tc.redrabbit-第16章

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as　I　said；　so　many　of　them　do　not　really　believe　in　the　substance　of　their　system。　Sometimes　they　think　like　tribal　Russians；　whose　outlook　on　the　world　has　always　been　skewed　by　our　standards。　Russian　history　is　such　a　muddle　that　studying　it　has　its　own　limits　in　terms　of　Western　logic。　They're　xenophobes　of　a　very　high　order；　always　have　been…but　for　fairly　reasonable　historical　causes。　They've　always　had　threats　from　both　east　and　west。　The　Mongols；　for　example；　have　been　as　far　west　as　the　Baltic；　and　the　Germans　and　French　have　hammered　on　the　gates　of　Moscow。　As　we　say；　they're　a　rum　lot。　One　thing　I　do　know　is　that　no　sane　man　wants　them　as　masters。　A　pity；　really。　They　have　so　many　marvelous　poets　and　posers。〃
　　　〃Flowers　in　a　junkyard；〃　Ryan　suggested。
　　　〃Exactly；　Jack。　Very　good。〃　Harding　fished　for　his　pipe　and　lit　it　with　a　kitchen　match。　〃So；　how　do　you　like　the　beer？〃
　　　〃Excellent；　much　better　than　at　home。〃
　　　〃I　don't　know　how　you　Americans　can　stomach　it。　But　your　beef　is　better　than　ours。〃
　　　〃Corn…fed。　Turns　out　better　meat　than　grass　does；〃　Ryan　sighed。　〃I'm　still　getting　used　to　life　over　here。　Every　time　I　start　feeling　fortable；　something　hits　me　like　a　snake　in　high　grass。〃
　　　〃Well；　you've　had　less　than　a　week　to　get　used　to　us。〃
　　　〃My　kids　will　be　talking　funny。〃
　　　〃Civilized；　Jack；　civilized；〃　Harding　observed　with　a　good　laugh。　〃You　Yanks　do　ravage　our　language；　you　know。〃
　　　〃Yeah；　right。〃　Pretty　soon　he'd　refer　to　baseball　as　〃rounders；〃　which　was　a　girls'　game　over　here。　They　didn't　know　dick　about　a　good　fastball。
　　　For　his　part；　Ed　Foley　found　himself　suddenly　outraged　by　the　bugs　that　he　knew　had　to　be　in　his　apartment。　Every　time　he　made　love　to　his　wife；　some　KGB　desk　weenie　was　listening　in。　Probably　a　nice　perverse　diversion　for　their　counterespionage　spooks；　but　it　was；　by　God；　the　Foleys'　love　life；　and　was　nothing　sacred？　He　and　Mary　Pat　had　been　briefed　in　on　what　to　expect；　and　his　wife　had　actually　joked　about　it；　on　the　flight　over…you　couldn't　bug　airplanes。　She'd　called　it　a　way　of　showing　those　barbarians　how　real　people　lived；　and　he'd　laughed；　but　here　and　now　it　wasn't　so　goddamned　funny。　It　was　like　being　an　animal　in　the　goddamned　zoo；　with　people　watching　and　laughing　and　pointing。　Would　KGB　keep　a　log　of　how　often　he　and　his　wife　got　it　on？　They　might；　he　thought；　looking　for　marital　difficulties　as　a　pretext　for　recruiting　him　or　Mary　Pat。　Everyone　did　it。　So；　they'd　have　to　make　love　regularly　just　to　discourage　that　possibility；　though　playing　a　reverse　false…flag　did　have　interesting　theoretical　possibilities　of　its　own。。。　No；　the　Station　Chief　decided；　it'd　be　an　unnecessary　plication　for　their　stay　in　Moscow；　and　being　Chief　of　Station　was　already　plex　enough。
　　　Only　the　ambassador；　the　defense　attache；　and　his　own　officers　were　allowed　to　know　who　he　was。　Ron　Fielding　was　the　overt　COS；　and　his　job　was　to　wiggle　like　a　good　worm　on　the　hook。　When　parking　his　car；　he'd　occasionally　leave　his　sun　visor　down　or　rotated　ninety　degrees；　sometimes　he'd　wear　a　flower　in　his　buttonhole　and　take　it　out　halfway　down　a　block　as　though　signaling　someone　or；　best　of　all；　he'd　bump　into　people；　simulating　a　brush…pass。　That　sort　of　thing　could　make　the　Second　Chief　Directorate　counterspooks　go　nuts…race　after　innocent　Muscovites；　perhaps　snatch　a　few　up　for　interrogations；　or　put　a　squad　of　officers　on　the　poor　random　bastard　to　watch　everything　he　did。　If　nothing　else；　it　forced　KGB　to　waste　assets　on　fool's　errands；　chasing　after　phantom　geese。　Best　of　all；　it　persuaded　them　that　Fielding　was　a　clumsy　Station　Chief。　It　always　made　the　other　side　feel　good；　and　that　was　always　a　smart　move　for　CIA。　The　game　he　played　made　other　power　moves　look　like　a　game　of　Chutes　and　Ladders。
　　　But　the　fact　that　there　were　probably　bugs　in　his　bedroom　pissed　him　off。　And　he　couldn't　do　the　usual　things　to　contravene　them；　like　playing　the　radio　and　talking　under　it。　No；　he　couldn't　act　like　a　trained　spook。　He　had　to　be　dumb；　and　playing　dumb　required　brains　and　discipline　and　the　utmost　thoroughness。　Not　a　single　mistake　was　allowed。　That　one　mistake　could　get　people　killed；　and　Ed　Foley　had　a　conscience。　It　was　a　dangerous　thing　for　a　field　spook　to　have；　but　it　was　impossible　not　to　have。　You　had　to　care　about　your　agents；　those　foreign　nationals　who　worked　for　you　and　fed　you　information。　All…well；　nearly　all…had　problems。　The　big　one　here　was　alcoholism。　He　expected　every　agent　he　ran　into　to　be　a　boozer。　Some　were　quite　mad。　Most　were　people　who　〃wanted　to　get　even…with　their　bosses；　with　the　system；　with　the　country；　with　munism；　with　their　spouses；　with　the　whole　perverse　world。　Some；　a　very　few；　might　be　genuinely　attractive　people。　But　Foley　would　not　pick　them。　They　would　pick　him。　And　he'd　have　to　play　the　cards　he　was　dealt。　The　rules　of　this　game　were　hard　and　damned　harsh。　His　life　was　safe。　Oh；　sure；　he　might　get　a　little　roughed　up…or　Mary　Pat…but　they　both　had　diplomatic　passports；　and　to　seriously　mess　with　him　meant　that　somewhere　in　America　some　Soviet　diplomat　of　fairly　high　rank　might　get　a　rough　time　at　the　hands　of　some　street　thugs…who　might　or　might　not　be　trained　law…enforcement　personnel。　Diplomats　didn't　like　such　things；　and　so　it　was　avoided；　in　fact；　the　Russians　played　by　the　rules　more　faithfully　than　the　Americans　did。　So　he　and　his　wife　were　safe；　but　their　agents；　if　and　when　blown；　would　get　less　mercy　than　a　mouse　would　get　from　a　particularly　sadistic　cat。　There　was　still　torture　here；　still　interrogations　that　lasted　into　long　hours。　Due　process　of　law　was　whatever　the　government　at　the　time　felt　like　it　was。　And　the　appeals　process　was　limited　to　whether　or　not　the　shooter's　pistol　was　loaded。　So　he　had　to　treat　his　agents；　whether　drunks；　whores；　or　felons；　like　his　own　children；　changing　their　diapers；　getting　them　a　bedtime　glass　of　water；　and　wiping　their　noses。
　　　All　in　all；　Ed　Foley　thought；　it　was　one　hell　of　a　game。　And　it　kept　him　awake　at　night。　Could　the　Russians　tell　that？　Were　there　cameras　in　the　walls？　Wouldn't　that　be　perverse？　But　American　technology　wasn't　that　advanced；　so　he　was　damned　sure　the　Russians'　wasn't。　Probably。　Foley　reminded　himself　that　there　were　smart　people　here；　and　a　lot　of　them　worked　for　KGB。
　　　What　amazed　him　was　that　his　wife　slept　the　sleep　of　the　just；　lying　there　next　to　him。　She　really　was　a　better　field　spook　than　he　was。　She　took　to　it　like　a　seal　to　ocean　water；　chasing　after　her　fish。　But　what　about　the　sharks？　He　supposed　it　was　normal　for　a　man　to　worry　about　his　wife；　however　capable　she　might　be　as　a　spook。　That　was　just　how　men　were　programmed；　as　she　was　programmed　to　be　a　mother。　Mary　Pat　looked　like　an　angel　to　him　in　the　dim　light；　the　cute　little　sleep…smile　she　had；　and　the　way　her　baby…fine　blond　hair　always　got　messed　up　the　instant　she　lay　down　on　the　pillow。　To　the　Russians；　she　was　a　potential　spy；　but　to　Edward　Foley　she　was　his　beloved　wife；　workmate；　and　mother　of　his　child。　It　was　so　strange　that　people　could　be　so　many　different　things；　depending　on　who　looked　at　them；　and　yet　all　were　true。　With　that　philosophical　thought…Christ；　he　did　need　sleep！…Ed　Foley　closed　his　eyes。
　　　〃So；　what　did　he　say？〃　Bob　Ritter　asked。
　　　〃He's　not　terribly　pleased；〃　Judge　Moore　replied；　to　nobody's　surprise。　
　　　〃But　he　understands　that　there's　not　a　hell　of　a　lot　we　can　do　about　it。　He'll　probably　make　a　speech　next　week　about　the　nobility　of　the　workingman；　especially　the　unionized　sort。〃　
　　　〃Good；〃　Ritter　grunted。　〃Let　him　tell　the　air…traffic　controllers。〃　The　DDO　was　the　master　of　the　cheap　shot；　though　he　had　the　good　sense　not　to　say　such　things　in　the　wrong　pany。
　　　〃Where's　the　speech？〃　the　DDI　asked。
　　　〃Chicago；　next　week。　There's　a　large　ethnic　Polish　population　there；〃　Moore　explained。　〃He'll　talk　about　the　shipyard　workers；　of　course；　and　point　out　that　he　once　headed　his　own　union。　I　haven't　seen　the　speech　yet；　but　I　expect　it　will　be　mainly　vanilla；　with　a　few　chocolate　chips　tossed　in。〃
　　　〃And　the　papers　will　say　that　he's　courting　the　blue…collar　vote；〃　Jim　Greer　observed。　Sophisticated　as　they　purported　to　be；　the　newspapers　didn't　catch　on　to　much　until　you　presented　it　to　them　with　french　fries　and　ketchup。　They　were　masters　of　political　discourse；　but　they　didn't　know　shit　about　how　the　real　game　was　played　until　they　were　briefed…in；　preferably　with　single…syllable　words。　〃Will　our　Russian　friends　notice？〃
　　　〃Perhaps。　They　have　good　people　reading　the　tea　leaves　at　the　U。S。…Canada　Institute。　Maybe　someone　will　drop　a　word　en　passant　in　a　casual　conversation　over　at　Foggy　Bottom　that　we　look　upon　the　Polish　situation　with　some　small　degree　of　concern；　since　we　have　so　many　American　citizens　of　Polish　ancestry。　Can't　take　it　much　further　than　that　at　the　moment；〃　Moore　explained。
　　　〃So；　we're　concerned　about　Poland；　but　not　the　Pope　right　now；〃　Ritter　clarified　the　situation。
　　　〃We　don't　know　about　that　yet；　do　we？〃　the　DCI　asked　rhetorically。
　　　〃Won't　they　wonder　why　the　Pope　didn't　let　us　in　on　his　threat。。。？〃
　　　〃Probably　not。　The　wording　of　the　letter　suggests　a　private　munication。〃
　　　〃Not　so　private　that　Warsaw　didn't　forward　it　to　Moscow；〃　Ritter　objected。
　　　〃As　my　wife　likes　to　say；　that's　different；〃　Moore　pointed　out。
　　　〃You　know；　Arthur；　sometimes　this　wheels…inside…of…other…wheels　stuff　gives　me　a　headache；〃　Greer　observed。
　　　〃The　game　has　rules；　James。〃
　　　〃So　does　boxing；　but　those　are　a　lot　more　straightforward。〃
　　　〃　'Protect　yourself　at　all　times；'　〃　Ritter　pointed　out。　〃That's　Rule　Number　One　here；　too。　Well；　we　don't　have　any　specific　warnings　yet；　do　we？〃　Heads　shook　wordlessly。　No；　they　didn't。　〃What　else　did　he　say；　Arthur？〃
　　　〃He　wants　us　to　find　out　if　there's　any　danger　to　His　Holiness。　If　anything　happens　to　him；　our　President　is　going　to　be　seriously　pissed。〃
　　　〃Along　with　a　billion　or　so　Catholics；〃　Greer　agreed。
　　　〃You　suppose　the　Russians　might　contract　the　Northern　Irish　Protestants　to　do　the　hit？〃　Ritter　asked；　with　a　nasty　smile。　〃They　don't　like　him　either；　remember。　Something　for　Basil　to　look　into。〃
　　　〃Robert；　that's　a　little　too　far　off　the　wall；　I　think；〃　Greer　analyzed。　〃They　hate　munism　almost　as　much　as　Catholicism；　anyway。〃
　　　〃Andropov　doesn't　think　that　far　outside　the　box；〃　Moore　decided。　〃Nobody　over　there　does。　If　he　decides　to　take　the　Pope　out；　he'll　use　his　own　assets　and　try　to　be　clever　about　it。　That's　how　we'll　know　if；　God　forbid；　it　goes　that　far。　And　if　it　looks　as　if　he's　leaning　that　way；　we'll　have　to　dissuade　him　from　that　notion。〃
　　　〃It　won't　get　that　far。　The　Politburo　is　too　circumspect；〃　said　the　DDL　〃And　it's　too　unsubtle　for　them。　It's　not　the　sort　of　thing　a　chess　player　does；　and　chess　is　still　their　national　game。〃
　　　〃Tell　that　to　Leon　Trotsky；〃　Ritter　said　sharply。
　　　〃That　was　personal。　Stalin　wanted　to　eat　his　liver　with　onions　and　gravy；〃　Greer　replied。　〃That　was　pure　personal　hatred；　and　it　achieved　nothing　on　the　political　level。〃
　　　〃Not　the　way　Uncle　Joe　looked　at　it。　He　was　genuinely　afraid　of　Trotsky…〃
　　　〃No；　he　wasn't。　Okay；　you　can　say　he　was　a　paranoid　bastard；　but　even　he　knew　the　difference　between　paranoia　and　genuine　fear。〃　Greer　knew　that　sta