Ryan sat on the corner of the desk and opened his briefcase. He handed Tyler a folder. “Got some pictures I want you to look at.” “Okay.” Tyler flipped it open. “Whose—a Russian! Big bastard. That’s the basic Typhoon configuration. Lots of modifications, though. Twenty-six missiles instead of twenty. Looks longer. Hull’s flattened out some, too. More beam?” “Two or three meters’ worth.” “I heard you were working with the CIA. Can’t talk about that, right?”
