"Morning, Doc."

"Hello, John."

"Catch the Vikings-Chargers game yesterday?"

"No, I, uh, took my son to see the Orioles. They lost six to one." Success was following Jack everywhere, but at least he'd kept his word to his son. That was something, wasn't it?

"Twenty-four to twenty-one in overtime. God, that Wills kid is incredible. They held him to ninety-six yards, but when he had to deliver, he popped it for twenty yards and set up the field-goal," Clark reported.

"You have money on the game?"

"Five bucks at the office, but it was a three-point spread. The education fund won that one."

It gave Ryan something to chuckle about. Gambling was as illegal at CIA as it was in every other government office, but a serious attempt to enforce a ban on football betting might have started a revolution - the same was true at the FBI, Jack was sure, which enforced interstate gambling statutes - and the semi-official system was that half-point betting spreads were not allowed. All 'pushes' (odds-caused ties) forfeited into the Agency's in-house charity, the Education Aid Fund. It was something that even the Agency's own Inspector-General winked at - in fact, he liked to lay money on games as much as the next guy.

"Looks like you at least got some sleep, Jack," Clark noted, as they made their way towards Route 50.

"Eight hours," Jack said. He'd wanted another chance the previous night, but Cathy had said no. You're too tired, Jack. That's all it is. You're working too hard, and I want you to take it easy, okay?

Like I'm a goddamned stud horse that's been overworked.

"Good for you," Clark said. "Or maybe your wife insisted, eh?"

Ryan stared ahead at the road. "Where's the box?"

"Here."

Ryan unlocked it and started looking at the weekend's dispatches.

They caught an early direct flight from Washington National to Denver Stapleton International. It was a clear day most of the way across the country, Bock got a window seat and looked at the country, his first time in America. As with most Europeans, he was surprised, almost awed by the sheer size and diversity. The wooded hills of Appalachia; the flat farmlands of Kansas, speckled with the immense circular signature of the traveling irrigation systems; the stunning way the plains ended and the Rockies began within easy sight of Denver. No doubt Marvin would say something when they arrived about how this had all been the property of his people. What rubbish. They'd been nomadic barbarians, following the herds of bison, or whatever had once been there before civilization arrived. America might be his enemy, but it was a civilized country, and all the more dangerous for it. By the time the aircraft landed, he was squirming with his need for a smoke. Ten minutes after landing, they'd rented a car and were examining a map. Bock's head was dizzy from the lack of oxygen here. Nearly fifteen hundred meters of altitude, he realized. It was a wonder that people could play American football here.