tc.redrabbit-第2章

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st　sounds　like　what　it　is。〃
　　　Jack　grunted　with　amusement。　〃Yeah；　better　than　fuckup。〃
　　　The　CIA's　effort　to　assassinate　Fidel　Castro；　which　had　been　run　out　of　the　office　of　the　Attorney　General　during　the　time　of　Camelot；　had　been　right　out　of　Woody　Woodpecker；　with　a　sprinkling　of　the　Three　Stooges：　politicians　trying　to　imitate　James　Bond；　a　character　made　up　by　a　failed　Brit　spook。　The　movies　just　weren't　the　real　world；　as　Ryan　had　learned　the　hard　way；　first　in　London；　and　then　in　his　own　living　room。
　　　〃So；　Dan；　how　good　are　they　really？〃
　　　〃The　Brits？〃　Murray　led　Ryan　out　onto　the　front　lawn。　The　removers　were　vetted　by　SIS…but　Murray　was　FBI。　〃Basil　is　world…class。　That's　why　he's　lasted　so　long。　He　was　a　brilliant　field　spook；　and　he　was　the　first　guy　to　get　a　bad　vibe　about　Philby…and　remember；　Basil　was　just　a　rookie。　He's　good　at　administration；　one　of　the　most　agile　thinkers　I've　ever　e　across。　The　local　politicians　on　both　sides　of　the　aisle　like　him　and　trust　him。　That　isn't　easy。　Kinda　like　Hoover　was　for　us　once；　but　without　the　cult…of…personality　thing。　I　like　him。　Good　dude　to　work　with。　And　Basil　likes　you　a　lot；　Jack。〃
　　　〃Why？〃　Ryan　asked。　〃I　haven't　done　much　of　anything。〃
　　　〃Bas　has　an　eye　for　talent。　He　thinks　you　have　the　right　stuff。　He　flat　loved　that　thing　you　dreamed　up　last　year　to　catch　security　leaks…the　Canary　Trap…and　rescuing　their　next　king　didn't　exactly　hurt；　y'know？　You're　going　to　be　a　popular　boy　down　at　Century　House。　If　you　live　up　to　your　billing；　you　might　just　have　a　future　in　the　spook　business。〃
　　　〃Great。〃　Ryan　still　wasn't　entirely　sure　that　was　what　he　wanted　to　do；　though。　〃Dan；　I'm　a　stockbroker　who　turned　into　a　history　teacher；　remember？〃
　　　〃Jack；　that's　behind　you　now。　Look　forward；　will　ya？　You　were　pretty　good　picking　stocks　at　Merrill　Lynch；　right？〃
　　　〃I　made　a　few　bucks；〃　Ryan　admitted。　Actually；　it　was　a　lot　of　bucks；　and　his　portfolio　was　still　growing。　People　were　getting　fat　on　The　Street　back　home。
　　　〃So；　apply　your　brains　to　something　really　important；〃　Dan　suggested。　〃I　hate　to　tell　you；　Jack；　but　there　aren't　that　many　smart　people　in　the　intelligence　munity。　I　know。　I　work　there。　A　lot　of　drones；　a　lot　of　moderately　smart　people；　but　damned　few　stars；　pal。　You　have　the　stuff　to　be　a　star。　Jim　Greer　thinks　so。　So　does　Basil。　You　think　outside　the　box。　I　do；　too。　That's　why　I'm　not　chasing　bank　robbers　in　Riverside；　Philadelphia；　anymore。　But　I　never　made　any　million　bucks　playing　the　market。〃
　　　〃Getting　lucky　doesn't　make　you　a　great　guy；　Dan。　Hell；　Cathy's　dad；　Joe；　has　made　a　lot　more　'n　I　ever　will；　and　he's　an　opinionated；　overbearing　son　of　a　bitch。〃
　　　〃Well；　you　made　his　daughter　the　wife　of　an　honorary　knight；　didn't　you？〃
　　　Jack　smiled　sheepishly。　〃Yeah；　I　suppose　I　did。〃
　　　〃That'll　open　a　lot　of　doors　over　here；　Jack。　The　Brits　do　like　their　titles。〃　He　paused。　〃Now…how　about　I　drag　you　guys　out　for　a　pint？　There's　a　nice　pub　up　the　hill；　The　Gypsy　Moth。　This　moving　stuff'll　drive　you　crazy。　It's　almost　as　bad　as　building　a　house。〃
　　　His　office　was　in　the　first　basement　level　of　The　Centre；　a　security　measure　that　had　never　been　explained　to　him；　but　it　turned　out　there　was　an　exact　counterpart　room　in　the　headquarters　of　the　Main　Enemy。　There；　it　was　called　MERCURY；　messenger　of　the　gods…very　apt；　if　his　nation　acknowledged　the　concept　of　a　god。　The　messages　passed　through　the　code　and　cipher　clerks；　came　to　his　desk；　and　he　examined　them　for　content　and　code　words；　before　routing　them　to　the　proper　offices　and　officers　for　action；　then；　when　the　messages　came　back　down；　he　routed　things　the　other　way。　The　traffic　broke　into　a　regular　routine；　mornings　were　usually　inbound　traffic　and　afternoons　usually　outbound。　The　tedious　part　was　the　encrypting；　of　course；　since　so　many　of　the　people　out　in　the　field　used　one…time　pads　unique　to　themselves…the　single　copies　of　those　pads　were　located　in　the　set　of　rooms　to　his　right。　The　clerks　in　there　transmitted　and　kept　secrets　ranging　from　the　sex　lives　of　Italian　parliamentarians　to　the　precise　targeting　hierarchy　of　American　nuclear…strike　plans。
　　　Strangely；　none　of　them　talked　about　what　they　did　or　what　they　encrypted；　inbound　or　outbound。　The　clerks　were　pretty　mindless。　Perhaps　they　were　recruited　with　those　psychological　factors　in　mind…it　would　not　have　surprised　him。　This　was　an　agency　designed　by　geniuses　for　operation　by　robots。　If　someone　could　actually　build　such　robots；　he　was　sure　they'd　have　them　here；　because　you　could　trust　machines　not　to　diverge　too　greatly　from　their　intended　path。
　　　Machines　couldn't　think；　however；　and　for　his　own　job；　thinking　and　remembering　were　useful　things；　if　the　agency　was　to　function…and　function　it　must。　It　was　the　shield　and　the　sword　of　a　state　which　needed　both。　And　he　was　the　postmaster　of　sorts；　he　had　to　remember　what　went　where。　He　didn't　know　everything　that　went　on　here；　but　he　knew　a　lot　more　than　most　people　in　this　building：　operation　names　and　locations；　and；　often　enough；　operational　missions　and　taskings。　He　generally　did　not　know　the　proper　names　and　faces　of　field　officers；　but　he　knew　their　targets；　knew　the　code　names　of　their　recruited　agents；　and；　for　the　most　part；　knew　what　those　agents　were　providing。
　　　He'd　been　here；　in　this　department；　for　nine　and　a　half　years。　He'd　started　in　1973；　just　after　graduating　from　Moscow　State　University　with　a　degree　in　mathematics；　and　his　highly　disciplined　mind　had　gotten　him　spotted　early　on　by　a　KGB　talent　scout。　He　played　a　particularly　fine　game　of　chess；　and　that；　he　supposed；　was　where　his　trained　memory　came　from；　all　that　study　of　the　games　of　the　old　grandmasters；　so　that　in　a　given　situation　he'd　know　the　next　move。　He'd　actually　thought　of　making　chess　his　career；　but　though　he'd　studied　hard；　it　wasn't　quite　hard　enough；　it　seemed。　Boris　Spassky；　just　a　young　player　himself　then；　had　annihilated　him　six　games　to　none；　with　two　desperate　draws；　and　so　ended　his　hopes　of　fame　and　fortune。。。　and　travel。　He　sighed　at　his　desk。　Travel。　He'd　studied　his　geography　books；　too；　and　in　closing　his　eyes　could　see　the　images…mainly　black…and…white：　Venice's　Grand　Canal；　London's　Regent　Street；　Rio　de　Janeiro's　magnificent　Copacabana　beach；　the　face　of　Mt。　Everest；　which　Hillary　had　climbed　when　he　himself　had　just　been　learning　to　walk。。。　all　those　places　he　would　never　get　to　see。　Not　him。　Not　a　person　with　his　access　and　his　security　clearances。　No；　KGB　was　very　careful　with　such　people。　It　trusted　no　one；　a　lesson　that　had　been　learned　the　hard　way。　What　was　it　about　his　country　that　so　many　tried　to　escape　from　it？　And　yet　so　many　millions　had　died　fighting　for　the　rodina。。。　He'd　been　spared　military　service　because　of　his　mathematics　and　his　chess　potential；　and　then；　he　supposed；　because　of　his　recruitment　to　#2　Dzerzhinskiy　Square。　Along　with　it　came　a　nice　flat；　fully　seventy…five　square　meters；　in　a　recently　finished　building。　Military　rank；　too…he'd　bee　a　senior　captain　within　weeks　of　his　majority；　which；　on　the　whole；　wasn't　too　bad。　Even　better；　he'd　just　started　getting　paid　now　in　certificate　rubles；　and　so　was　able　to　shop　in　the　〃closed〃　stores　for　Western　consumer　goods…and；　best　of　all；　with　shorter　lines。　His　wife　appreciated　that。　He'd　soon　be　in　the　entry　level　of　the　nomenklatura；　like　a　minor　czarist　prince；　looking　up　the　ladder　and　wondering　how　far　he　might　climb。　But　unlike　the　czars；　he　was　here　not　by　blood　but　by　merit…a　fact　that　appealed　to　his　manhood；　Captain　Zaitzev　thought。
　　　Yes；　he'd　earned　his　way　here；　and　that　was　important。　That's　why　he　was　trusted　with　secrets；　this　one　for　example：　an　agent　code…named　CASSIUS；　an　American　living　in　Washington；　it　seemed　he　had　access　to　valuable　political　intelligence　that　was　treasured　by　people　on　the　fifth　floor；　and　which　was　often　seconded　to　experts　in　the　U。S。…Canada　Institute；　which　studied　the　tea　leaves　in　America。　Canada　wasn't　very　important　to　the　KGB；　except　for　its　participation　in　the　American　air…defense　systems；　and　because　some　of　its　senior　politicians　didn't　like　their　powerful　southern　neighbor；　or　so　the　rezident　in　Ottawa　regularly　told　his　superiors　upstairs。　Zaitzev　wondered　about　that。　The　Poles　might　not　love　their　eastern　neighbor　either；　but　the　Poles　mostly　did　what　they　were　told…the　Warsaw　rezident　had　reported　with　unconcealed　pleasure　in　his　dispatch　the　previous　month…as　that　union　hothead　had　found　out　to　his　disfort。　〃Counterrevolutionary　scum〃　had　been　the　term　used　by　Colonel　Igor　Alekseyevich　Tomachevskiy。　The　Colonel　was　thought　to　be　a　rising　star；　due　for　a　posting　to　the　West。　That's　where　the　really　good　ones　went。
　　　Two　and　a　half　miles　across　town；　Ed　Foley　was　first　in　the　door；　with　his　wife；　Mary　Patricia；　just　behind　him；　leading　Eddie　by　the　hand。　Eddie's　young　blue　eyes　were　wide　with　a　child's　curiosity；　but　even　now　the　four…and…a…half…year…old　was　learning　that　Moscow　wasn't　Disney　World。　The　culture　shock　was　about　to　fall　like　Thor's　own　hammer；　but　it　would　expand　his　horizons　a　bit；　his　parents　thought。　As　it　would　theirs。
　　　〃Uh…huh；〃　Ed　Foley　said　on　his　first　look。　An　embassy　consular　officer　had　lived　here　before；　and　he'd　at　least　made　an　effort　to　clean　the　place　up；　no　doubt　helped　by　a　Russian　domestic…the　Soviet　government　provided　them；　and　diligent　they　were。。。　for　both　their　bosses。　Ed　and　Mary　Pat　had　been　thoroughly　briefed　for　weeks…nay；　months…before　taking　the　long　Pan　Am　flight　out　of　JFK　for　Moscow。
　　　〃So；　this　is　home；　eh？〃　Ed　observed　in　a　studiously　neutral　voice。
　　　〃Wele　to　Moscow；〃　Mike　Barnes　told　the　newbies。　He　was　another　consular　officer；　a　career　FSO　on　the　way　up；　and　had　this　week's　duty　as　the　embassy　greeter。　〃The　last　occupant　was　Charlie　Wooster。　Good　guy；　back　at　Foggy　Bottom　now；　catching　the　summer　heat。〃
　　　〃How　are　the　summers　here？〃　Mary　Pat　asked。
　　　〃Kinda　like　Minneapolis；〃　Barnes　answered。　〃Not　real　hot；　and　the　humidity's　not　too　bad；　and　the　winters　are　actually　not　as　severe…I　grew　up　in　Minneapolis；〃　he　explained。　〃Of　course；　the　German　army　might　not　agree；　or　Napoleon；　but；　well；　nobody　ever　said　Moscow　was　supposed　to　be　like　Paris；　right？〃
　　　〃Yeah；　they　told　me　about　the　nightlife；〃　Ed　chuckled。　It　was　all　right　with　him。　They　didn't　need　a　stealthy　Station　Chief　in　Paris；　and　this　was　the　biggest；　ripest　plum　assignment　he'd　never　expected　to　get。　Bulgaria；　maybe；　but　not　the　very　belly　of　the　beast。　Bob　Ritter　must　have　been　really　impressed　by　his　time　in　Tehran。　Thank　God　Mary　Pat　had　delivered　Eddie　when　she　had。　They'd　missed　the　takeover　in　Iran　by；　what；　three　weeks？　It　had　been　a　troublesome　pregnancy；　and　Mary　Pat's　doc　had　insisted　on　their　ing　back　to　New　York　for　the　delivery。　Kids　were　a　gift　from　God；　all　right。。。　Besides；　that　had　made　Eddie　a　New　Yorker；　too；　and　Ed　had　damned　well　wanted　his　son　to　be　a　Yankees　and　Rangers　fan　from　birth。　The　best　news　of　this　assignment；　aside　from　the　professional　stuff；　was　that　he'd　see　the　best　ice　hockey　in　the　world　right　here　in　Moscow。　Screw　the　ballet　and　the　symphony。　These　fuckers　knew　how　to　skate。　Pity　the　Russkies　didn't　understand　baseball。　Probably　too　sophisticated　for　the　muzhiks。　All　those　pitches　to　choos