In plain sight.

http://www.e-reading.org.ua/bookreader.php/71211/Clancy_-_Rainbow_Six.html


Tom Clancy

Rainbow Six [ RACKETEER INFLUENCED AND CORRUPT ORGANIZATIONS US Title 18 ]


Well, Popov could spill what he knew however much or little that might be-but then they could say that he was a former KGB spy who'd acted strangely, who'd done some consulting to Horizon Corporation but, Jesus, started terrorist incidents in Europe? Be serious! This guy's a murderer with imagination, trying to fabricate a story to get himself off a coldblooded killing right here in Middle America… Would that work? It might, Henriksen decided. It just might work, and take that bastard right the hell out of play. He could say anything he wanted, but what physical evidence did he have? Not a fucking thing.

Popov poured a drink from a bottle of Stolichnaya that the FBI had been kind enough to purchase from a corner liquor store. He had four previous drinks in his system. That helped to mellow his outlook somewhat.

"So, John Clark. We wait."

"Yeah, we wait," Rainbow Six agreed.

"You have a question for me?"

"Why did you call me?"

"We've met before."

"Where?"

"In your building in Hereford. I was there with your plumber under one of my legends."

"I wondered how you knew me by sight," Clark admitted, sipping a beer. "Not many people from your side of the Curtain do."

"You do not wish to kill me now?"

"The thought's occurred to me," Clark replied, looking in Popov's eyes. "But I guess you have some scruple after all, and if you're lying to me, you'll soon wish you were dead."

"Your wife and daughter are well?"

"Yes, and so is my grandson."

"That is good," Popov announced. "That mission was a distasteful one. You have done distasteful missions in your career, John Clark?"

He nodded. "Yeah, a few."

"So, then, you understand?"

Not the way you mean, sport, Rainbow Six thought, before responding. "Yeah, I suppose I do, Dmitriy Arkadeyevich."

"How did you find my name? Who told you?"

The answer surprised him. "Sergey Nikolay'ch and I are old friends."

"Ah," Popov managed to observe, without fainting. His own agency had betrayed him? Was that possible? Then it was as if Clark had read his mind.

"Here," John said, handing over the sheaf of photocopies. "Your evaluations are pretty good."

"Not good enough," Popov replied, failing to recover from the shock of viewing items from a file that he had never seen before.

"Well, the world changed, didn't it?"

"Not as completely as I had hoped."

"I do have a question for you."

"Yes?"

"The money you gave to Grady, where is it?"

"In a safe place. John Clark. The terrorists I know have all become capitalists with regard to cash money, but thanks to your people, those I contacted have no further need of money, do they?" the Russian asked rhetorically.










http://www.nsf.gov/news/newsletter/jul_10/index.jsp


National Science Foundation [ RETRIEVED 04 FEBRUARY 2013 ]


Change of Leadership at NSF


Barack Obama announced his intent to nominate Subra Suresh, dean of the Massachusetts Institute of Technology's School of Engineering, as NSF's next director. Suresh's nomination was sent to the Senate on June 8, 2010.










http://community.seattletimes.nwsource.com/archive/?date=19980802&slug=2764257


The Seattle Times [ RACKETEER INFLUENCED AND CORRUPT ORGANIZATIONS US Title 18 ]


Sunday, August 2, 1998

An Action-Packed Summer Read -- Tom Clancy's Latest Storms The Shores

By Melinda Bargreen

Seattle Times Staff Critic


Rumblings in the distance are growing louder, as a phalanx of trucks approaches local bookstores. There is a diesel storm rising.

Tom Clancy is back.

Yes, fans, the latest humongous Clancy doorstop of a book - at 752 pages, a veritable Cortez Kennedy among action-thrillers - officially hits stores tomorrow. From there, it will undoubtedly commence liftoff for The New York Times' best-seller list and eventually a theater near you.

"Rainbow Six," a new techno-thriller about an elite international antiterrorist squad, has all the usual Clancy paraphernalia: action galore, taut plotting, state-of-the art weapons and heroic guys about whose safety the reader need entertain no serious fears.

The main hero here is John Clark, the ex-Navy SEAL who went ballistic in an earlier Clancy novel, "Without Remorse," and whom Clancy has called "the dark side" of his primary hero, Jack Ryan. (Ryan, of course, first surfaced in "The Hunt for Red October" and has since escalated into the most heroic American president since Lincoln).

Clark is quite a fellow, too. He has more decorations than the White House Christmas tree: Navy Cross, Silver Star with a repeat cluster, Bronze Star with Combat-V and three repeats, three Purple Hearts, et al. He's the hero of many covert international missions in which the Free World's bacon was definitively saved.

He may be pushing 60, but Clark can still run with the big dogs, and he still gets that dangerous look on his face that makes smart people not want to mess with him.

There are many stupid people in the world, however, and Clancy has a field day with a bunch of environmental extremists who are the chief (though not only) villains of "Rainbow Six." These wackos have concocted a biological blowout more deadly than anything Saddam Hussein could ever contrive, an apocalypse that will heal Mother Nature and get the buffaloes roaming again on the prairie.

The extremists of "the Project" first manifest themselves in a puzzling series of terrorist strikes, which conveniently begin just as Clark's tautly trained Rainbow squadron is ready for action. But why, they wonder, are they being called upon to counter such incidents as a hostage scenario at a Swiss bank, a high-level kidnapping at a German Schloss and a raid on a Spanish amusement park in which innocent children - two of them in wheelchairs - are held at gunpoint?

Could these incidents be related? That's the question John Clark ponders, but all Clancy fans know the answer: You bet your nuke-launching sub they're related.










http://www.icao.int/publications/pages/doc7300.aspx


INTERNATIONAL CIVIL AVIATION ORGANIZATION

A United Nations Specialized Agency


Convention on International Civil Aviation - Doc 7300

Convention on International Civil Aviation (also known as Chicago Convention), was signed on 7 December 1944 by 52 States.



http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/International_Civil_Aviation_Organization


International Civil Aviation Organization

From Wikipedia, the free encyclopedia

The International Civil Aviation Organization (ICAO), is a specialized agency of the United Nations. It codifies the principles and techniques of international air navigation and fosters the planning and development of international air transport to ensure safe and orderly growth.


Registered codes

Both ICAO and IATA have their own airport and airline code systems. ICAO uses 4-letter airport codes










http://www.e-reading.org.ua/bookreader.php/71211/Clancy_-_Rainbow_Six.html


Tom Clancy

Rainbow Six [ RACKETEER INFLUENCED AND CORRUPT ORGANIZATIONS US Title 18 ]


It was believed by some in this part of the state that Foster had killed a fish-and-game cop. As a result, he was leery of local police-and the highway patrol people didn't like him to go a mile over the limit. But though the car had been found-burned out, forty miles away-the body of the missing officer had not, and that was that. There weren't many people around to be witnesses in this part of the state, even with a new house five miles away. Mark sipped his bourbon and leaned back in the leather chair. "Nice to be part of nature, isn't it?"

"Yes, sir. It surely is. Sometimes I think I kinda understand the Indians, y'know?"

"Know any?"

'Oh, sure. Charlie Grayson, he's a Nez Perce, hunting guide, got my horse off o'him. I do that, too, to make some cash sometimes, mainly take a horse into the high country, really, meet people who get it. And the elk are pretty thick up there."

"What about bear?"

"Enough," Foster replied. "Mainly blacks, but some grizz'."

"What do you use? Bow?"

A good-natured shake of the head. "No, I admire the Indians, but I ain't one myself. Depends on what I'm hunting, and what country I'm doing it in. Bolt-action.300 Winchester Mag mainly, but in close country, a semi auto slug shotgun. Nothing like drillin' three-quarter-inch holes when you gotta, y'know?"

"Handload?"

"Of course. It's a lot more personal that way. Gotta show respect for the game, you know, keep the gods of the mountains happy."

Foster smiled at the phrase, in just the right sleepy way, Mark saw. In every civilized man was a pagan waiting to come out, who really believed in the gods of the mountains, and in appeasing the spirits of the dead game. And so did he, really, despite his technical education.

"So, what do you do, Mark?"

"Molecular biochemistry, Ph.D., in fact."

"What's that mean?"

"Oh, figuring out how life happens. Like how does a bear smell so well," he went on, lying. "It can be interesting, but my real life is coming out to places like this, hunting, meeting people who really understand the game better than I do. Guys like you," Mark concluded, with a salute of his glass. "What about you?"

"Ah, well, retired now. I made some of my own. Would you believe geologist for an oil company?"

"Where'd you work?"

"All over the world. I had a good nose for it, and the oil companies paid me a lot for finding the right stuff, y'know? But I had to give it up. Got to the point-well, you fly a lot, right?"

"I get around," Mark confirmed with a nod.

"The brown smudge," Foster said next.

"Huh?"

"Come on, you see it all over the damned world. Up around thirty thousand feet, that brown smudge. Complex hydrocarbons, mainly from passenger jets. One day I was flying back from Paris - connecting flight from Brunei, I came the wrong way 'round 'cuz I wanted to stop off in Europe and meet a friend. Anyway, there I was, in a fuckin'747, over the middle of the fucking Atlantic Ocean, like four hours from land, y'know? First-class window seat, sitting there drinking my drink, lookin' out the window, and there it was, the smudge - that goddamned brown shit, and I realized that I was helpin' make it happen, dirtyin' up the whole fuckin' atmosphere.

"Anyway," Foster went on, "that was the moment of my… conversion, I guess you'd call it. I tendered my resignation the next week, took my stock options, cashed in half a mil worth, and bought this place. So, now, I hunt and fish, do a little guide work in the fall, read a lot, wrote a little book about what oil products do to the environment, and that's about it."

It was the book that had attracted Mark's attention, of course. The brown-smudge story was in its poorly written preface. Foster was a believer, but not a screwball. His house had electricity and phone service. Mark saw his high-end Gateway computer on the floor next to his desk. Even satellite TV, plus the usual Chevy pickup truck with a gun-rack in the back window… and a diesel-powered backhoe. So, maybe he believed, but he wasn't too crazy about it. That was good, Mark thought. He just had to be crazy enough. Foster was. Killing the fish-and-game cop was proof of that.



- posted by H.V.O.M - Kerry Wayne Burgess 10:49 PM Pacific Time Seattle USA Friday 19 April 2013