tc.redrabbit-第31章

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assy　had　made　a　very　shrewd　guess　and　then　ratted　him　out。。。　But　no；　even　then；　KGB　wouldn't　tip　their　hand　this　quickly。　They'd　watch　him　for　a　few　weeks　at　least；　just　to　see　what　else　he　might　lead　them　to。　KGB　played　the　game　too　skillfully　for　that　sort　of　play；　so；　no；　there　wasn't　much　chance　that　whoever　had　searched　his　pocket　was　a　Second　Chief　Directorate　guy。　And　probably　not　a　pickpocket；　either。　Then　what？　Foley　wondered。　He'd　have　to　be　patient　to　find　out；　but　Foley　knew　a　lot　about　patience。　He　kept　on　reading　his　newspaper。　If　it　were　someone　who　wanted　to　do　a　little　business；　why　scare　him　off？　At　the　very　least；　he'd　let　him　feel　clever。　It　was　always　useful　to　help　other　people　feel　smart。　That　way；　they　could　continue　their　mistakes。
　　　Three　more　stops　before　he　got　off　the　subway。　Foley　had　known　up　front　that　it　would　be　a　lot　more　productive　to　ride　it　than　to　drive　the　car。　That　Mercedes　was　just　too　standout…ish　for　this　place。　It　would　make　Mary　Pat　stand　out；　too；　but　to　her　way　of　thinking；　that　worked　for　her　rather　than　against。　His　wife　had　brilliant　field　instincts；　better　than　his；　but　she　often　scared　him　in　her　daring。　It　wasn't　so　much　that　Mary　Pat　was　a　risk…taker。　Every　member　of　the　DO　took　risks。　It　was　her　relish　for　doing　so　that　occasionally　worried　him。　For　him；　playing　with　the　Russians　was　part　of　the　job。　It　was　business；　as　Don　Vito　Corleone　would　have　put　it；　not　personal。　But　for　Mary　Patricia；　it　was　as　personal　as　hell；　because　of　her　grandfather。
　　　She'd　lusted　to　be　part　of　CIA　before　they'd　met　in　the　Student　Union　at　Fordham；　and　then　again　at　the　CIA　recruiter's　desk；　and　they'd　hit　it　off　soon　after　that。　She'd　already　had　her　Russian…language　skills。　She　could　pass　for　a　native。　She　could　alter　her　accent　for　any　region　of　the　country。　She　could　feign　being　an　instructor　in　poetry　at　Moscow　State　University；　and　she　was　pretty；　and　pretty　women　had　an　advantage　over　everyone　else。　It　was　the　oldest　of　prejudices；　that　the　attractive　among　us　had　to　be　good　people；　that　the　bad　people　had　to　be　ugly　because　they　did　ugly　things。　Men　were　especially　deferential　to　pretty　women；　other　women　were　less　so；　because　they　envied　their　looks；　but　even　they　were　nice　by　instinct。　So　Mary　Pat　could　skate　on　a　lot　of　things；　because　she　was　just　that　pretty　American　girl；　that　ditsy　blonde；　because　blondes　were　universally　thought　to　be　dumb；　even　here　in　Russia；　where　they　were　not　all　that　unmon。　The　ones　here　were　probably　natural　blondes；　too；　because　the　local　cosmetics　industry　was　about　as　advanced　as　it　must　have　been　in　twelfth…century　Hungary；　and　there　wasn't　much　Clairol　Blond　#100G　in　the　local　drugstores。　No；　the　Soviet　Union　paid　scant　attention　to　the　needs　of　its　womenfolk；　which　led　his　mind　to　another　question…why　had　the　Russians　stopped　at　only　one　revolution？　In　America　there　would　have　been　hell　to　pay　for　the　lack　of　choices　in　clothes　and　cosmetics　the　women　had　here。。。
　　　The　train　stopped　at　his　station。　Foley　made　his　way　to　the　door　and　walked　to　the　escalator。　Halfway　up；　his　curiosity　got　the　better　of　him。　He　rubbed　his　nose　as　though　with　a　case　of　the　sniffles；　and　fished　in　his　pocket　for　a　handkerchief。　He　rubbed　his　nose　with　it　and　then　shoved　it　in　his　coat　pocket；　which；　he　discovered；　was　empty。　So　what　had　that　been　all　about？　There　was　no　telling。　Just　one　more　random　event　in　a　life　filled　with　them？
　　　But　Edward　Foley　hadn't　been　trained　to　think　in　terms　of　random　events。　He'd　continue　this　regular　schedule；　and　be　sure　to　catch　this　same　subway　train　every　day　for　a　week　or　so；　just　to　see　if　there　might　be　a　repeat。
　　　Albert　Byrd　seemed　a　petent　eye　cutter。　He　was　shorter　and　older　than　Jack。　He　had　a　beard；　black　and　showing　hints　of　gray…like　a　lot　of　beards　in　England；　she'd　noted。　And　tattoos。　More　than　she'd　ever　encountered　before。　Professor　Byrd　was　a　skilled　clinician；　good　with　his　pa　tients；　and　a　very　adept　surgeon；　liked　and　trusted　by　his　nursing　team…always　the　sign　of　a　good　doc；　Cathy　knew。　He　seemed　to　be　a　good　teacher；　but　Cathy　already　knew　most　of　what　he　had　to　teach；　and　knew　more　about　lasers　than　he　did。　The　argon　laser　here　was　new；　but　not　as　new　as　the　one　at　Hopkins；　and　it　would　be　two　weeks　before　they　even　had　a　xenon…arc　laser；　for　which　she　was　Wilmer　Eye　Institute's　best　jockey　at　Hopkins。
　　　The　bad　news　was　in　the　physical　facilities。　Health　care　in　Britain　was　effectively　a　government　monopoly。　Everything　was　free…and；　like　everywhere　in　the　world；　you　got　what　you　paid　for。　The　waiting　rooms　were　far　shabbier　than　Cathy　was　used　to；　and　she　remarked　on　it。
　　　〃I　know；〃　Professor　Byrd　said　tiredly。　〃It's　not　a　priority。〃
　　　〃The　third　case　I　saw　this　morning；　Mrs。　Dover；　she'd　been　on　the　waiting　list　for　eleven　months…for　a　cataract　evaluation　that　took　me　twenty　minutes。　My　God；　Albert；　at　home　her　family　physician　just　calls　my　secretary　and　I　see　her　in　three　or　four　days。　I　work　hard　at　Hopkins；　but　not　that　hard。〃
　　　〃What　would　you　charge？〃
　　　〃For　that？　Oh。。。　two　hundred　dollars。　Since　I'm　an　assistant　professor　at　Wilmer；　I　e　a　little　higher　than　a　new　resident。〃　But；　she　didn't　add；　she　was　a　damned　sight　smarter　than　the　average　resident；　more　experienced；　and　a　faster　worker。　〃Mrs。　Dover　is　going　to　need　surgery　to　correct　it；〃　she　added。　〃Want　me　to　do　it？　〃
　　　〃plicated？〃　Byrd　asked。
　　　She　shook　her　head。　〃Routine　procedure。　About　ninety　minutes'　work　because　of　her　age；　but　it　doesn't　look　as　though　there　should　be　any　plications。〃
　　　〃Well；　Mrs。　Dover　will　go　on　the　list。〃
　　　〃How　long？〃
　　　〃It's　not　an　emergency　procedure。。。　nine　to　ten　months；〃　Byrd　figured。
　　　〃You're　kidding；〃　Cathy　objected。　〃That　long？〃
　　　〃That's　about　normal。〃
　　　〃But　that's　nine　or　ten　months　during　which　she　can't　see　well　enough　to　drive　a　car！〃
　　　〃She　won't　ever　see　a　bill；〃　Byrd　pointed　out。
　　　〃Fine。　She　can't　read　the　newspapers　for　the　best　part　of　a　year。　Albert；　that's　awful！〃
　　　〃It's　our　national　health…care　system；〃　Byrd　explained。
　　　〃I　see；〃　Cathy　said。　But　she　didn't　really。　The　surgeons　here　were　proficient　enough；　but　they　did　only　a　bit　more　than　half　the　procedures　she　and　her　colleagues　did　at　Hopkins…and　she'd　never　felt　overworked　in　the　Maumenee　Building。　Sure；　you　worked　hard。　But　people　needed　you；　and　her　job　was　to　restore　and　improve　the　sight　of　people　who　required　expert　medical　care…and　to　Caroline　Ryan；　M。D。；　FACS；　that　was　a　religious　calling。　It　wasn't　that　the　local　docs　were　lazy；　it　was　just　that　the　system　allowed…nay；　encouraged…them　to　take　a　very　laissez…faire　attitude　toward　their　work。　She'd　arrived　in　a　very　new　medical　world；　and　it　wasn't　all　that　brave。
　　　Neither　had　she　seen　a　CAT　scanner。　They'd　essentially　been　invented　in　Britain　by　EMI；　but　some　bean　counter　in　the　British　government…the　Home　Office；　they'd　told　her…had　decided　that　the　country　only　needed　a　few　of　them；　and　so　most　hospitals　lost　the　lottery。　The　CAT　scan　had　just　e　into　being　a　few　years　before　she'd　entered　the　Johns　Hopkins　University　School　of　Medicine；　but　in　the　ensuing　decade　they'd　bee　as　much　a　part　of　medicine　as　the　stethoscope。　Practically　every　hospital　in　America　had　one。　They　cost　a　million　dollars　apiece；　but　the　patient　paid　for　the　use　of　the　things；　and　they　paid　themselves　off　quickly　enough。　She　only　rarely　needed　one…to　examine　tumors　around　the　eye；　for　example…but　when　you　did；　you　damned　well　needed　it　right　now！
　　　And　at　Johns　Hopkins；　the　floors　were　mopped　every　day。
　　　But　the　people　had　the　same　needs；　and　she　was　a　doc；　and　that；　Cathy　decided；　was　that。　One　of　her　medical　school　colleagues　had　gone　to　Pakistan　and　e　back　with　the　kind　of　experience　in　eye　pathologies　that　you　couldn't　get　in　a　lifetime　in　American　hospitals。　Of　course；　he'd　also　e　back　with　amoebic　dysentery；　which　was　guaranteed　to　lessen　anyone's　enthusiasm　for　foreign　travel。　At　least　that　wouldn't　happen　here；　she　told　herself。　Unless　she　caught　it　in　a　doctor's　waiting　room。
　　　
　　　CHAPTER　9　…　SPIRITS
　　　Thus　far；　Ryan　had　not　managed　to　catch　the　same　train　home　as　his　wife；　always　managing　to　get　home　later　than　she　did。　By　the　time　he　got　home；　he'd　be　able　to　think　about　doing　some　work　on　his　Halsey　book。　It　was　about　70　percent　done；　with　all　the　serious　research　behind　him。　He　just　had　to　finish　the　writing。　What　people　never　seemed　to　understand　was　that　this　was　the　hard　part；　researching　was　just　locating　and　recording　facts。　Making　the　facts　seem　to　e　together　in　a　coherent　story　was　the　difficult　part；　because　human　lives　were　never　coherent；　especially　a　hard…drinking　warrior　like　William　Frederick　Halsey；　Jr。　Writing　a　biography　was　more　than　anything　else　an　exercise　in　amateur　psychiatry。　You　seized　incidents　that　happened　in　his　life　at　randomly　selected　ages　and　education　levels；　but　you　could　never　know　the　little　key　memories　that　formed　a　life…the　third…grade　schoolyard　fight；　or　the　admonishment　from　his　maiden　aunt　Helen　that　resonated　in　his　mind　for　his　entire　life；　because　men　rarely　revealed　such　things　to　others。　Ryan　had　such　memories；　and　some　of　them　appeared　and　disappeared　in　his　consciousness　at　seemingly　random　intervals；　when　the　message　from　Sister　Frances　Mary　in　Second　Grade　at　St。　Matthew's　School　leaped　into　his　memory　as　though　he　were　seven　years　old　again。　A　skilled　biographer　seemed　to　have　the　ability　to　simulate　such　things；　but　it　sometimes　came　down　to　making　things　up；　to　applying　your　own　personal　experiences　to　the　life　of　another　person　and　that　was。。。　fiction；　and　history　wasn't　supposed　to　be　fiction。　Neither　was　an　article　in　a　newspaper；　but　Ryan　knew　from　his　own　experience　that　much　purported　〃news〃　was　made　up　from　whole　cloth。　But　nobody　ever　said　that　writing　a　biography　was　easy。　His　first　book；　Doomed　Eagles；　had　been　in　retrospect　a　much　easier　project。　Bill　Halsey；　Fleet　Admiral；　USN；　had　fascinated　him　since　reading　the　man's　own　autobiography　as　a　boy。　He'd　manded　naval　forces　in　battle；　and　while　that　had　seemed　exciting　to　a　boy　of　ten　years；　it　was　positively　frightening　to　a　man　of　thirty…two；　because　now　he　understood　the　things　that　Halsey　didn't　discuss　in　full…the　unknowns；　having　to　trust　intelligence　information　without　really　knowing　where　it　came　from；　how　it　was　gathered；　how　it　was　analyzed　and　processed；　how　it　was　transmitted　to　him；　and　whether　or　not　the　enemy　was　listening　in。　Ryan　was　now　in　that　loop；　and　having　to　wager　his　life　on　the　work　that　he　did　himself　was　frightening　as　hell…rather　more　so；　actually；　to　be　wagering　the　lives　of　others　whom　he　might　or；　more　likely；　might　not　know。
　　　There　was　a　joke　he　remembered　from　his　time　in　the　Marine　Corps；　Ryan　thought；　as　the　green　English　countryside　slid　past　his　window：　The　motto　of　the　intelligence　services　was　〃We　bet　your　life。〃　That　was　now　his　business。　He　had　to　wager　the　lives　of　others。　Theoretically；　he　might　even　e　up　with　an　intelligence　estimate　that　risked　the　fate　of　his　country。　You　had　to　be　so　damned　sure　of　yourself　and　your　data。。。
　　　But　you　couldn't　always　be　sure；　could　you？　He'd　scoffed　at　many　official　CIA　estimates　to　which　he'd　been　exposed　back　at　Langley；　but　it　was　a　damned　sight　easier　to