Free Night Moves by Tom Clancy, Steve Pieczenik Page A

about the whole city of Las Vegas, and the Luxor was a good example of it. More than four thousand rooms, at least half a dozen theme restaurants, a casino that never shut down, an Olympic-sized swimming pool, plus a boat voyage to the Land of the Dead, right in the atrium. It was ancient Egypt by way of Walt Disney, and for a dollar, you could tug on the arm of an Egyptian deity and take a chance on the big payoff. Place your bets, ladies and gentlemen, place your bets... He had gone in and looked around and been amazed, but also overwhelmed, by it all. Here outside the massive structure, whose entrance was marked by a giant obelisk that shamed Cleopatra's Needle, and guarded by a sphinx in much better repair than the big one in Egypt, Howard got a sense of how truly rich the United States was. A nation that could produce such places as this, designed for leisure, for entertainment, for the millions who could afford to come and play here, well, that said a lot about such a country. He could hardly blame the owners, whose goal was to separate suckers from their money. They had done a great job. But as attractive and over the top as it was, there was something ... repellent about it at the same time.
Las Vegas called to the party-loving hearts in people, the carpe diem, grasshopper, be-herenowanddeviltake-tomorrow psyches. But it also called to the dark side, the desperate, the greedy, the addicted. It was plastic and neon and all that was cheap and shoddy about America. But it was also fun.
Howard laughed and began the hike back toward his own motel room. Getting to be a philosopher in your old age, eh, John? Next thing you know, you'll be sitting in a dark room contemplating your navel.
He laughed again. Well, maybe not just yet.

Sunday, April 3rdStonewall Flat, Nevada Ruzhyo awoke from a troubled sleep, coming alert all at once
as he had learned to do years ago in Spetsnaz. He listened but heard nothing out of the ordinary. After a few minutes, he got up, went to the bathroom, then walked to the door of the trailer and opened it. Naked, he looked into the desert. The night was clear, and stars beyond counting hung in the sky, hard, glittery pinpoints. A breeze blew and stirred the scrub and sand, but there was nothing else moving. No signs of life. He rubbed at his chin. He had not shaved in several" days, and perhaps it was time to do so. A moment later, he closed the door. Something was wrong. Danger lurked outside his door. Even though he could not see nor hear it, he knew it was there. He sighed. Now it was time to take the guns out and make ready. There were other things to check, too, preparations he had made when first he arrived. If Death had come to claim him at last, he would not feel sorrow, but if he lost the battle, he would do so trying his best to win. It was rusty and not used of late, but all he had left was his craft. He would display it as best he could. Ruzhyo went back to the bathroom. He would wash his face and shave, then he would get dressed and make his preparations for war.
Sunday, April 3rdLondon, England Michaels and Toni were checking out of the hotel to catch a taxi to the airport when the desk clerk said, "It might be a good idea if you rang your air carrier, sir." "Oh?"
"Yes, sir. We've just gotten word that there's been something of a problem with flight schedules out of Heathrow. And out of Gatwick, as well, I'm afraid." The clerk, as it turned out, was a master of understatement. Michaels's attempts to connect with British Airways were unsuccessful. All incoming lines, he was told by a recording, were temporarily busy, and would he please try again later?
While he was doing just that, Toni caught him by the arm and pulled him over to a television set in the hotel pub. The BBC had broken into regular programming for a special bulletin: Apparently nearly all the computer systems at the world's largest airports had gone bonkers. These included not only the ticketing and reservations computers