Read Online Commander-In-Chief by Tom Clancy, Mark Greaney - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Tom Clancy, Mark Greaney
Tags: thriller
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have something to hide.”
But when the police arrived at them, one of the coaches pulled a stack of passports out of a vinyl messenger bag and handed them over to the officers. One man looked them over quickly while the dogs sniffed around the young men. Both Dom and Ding saw continued evidence of nervousness in the players, but after matching each passport with a face, the Bundespolizei officer handed the documents back to the coach of the team, and the three moved on toward the dining car.
Caruso said, “Wonder if they have performance enhancers in their luggage in the racks above them. They were scared they’d get searched.”
Chavez said, “They are amateurs. It’s probably weed.”
The two Campus operatives produced their documents when the trio of armed officers arrived at their table. Dom noticed one of the men carried an HK MP5 submachine gun on his chest, and all three, including the female dog handler, wore big Glock 17 pistols on their belts in retention holsters.
“Gibt es ein Problem?”
Chavez asked the officers. Is there a problem?
“Not at all,” the female officer replied in English, after their documents were returned to them.
Chavez had hoped for a little more information, but he wasn’t surprised the German police weren’t terribly forthcoming with an explanation about what was going on.
The three cops and their dog moved through the vestibule and into first class, and now Caruso focused on Morozov’s compartment, visible through the glass window in the vestibule doors. When the police arrived they opened the door and stood in the hall outside the compartment. The dog sniffed around inside for a moment, then returned; he seemed utterly uninterested in his work and ready to move on. Caruso could see the passports the two inside the compartment handed over to the police. They were both burgundy in color, which meant they could have been Russian, but there were also lots of other countries, even here in Europe, that used the same color.
One of the passports was returned quickly, but the other was checked for a long time. Caruso slowly got the impression that something wasn’t right. Dom could tell one of the three officers was asking a series of questions to one of the people in the compartment, presumably the Russian spy.
Chavez was facing the opposite direction, so Caruso kept him informed. “Looks like Morozov is getting the third degree.”
Chavez did not look back. “That’s weird. You’d think the FSB could at least send their man out into the field with clean papers.”
“Dumbasses,” Dom muttered with a little grin.
“Don’t get too excited, ’
mano
. If they take him off the train, we just wasted a trip.”
“We can follow the girl.”
Chavez shrugged. For all he knew this was Morozov’s daughter and they were on their way for a vacation in the art galleries of Berlin.
A minute later the other three police and their dog passed through the dining car, went through the vestibule to first class, and joined the others, all standing in the hall.
“Damn,” Caruso said now. “They
are
taking him off.” He couldsee the police motion for someone to come out of the compartment, and he assumed it was the Russian spy. But to his surprise he saw the brunette female escorted out of the little room.
For a moment Caruso caught a glimpse of Morozov as he leaned out of the compartment, trying to talk to the police, but they weren’t listening to him. Instead, they began walking the girl toward the exit of the first-class cabin. One of the cops pulled out his radio, presumably to order the conductor to stop at the next station.
Morozov turned and walked toward Dom and Ding, passing them in the dining car without a glance. Dom could see an intensity on the man’s face that worried him.
“Where’s he going?” Chavez asked.
He got his answer quickly. The Russian FSB man rushed into the second-class cabin, walked right up to the coach of the soccer team, and leaned in
But when the police arrived at them, one of the coaches pulled a stack of passports out of a vinyl messenger bag and handed them over to the officers. One man looked them over quickly while the dogs sniffed around the young men. Both Dom and Ding saw continued evidence of nervousness in the players, but after matching each passport with a face, the Bundespolizei officer handed the documents back to the coach of the team, and the three moved on toward the dining car.
Caruso said, “Wonder if they have performance enhancers in their luggage in the racks above them. They were scared they’d get searched.”
Chavez said, “They are amateurs. It’s probably weed.”
The two Campus operatives produced their documents when the trio of armed officers arrived at their table. Dom noticed one of the men carried an HK MP5 submachine gun on his chest, and all three, including the female dog handler, wore big Glock 17 pistols on their belts in retention holsters.
“Gibt es ein Problem?”
Chavez asked the officers. Is there a problem?
“Not at all,” the female officer replied in English, after their documents were returned to them.
Chavez had hoped for a little more information, but he wasn’t surprised the German police weren’t terribly forthcoming with an explanation about what was going on.
The three cops and their dog moved through the vestibule and into first class, and now Caruso focused on Morozov’s compartment, visible through the glass window in the vestibule doors. When the police arrived they opened the door and stood in the hall outside the compartment. The dog sniffed around inside for a moment, then returned; he seemed utterly uninterested in his work and ready to move on. Caruso could see the passports the two inside the compartment handed over to the police. They were both burgundy in color, which meant they could have been Russian, but there were also lots of other countries, even here in Europe, that used the same color.
One of the passports was returned quickly, but the other was checked for a long time. Caruso slowly got the impression that something wasn’t right. Dom could tell one of the three officers was asking a series of questions to one of the people in the compartment, presumably the Russian spy.
Chavez was facing the opposite direction, so Caruso kept him informed. “Looks like Morozov is getting the third degree.”
Chavez did not look back. “That’s weird. You’d think the FSB could at least send their man out into the field with clean papers.”
“Dumbasses,” Dom muttered with a little grin.
“Don’t get too excited, ’
mano
. If they take him off the train, we just wasted a trip.”
“We can follow the girl.”
Chavez shrugged. For all he knew this was Morozov’s daughter and they were on their way for a vacation in the art galleries of Berlin.
A minute later the other three police and their dog passed through the dining car, went through the vestibule to first class, and joined the others, all standing in the hall.
“Damn,” Caruso said now. “They
are
taking him off.” He couldsee the police motion for someone to come out of the compartment, and he assumed it was the Russian spy. But to his surprise he saw the brunette female escorted out of the little room.
For a moment Caruso caught a glimpse of Morozov as he leaned out of the compartment, trying to talk to the police, but they weren’t listening to him. Instead, they began walking the girl toward the exit of the first-class cabin. One of the cops pulled out his radio, presumably to order the conductor to stop at the next station.
Morozov turned and walked toward Dom and Ding, passing them in the dining car without a glance. Dom could see an intensity on the man’s face that worried him.
“Where’s he going?” Chavez asked.
He got his answer quickly. The Russian FSB man rushed into the second-class cabin, walked right up to the coach of the soccer team, and leaned in
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