Read Online Commander-In-Chief by Tom Clancy, Mark Greaney - Free Book Online Page A

curb of the street ringing the piazza, watched the cavalcade of small Italian cars whip around, each driverseeming to have his own idea about both the speed limit and the location of the lane markers, and he picked out a taxi approaching in the closest lane. He waited until it was a reasonable distance away at the speed it was traveling, then he held out his hand.
    The cab driver whipped his little Fiat over to the curb and came to a stop. Behind him scooters and cars slammed on their brakes.
    Jack jumped into the back and the cab lurched forward again.
    •   •   •
    C havez and Caruso had finished a meal of schnitzel, sauerkraut, and mashed potatoes, washing it all down with a couple of beers. There was no rule about drinking on the job at The Campus; the operatives were supposed to maintain their cover for status and cover for action at all times, and sometimes that meant downing a drink or two while working surveillance. It was part of adapting to the surroundings, and while the men knew better than to overindulge, they also knew better than to draw attention to themselves.
    While they sat, Dom kept an eye out through the doors to the compartment containing Morozov and the young brunette female he seemed to be chaperoning into Germany. She’d made one run to the bathroom and Caruso had taken a picture of her. He’d sent it to The Campus so the analysts could run it through facial recognition, but she didn’t turn up in any of the criminal databases.
    Caruso and Chavez were talking over their surveillance options for when they arrived in Berlin when the train passed out of Poland and into Germany at the town of Frankfurt an der Oder. There was no scheduled stop here at the border; both Germany and Poland were in Europe’s Schengen Area, a collection of twenty-six nations with common visa requirements and no passport controls between the nations.
    So the two Americans looked out the window in surprise when the train began to slow.
    Ding went to the counter to order a coffee while a voice over the train’s PA system, broadcast in several languages, announced that German customs police would be making a quick pass through the train with dogs.
    When he sat back down with his coffee, Dom said, “Must be because of the Lithuania thing.”
    “Right,” agreed Chavez. “They don’t know how much C-4 those ecoterrorists used to blow up that ship. Might be enough left over to take down the Reichstag or something.”
    Here in the dining car, Caruso was seated facing the first-class area, and back over Chavez’s left shoulder he had a clear view of the door to Morozov’s compartment, plus their own compartment farther on. He saw no activity from Morozov or the girl. Over Dom’s right shoulder Ding could see into the open second-class cabin. There, many members of the Ukrainian soccer team had gotten up to look out the window, and once the train came to a full stop, six officers in the Bundespolizei, the German Federal Police, entered with two Belgian Malinois on leashes. One of the dog handlers and two officers made a right, deeper into the train, and the other three turned toward the forward three cars. Quickly Chavez realized these were not customs officers, as the train conductor said; nor were they just making a simple pass down the length of the train. Instead, they were taking their time, asking to see everyone’s passport.
    Chavez said, “They are doing a full immigration check.”
    The train began to roll again.
    Caruso chuckled. “I hope Morozov has his papers in order. It would be a shame to see him frog-marched out of here.”
    Chavez smiled, too, but not for long. “Hey, are these Ukrainians starting to look a little squirrelly to you?”
    Caruso turned to look back over his shoulder, and he saw what Chavez noticed. Several members of the soccer team, including one of the coaches, were constantly looking back over their shoulders at the three approaching officers. “Yeah,” he said. “These guys