Read Online Rainbow Six (1997) by Tom - Jack Ryan 09 Clancy - Free Book Online
Authors: Tom - Jack Ryan 09 Clancy
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mountains of Colombia, doing a job that their country had never acknowledged. Watching his men finish off their training rounds told him much about them. If anyone had missed a single shot, he failed to notice it. Every man fired off exactly a hundred rounds, the standard daily regimen for men who fired five hundred per working week on routine training, as opposed to more carefully directed drill. That would start tomorrow.
“Okay,” John concluded, “we’ll have a staff meeting every morning at eight-fifteen for routine matters, and a more formal one every Friday afternoon. My door is always open—including the one at home. People, if you need me, there’s a phone next to my shower. Now, I want to get out and see the shooters. Anything else? Good. We stand adjourned.” Everyone stood and shuffled out the door. Stanley remained.
“That went well,” Alistair observed, pouring himself another cup of tea. “Especially for one not accustomed to bureaucratic life.”
“Shows, eh?” Clark asked with a grin.
“One can learn anything, John.”
“I hope so.”
“When’s morning PT around here?”
“Oh-six-forty-five. You plan to run and sweat with the lads?”
“I plan to try,” Clark answered.
“You’re too old, John. Some of those chaps run marathons for recreation, and you’re closer to sixty than to fifty.”
“Al, I can’t command those people without trying, and you know that.”
“Quite,” Stanley admitted.
They awoke late, one at a time, over a period of about an hour. For the most part they just lay there in bed, some of them shuffling off to the bathroom, where they also found aspirin and Tylenol for the headaches they all had, along with showers, which half of them decided to take and the other half to forgo. In the adjoining room was a breakfast buffet that surprised them, with pans full of scrambled eggs, pancakes, sausage and bacon. Some of them even remembered how to use napkins, the people in the monitoring room saw.
They met their captor after they’d had a chance to eat breakfast. He offered all of them clean clothes, after they got cleaned up.
“What is this place?” asked the one known to the staff only as #4. It sure as hell wasn’t any Bowery mission he was familiar with.
“My company is undertaking a study,” the host said from behind a tightly fitting mask. “You gentlemen will be part of that study. You will be staying with us for a while. During that time, you will have clean beds, clean clothes, good food, good medical care, and”— he pulled a wall panel back—“whatever you want to drink.” In a wall alcove which the guests remarkably had not yet discovered were three shelves of every manner of wine, beer, and spirit that could be purchased at the local liquor store, with glasses, water, mixes, and ice.
“You mean we can’t leave?” Number 7 asked.
“We would prefer that you stay,” the host said, somewhat evasively. He pointed to the liquor cabinet, his eyes smiling around the mask. “Anyone care for a morning eye-opener?”
It turned out that it wasn’t too early in the morning for any of them, and that the expensive bourbons and ryes were the first and hardest hit. The additional drug in the alcohol was quite tasteless, and the guests all headed back to their alcove beds. Next to each was a TV set. Two more decided to make use of the showers. Three even shaved, emerging from the bathroom looking quite human. For the time being.
In the monitoring room half a building away, Dr. Archer manipulated the various TV cameras to get close-ups on every “guest.”
“They’re all pretty much on profile,” she observed. “Their blood work ought to be a disaster.”
“Oh, yeah, Barb,” Dr. Killgore agreed. “Number Three looks especially unwell. You suppose we can get him slightly cleaned up before . . . ?”
“I think we should try,” Barbara Archer, M.D., thought. “We can’t monkey with the test criteria too much,
“Okay,” John concluded, “we’ll have a staff meeting every morning at eight-fifteen for routine matters, and a more formal one every Friday afternoon. My door is always open—including the one at home. People, if you need me, there’s a phone next to my shower. Now, I want to get out and see the shooters. Anything else? Good. We stand adjourned.” Everyone stood and shuffled out the door. Stanley remained.
“That went well,” Alistair observed, pouring himself another cup of tea. “Especially for one not accustomed to bureaucratic life.”
“Shows, eh?” Clark asked with a grin.
“One can learn anything, John.”
“I hope so.”
“When’s morning PT around here?”
“Oh-six-forty-five. You plan to run and sweat with the lads?”
“I plan to try,” Clark answered.
“You’re too old, John. Some of those chaps run marathons for recreation, and you’re closer to sixty than to fifty.”
“Al, I can’t command those people without trying, and you know that.”
“Quite,” Stanley admitted.
They awoke late, one at a time, over a period of about an hour. For the most part they just lay there in bed, some of them shuffling off to the bathroom, where they also found aspirin and Tylenol for the headaches they all had, along with showers, which half of them decided to take and the other half to forgo. In the adjoining room was a breakfast buffet that surprised them, with pans full of scrambled eggs, pancakes, sausage and bacon. Some of them even remembered how to use napkins, the people in the monitoring room saw.
They met their captor after they’d had a chance to eat breakfast. He offered all of them clean clothes, after they got cleaned up.
“What is this place?” asked the one known to the staff only as #4. It sure as hell wasn’t any Bowery mission he was familiar with.
“My company is undertaking a study,” the host said from behind a tightly fitting mask. “You gentlemen will be part of that study. You will be staying with us for a while. During that time, you will have clean beds, clean clothes, good food, good medical care, and”— he pulled a wall panel back—“whatever you want to drink.” In a wall alcove which the guests remarkably had not yet discovered were three shelves of every manner of wine, beer, and spirit that could be purchased at the local liquor store, with glasses, water, mixes, and ice.
“You mean we can’t leave?” Number 7 asked.
“We would prefer that you stay,” the host said, somewhat evasively. He pointed to the liquor cabinet, his eyes smiling around the mask. “Anyone care for a morning eye-opener?”
It turned out that it wasn’t too early in the morning for any of them, and that the expensive bourbons and ryes were the first and hardest hit. The additional drug in the alcohol was quite tasteless, and the guests all headed back to their alcove beds. Next to each was a TV set. Two more decided to make use of the showers. Three even shaved, emerging from the bathroom looking quite human. For the time being.
In the monitoring room half a building away, Dr. Archer manipulated the various TV cameras to get close-ups on every “guest.”
“They’re all pretty much on profile,” she observed. “Their blood work ought to be a disaster.”
“Oh, yeah, Barb,” Dr. Killgore agreed. “Number Three looks especially unwell. You suppose we can get him slightly cleaned up before . . . ?”
“I think we should try,” Barbara Archer, M.D., thought. “We can’t monkey with the test criteria too much,
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