack laughed.

“You turkey!” She swung her bra at him. “Only eleven?”

“It’s early. My brain isn’t fully functional yet.”

“I can tell it doesn’t have enough of a blood supply.” The funny thing, she thought, was that Jack didn’t think he was very good-looking. She liked the strong jaw, except when he forgot to shave it, and his kind, loving eyes. She looked at the scars on his shoulder, and remembered her horror as she’d watched her husband run into harm’s way, then her pride in him for what he had accomplished. Cathy knew that Sally had almost died as a direct result, but there was no way Jack could have foreseen it. It was her fault, too, she knew, and Cathy promised herself that Sally would never play with her seat belt again. Each of them had paid a price for the turns their lives had taken. Sally was almost fully recovered from hers, as was she. Cathy knew it wasn’t true of her husband, who’d been awake through it all while she slept.

When that happened, at least I had the blessing of unconsciousness. Jack had to live through it. He’s still paying that price for it, she thought. Working two jobs now, his face always locked into a frown of concentration, worrying over something he can’t talk about. She didn’t know exactly what he was doing, but she was certain that it was not yet done.