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.""You haven't found 'em yet?"Jack shook his head."We thought we had a break, but it didn't work out.These guys are pros, Robby."Jackson reacted with surprising passion."Bull-shit, man! Professionals don't hurt kids.Hey, they want to take a shot at a soldier or a cop, okay, I can understand that -- it ain't right, but I can understand it, okay? -- soldiers and cops have guns to shoot back with, and they got training.So it's an even match, surprise on one side and procedure on the other, and that makes it a fair game.Going after noncombatants, they're just fucking street hoods, Jack.Maybe they're clever, but they sure as hell ain't professionals! Professionals got balls.Professionals put it on the line for-real."Jack shook his head.Robby was wrong, but he knew of no way to persuade his friend otherwise.His code was that of the warrior, who had to live by civilized rules.Rule Number One was: You don't deliberately harm the helpless.It was bad enough when that happened by accident.To do so on purpose was cowardly, beneath contempt; those who did so merited only death.They were beyond the pale."They're playing a goddamned game, Jack," the pilot went on."There's even a song about it.I heard it at Riordan's on St.Patrick's Day.'I've learned all my heroes and wanted the same/To try out my hand at the patriot game.' Something like that." Jackson shook his head in disgust."War isn't a game, it's a profession.They play their little games, and call themselves patriots, and go out and kill little kids.Bastards.Jack, out in the fleet, when I'm driving my Tomcat, we play our games with the Russians.Nobody gets killed, because both sides are professionals.I don't much like the Russians, but the boys that fly the Bears know their stuff.We know our stuff, and both sides respect the other.There's rules, and both sides play by 'em.That's the way it's supposed to be.""The world isn't that simple, Robby," Jack said quietly."Well, it damned well ought to be!" Jack was surprised at how worked up his friend was about this."You tell those guys at CIA: find 'em for us, then get somebody to give the order, and I'll escort the strike in.""The last two times we did that we lost people," Ryan pointed out."We take our chances.That's what they pay us for.Jack.""Yeah, but before you toss the dice again, we want you over for dinner."Jackson grinned sheepishly."I won't bring my soap box with me, I promise.Dressy?""Robby, am I ever dressy?""I told 'em it wasn't dressy," Jack said afterward."Good," his wife agreed."I thought you'd say that." He looked up at his wife, her skin illuminated by moonlight."You really are pretty.""You keep saying that --""Don't move.Just stay where you are." He ran his hand across her flanks."Why?""You said this is the last time for a while.I don't want it to be over yet.""The next time you can be on top," she promised."It'll be worth waiting for, but you won't be as beautiful as you are now.""I don't feel beautiful at the moment.""Cathy, you are talking to an expert," her husband pronounced."I am the one person in this house who can give out a dispassionate appraisal of the pulchritude of any female human being, living or dead, and I say that you are beautiful.End of discussion."Cathy Ryan took her own appraisal.Her belly was disfigured by gross-looking stretch marks, her breasts were bloated and sore, her feet and ankles swollen, and her legs were knotting up from her current position."Jack, you are a dope.""She never listens," he told the ceiling."It's just pheromones," she explained."Pregnant women smell different and it must tickle your fancy somehow or other.""Then how come you're beautiful when my nose is stuffy? Answer me that!"She reached down to twist her fingers in the hair on his chest.Jack started squirming.It tickled."Love is blind.""When I kiss you, my eyes are always open.""I didn't know that!""I know," Jack laughed quietly."Your eyes are always closed.Maybe your love is blind, but mine isn't." He ran his fingertips over her abdomen.It was still slick from the baby oil she used to moisturize her skin.Jack found this a little kinky.His fingertips traced circles on the taut, smooth surface."You're a throwback.You're something out of a thirties movie." She started squirming now."Stop that.""Errol Flynn never did this in the movies," Jack noted, without stopping that."They had censors then.""Spoilsports.Some people are just no fun." His hands expanded their horizons.The next target was the base of her neck.It was a long reach, but worth the effort.She was shivering now."Now, I, on the other hand.""Mmmmm.""I thought so.""Uh-oh.He's awake again."Jack felt him almost as soon as his wife.He -- she, it -- was rotating.Jack wondered how a baby could do that, without anything to latch on to, but the evidence was clear, his hands felt a lump shift position.The lump was his child's head, or the opposite end.Moving.Alive.Waiting to be born.He looked up to see his wife, smiling down at him and knowing what he felt."You're beautiful, and I love you very much.Whether you like it or not." He was surprised to find that there were tears in his eyes.He was even more surprised by what happened next."Love you, too, Jack -- again?""Maybe that wasn't the last time for a while after all."Chapter 23Movement"We got these last night." Priorities had changed somewhat at CIA.Ryan could tell.The man going over the photos with him was going gray, wore rimless glasses and a bow tie.Garters on his sleeves would not have seemed out of place.Marty stood in the corner and kept his mouth shut."We figure it's one of these three camps, right?""Yeah, the others are identified." Ryan nodded.This drew a snort."You say so, son.""Okay, these two are active, this one as of last week, and this one two days ago.""What about -20, the Action-Directe camp?" Cantor asked."Shut down ever since the Frenchies went in.I saw the tape of that." The man smiled in admiration."Anyway, here."It was one of the rare daylight photographs, even in color.The firing range adjacent to the camp had six men standing in line.The angle prevented them from seeing if the men held guns or not."Weapons training?" Ryan asked cautiously."Either that or they're taking a leak by the numbers." This was humor."Wait a minute, you said these came in last night.""Look at the sun angle," the man said derisively."Oh.Early morning.""Around midnight our time.Very good," the man observed.Amateurs, he thought.Everybody thinks he can read a recon photo! "You can't see any guns, but see these little points of light here? That might be sunlight reflecting off ejected cartridge brass.Okay, we have six people here
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