Free Jack Ryan 4 - The Hunt for Red October by Tom Clancy

right out of his desk and tossed it to me. I did not reveal a thing about this, sir.”
    “I wonder how many other people he spilled to. Geniuses! They operate in their own crazy little worlds. Somers is like a little kid sometimes. And you know the First Rule of Security: The likelihood of a secret's being blown is proportional to the square of the number of people who're in on it.” It was Greer's favorite dictum.
    His phone buzzed. “Greer . . .  Right.” He hung up. “Charlie Davenport's on the way up, per your suggestion, Jack. Supposed to be here half an hour ago. Must be the snow.” The admiral jerked a hand towards the window. There were two inches on the ground, with another inch expected by nightfall. “One flake hits this town and everything goes to hell.”
    Ryan laughed. That was something Greer, a down-easier from
    
    
     Maine
    
    
    , never could seem to understand.
    “So, Jack, you say this is worth the price?”
    “Sir, we've wanted these pictures for some time, what with all the contradictory data we've been getting on the sub. It's your decision and the judge's but, yes, I think they're worth the price. These shots are very interesting.”
    “We ought to have our own men in that damned yard,” Greer grumped. Ryan didn't know how Operations had screwed that one up. He had little interest in field operations. Ryan was an analyst. How the data came to his desk was not his concern, and he was careful to avoid finding out. “I don't suppose Basil told you anything about their man?”
    Ryan smiled, shaking his head. “No, sir, and I did not ask.” Greer nodded his approval.
    “Morning, James!”
    Ryan turned to see Rear Admiral Charles Davenport, director of naval intelligence, with a captain trailing in his wake.
    “Hi, Charlie. You know Jack Ryan, don't you?”
    “Hello, Ryan.”
    “We've met,” Ryan said.
    “This is Captain Casimir.”
    Ryan shook hands with both men. He'd met
    
    
     Davenport
    
    
     a few years before while delivering a paper at the
    
    
     Naval
    
    
    
    
     War
    
    
    
    
     College
    
    
     in
    
    
     Newport
    
     ,
    
     Rhode Island
    
    
    .
    
    
     Davenport
    
    
     had given him a hard time in the question-and-answer session. He was supposed to be a bastard to work for, a former aviator who had lost flight status after a barrier crash and, some said, still bore a grudge. Against whom? Nobody really knew.
    “Weather in
    
    
     England
    
    
     must be as bad as here, Ryan.”
    
    
     Davenport
    
    
     dropped his bridge coat on top of Ryan's. “I see you stole a Royal Navy overcoat.”
    Ryan was fond of his toggle coat. “A gift, sir, and quite warm.”
    “Christ, you even talk like a Brit. James, we gotta bring this boy home.”
    “Be nice to him, Charlie. He's got a present for you. Grab yourself some coffee.”
    Casimir scurried over to fill a mug for his boss, then sat down at his right hand. Ryan let them wait a moment before opening his briefcase. He took out four folders, keeping one and handing the others around.
    “They say you've been doing some fairly good work, Ryan,”
    
    
     Davenport
    
    
     said. Jack knew him to be a mercurial man, affable one moment, brittle the next. Probably to keep his subordinates off balance. “And—Jesus Christ!”
    
    
     Davenport
    
    
     had opened his folder.
    “Gentlemen, I give you Red October, courtesy of the British Secret Intelligence Service,” Ryan said formally.
    The folders had the photographs arranged in pairs, four each of four-by-four prints. In the back were ten-by-ten blowups of each. The photos had been taken from a low-oblique angle, probably from the rim of the graving dock that had held the boat during her post-shakedown refit. The shots were paired, fore and aft, fore and aft.
    “Gentlemen, as you can see, the lighting wasn't all that great. Nothing fancy here. It was a pocket camera loaded with 400-speed color film. The first pair was processed normally to establish high levels. The second was