tc.redrabbit-第36章

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　　　Zaitzev　managed　a　chuckle。　The　back…and…forth　between　the　head　doctors　and　the　field　officers　would　undoubtedly　be　entertaining　to　read…and；　like　good　clerks；　they　tended　to　read　all　of　the　entertaining　dispatches。
　　　〃You　have　to　wonder　how　such　men　get　to　rule　major　countries；〃　Dobrik　observed；　standing　up　and　lighting　a　cigarette。
　　　〃I　think　they　call　it　the　democratic　process；〃　Zaitzev　responded。
　　　〃Well；　in　that　case；　thanks　be　for　the　Collective　Will　of　the　People　as　expressed　through　the　beloved　Party。〃　Dobrik　was　a　good　Party　member；　despite　the　planned　irony　of　his　remark；　as　was　everyone　in　this　room；　of　course。
　　　〃Indeed；　Kolya。　In　any　case〃…Zaitzev　looked　over　at　the　wall　clock。　He　was　six　minutes　early…〃I　relieve　you；　rade　Major。〃
　　　〃And　I　thank　you；　rade　Major。〃　Dobrik　headed　off　to　the　exit。
　　　Zaitzev　took　the　seat；　still　warm　from　Dobrik's　backside；　and　signed　in　on　the　time　sheet；　noting　the　time。　Next　he　dumped　the　contents　of　the　desk　ashtray　into　the　trash　bucket…Dobrik　never　seemed　to　do　that…and　started　a　new　day　at　the　office。　Relieving　his　colleague　had　been　a　rote　process；　if　a　pleasant　one。　He　hardly　knew　Dobrik；　except　for　these　moments　at　the　start　of　his　day。　Why　anyone　would　volunteer　for　continuous　night　duty　mystified　him。　At　least　Dobrik　always　left　a　clean　desk　behind；　not　one　piled　up　with　unfinished　work；　which　gave　Zaitzev　a　few　minutes　to　get　caught　up　and　mentally　organized　for　the　day。
　　　In　this　case；　however；　those　few　minutes　merely　brought　back　the　images　that；　it　seemed；　were　not　about　to　go　away。　And　so　Oleg　Ivanovich　lit　up　his　first　work　cigarette　of　the　day　and　shuffled　the　papers　on　the　metal　desk　while　his　mind　was　elsewhere；　doing　things　that　he　himself　didn't　want　to　know　about　just　yet。　It　was　ten　minutes　after　the　hour　when　a　cipher　clerk　came　to　him　with　a　folder。
　　　〃From　Station　Washington；　rade　Major；〃　the　clerk　announced。
　　　〃Thank　you；　rade；〃　Zaitzev　acknowledged。
　　　Taking　the　manila　folder；　he　opened　it　and　started　leafing　through　the　dispatches。
　　　Ah；　he　thought；　this　CASSIUS　fellow　has　reported　in。。。　yes；　more　political　intelligence。　He　didn't　know　the　name　or　face　that　went　along　with　CASSIUS；　but　he　had　to　be　an　aide　to　a　senior　parliamentarian；　possibly　even　a　senator。　He　delivered　high…quality　political　intelligence　that　hinted　at　access　to　hard　intelligence　information。　So　a　servant　to　a　very　senior　American　politician　worked　for　the　Soviet　Union；　too。　He　wasn't　paid；　which　made　him　an　ideologically　motivated　agent；　the　very　best　sort。
　　　He　read　through　the　dispatch　and　then　searched　his　memory　for　the　right　recipient　upstairs。。。　Colonel　Anatoliy　Gregorovich　Fokin；　in　the　political　department；　whose　address　was　Washington　Desk；　Line　PR；　First　Department；　First　Chief　Directorate；　up　on　the　fourth　floor。
　　　Outside　of　town；　colonel　Ilya　Fedorovich　Bubovoy　walked　off　his　morning　flight　from　Sofia。　To　catch　it；　he'd　had　to　arise　at　three　in　the　morning；　an　embassy　car　taking　him　to　the　airport　for　the　flight　to　Moscow。　The　summons　had　e　from　Aleksey　Rozhdestvenskiy；　whom　he'd　known　for　some　years　and　who　had　shown　him　the　courtesy　to　call　the　day　before　and　assure　him　that　nothing　untoward　was　meant　by　this　summons　to　The　Centre。　Bubovoy　had　a　clear　conscience；　but　it　was　nice　to　know；　even　so。　You　never　could　be　sure　with　KGB。　Like　children　called　to　the　principal's　office；　officers　were　often　known　to　have　a　few　upper…gastric　butterflies　on　the　way　into　headquarters。　In　any　case；　his　tie　was　properly　knotted；　and　his　good　shoes　shined　properly。　He　did　not　wear　his　uniform；　as　his　identity　as　the　Sofia　rezident　was　technically　secret。
　　　A　uniformed　sergeant　of　the　Red　Army　met　him　at　the　gate　and　led　him　out　to　a　car…in　fact；　the　sergeant　was　KGB；　but　that　wasn't　for　public　knowledge：　Who　knew　if　CIA　or　other　Western　services　had　eyes　at　the　airport？　Bubovoy　picked　up　a　copy　of　Sovietskiy　Sports　a　kiosk　on　the　walk　out　to　the　car。　It　would　be　thirty…five　minutes　in。　Sofia's　soccer　team　had　just　beaten　Moscow　Dynamo；　3…2；　a　few　days　before。　The　colonel　wondered　if　the　local　sportswriters　would　be　calling　for　the　heads　of　the　Moscow　team；　couched　in　appropriate　Marxist　rhetoric；　of　course。　Good　socialists　always　won；　but　the　sportswriters　tended　to　get　confused　when　one　socialist　team　lost　to　another。
　　　Foley　was　on　the　metro　as　well；　running　a　little　late　this　morning。　A　power　failure　had　reset　his　alarm　clock　without　formal　notice；　so　he'd　been　awakened　by　sunlight　through　the　windows　instead　of　the　usual　metallic　buzz。　As　always；　he　tried　not　to　look　around　too　much；　but　he　couldn't　help　checking　for　the　owner　of　the　hand　that　had　searched　his　pocket。　But　none　of　the　faces　looked　back　at　him。　He'd　try　again　that　afternoon；　on　the　train　that　left　the　station　at　17：41；　just　in　case。　In　case　of　what？　Foley　didn't　know；　but　that　was　one　of　the　exciting　things　about　his　chosen　line　of　work。　If　it　had　been　just　happenstance；　all　well　and　good；　but　for　the　next　few　days　he'd　be　on　the　same　train；　in　the　same　coach；　standing　in　much　the　same　place。　If　he　had　a　shadow；　the　man　wouldn't　remark　on　it。　The　Russians　actually　found　it　forting　to　trail　someone　who　followed　a　routine…the　randomness　of　Americans　could　drive　them　to　distraction。　So；　he'd　be　a　〃good〃　American；　and　show　them　what　they　want；　and　they　wouldn't　find　it　strange。　The　Moscow　Chief　of　Station　shook　his　head　in　amazement。
　　　Reaching　his　stop；　he　took　the　escalator　up　to　the　street　level；　and　from　there　it　was　a　short　walk　to　the　embassy；　just　across　the　street　from　Our　Lady　of　the　Microchips；　and　the　world's　largest　microwave　oven。　Foley　always　liked　to　see　the　flag　on　the　pole；　and　the　Marines　inside；　more　proof　that　he　was　in　the　right　place。　They　always　looked　good；　in　their　khaki　shirts　over　dress…blue　uniform　trousers；　bolstered　pistols；　and　white　caps。
　　　His　office　was　as　shabby　as　usual…it　was　part　of　his　cover　to　be　a　little　on　the　untidy　side。
　　　But　his　cover　did　not　include　the　munications　department。　It　couldn't。　Heading　embassy　ms　was　Mike　Russell；　formerly　a　lieutenant　colonel　in　the　Army　Security　Agency…ASA　was　the　Army's　own　munications…security　arm…and　now　a　civilian　with　the　National　Security　Agency；　which　officially　did　the　same　for　the　entire　government。
　　　Moscow　was　a　hardship　tour　for　Russell。　Black　and　divorced…single；　he　didn't　get　much　female　action　here；　since　the　Russians　were　notoriously　dubious　of　people　with　dark　skin。　The　knock　on　the　door　was　distinctive。
　　　〃e　on　in；　Mike；〃　Foley　said。
　　　〃Morning；　Ed。〃　Russell　was　under　six　feet；　and　he　needed　to　watch　his　eating　by　the　look　of　his　waist。　But　he　was　a　good　guy　with　codes　and　ms；　and　that　was　sufficient　for　the　moment。　〃Quiet　night　for　you。〃
　　　〃Oh？〃
　　　〃Yeah；　just　this。〃　He　fished　an　envelope　out　of　his　coat　pocket　and　handed　it　over。　〃Nothing　important；　looks　like。〃　He　had　also　decrypted　the　dispatch。　Even　the　ambassador　wasn't　cleared　as　high　as　the　head　of　munications。　Foley　was　suddenly　glad　for　Russian　racism。　It　made　Mike　that　much　less　likely　to　get　turned。　That　was　a　scary　thought。　Of　all　the　people　in　the　embassy；　Mike　Russell　was　the　one　guy　who　could　rat　everyone　out；　which　was　why　intelligence　services　always　tried　to　corrupt　cipher　clerks；　the　underpaid　and　spat…upon　people　who　had　enormous　information　power　in　any　embassy。
　　　Foley　took　the　envelope　and　opened　it。　The　dispatch　inside　was　lower　than　routine；　proof　positive　that　CIA　was　just　one　more　government　bureaucracy；　however　important　its　work　might　be。　He　snorted　and　entered　the　paper　into　his　shredder；　where　rotating　steel　wheels　reduced　it　to　fragments　about　two　centimeters　square。
　　　〃Must　be　nice　to　get　your　day's　work　done　in　ten　seconds；〃　Russell　observed；　with　a　laugh。
　　　〃Wasn't　like　that　in　Vietnam；　I　bet。〃
　　　〃Not　hardly。　I　remember　once　one　of　my　troops　DF'd　a　VC　transmitter　at　MAC…V　headquarters；　and　that　was　one　busy　night。〃
　　　〃Get　him？〃
　　　〃Oh　yeah；〃　Russell　replied　with　a　nod。　〃The　locals　were　seriously　pissed　about　that　little　dink。　He　came　to　a　bad　end；　they　told　me。〃　Russell　had　been　a　first　lieutenant　then。　A　Detroit　native；　his　father　had　built　B…24　bombers　during　World　War　II；　and　had　never　stopped　telling　his　son　how　much　more　satisfying　that　had　been　than　making　Fords。　Russell　detested　everything　about　this　country　（they　didn't　even　appreciate　good　soul　music！）；　but　the　extra　pay　that　came　with　duty　here…Moscow　was　officially　a　hardship　posting…would　buy　him　a　nice　place　on　the　Upper　Peninsula　someday；　where　he'd　be　able　to　hunt　birds　and　deer　to　his　heart's　content。　〃Anything　to　go　out；　Ed？〃
　　　〃Nope；　not　today…not　yet；　anyway。〃
　　　〃Roger　that。　Have　a　good　one。〃　And　Russell　disappeared　out　the　door。
　　　It　wasn't　like　the　spy　novels…the　job　of　a　CIA　officer　was　posed　of　a　good　deal　more　boredom　than　excitement。　At　least　two…thirds　of　Foley's　time　as　a　field　officer　was　taken　up　with　writing　reports　that　somebody　at　Langley　might　or　might　not　read；　and/or　waiting　for　meets　that　might　or　might　not　e　off。　He　had　case　officers　to　do　most　of　the　street　work；　because　his　identity　was　too　sensitive　to　risk　exposure…something　about　which　he　had　to　lecture　his　wife　on　occasion。　Mary　Pat　just　liked　the　action　a　little　too　much。　It　was　somewhat　worrying；　though　neither　of　them　faced　much　real　physical　danger。　They　both　had　diplomatic　immunity；　and　the　Russians　were　assiduous　about　respecting　that；　for　the　most　part。　Even　if　things　should　get　a　little　rough；　it　would　never　be　really　rough。　Or　so　he　told　himself。
　　　〃Good　morning；　colonel　Bubovoy；〃　Andropov　said　pleasantly；　without　rising。
　　　〃Good　day　to　you；　rade　Chairman；〃　the　Sofia　rezident　replied；　swallowing　his　relief　that　Rozhdestvenskiy　hadn't　lied　to　him。　You　could　never　be　too　careful；　after　all；　or　too　paranoid。
　　　〃How　go　things　in　Sofia？〃　Andropov　waved　him　to　the　leather　seat　opposite　the　big　oak　desk。
　　　〃Well；　rade　Chairman；　our　fraternal　socialist　colleagues　remain　cooperative；　especially　with　Turkish　matters。〃
　　　〃Good。　We　have　a　proposed　mission　to　undertake　and　I　require　your　opinion　of　its　feasibility。〃　The　voice　stayed　entirely　pleasant。
　　　〃And　what　might　that　be？〃　Bubovoy　asked。
　　　Andropov　outlined　the　plans；　watching　his　visitor's　face　closely　for　his　reaction。　There　was　none。　The　colonel　was　too　experienced　for　that；　and　besides；　he　knew　the　look　he　was　getting。
　　　〃How　soon？〃　he　asked。
　　　〃How　quickly　could　you　set　things　up？〃
　　　〃I　will　need　to　get　cooperation　from　our　Bulgarian　friends。　I　know　who　to　go　to…Colonel　Boris　Strokov；　a　very　skillful　player　in　the　DS。　He　runs　their　operations　in　Turkey…smuggling　and　such…which　gives　him　entree　into　Turkish　gangster　organizations。　The　contacts　are　very　useful；　especially　when　a　killing　is　necessary。〃
　　　〃Go　on；〃　the　Chairman　urged　quietly。
　　　〃rade　Chairman；　such　an　operation　will　not　be　simple。　Without　a　means　of　getting　a　gunman　into　the　private　residence　of　the　target；　it　will　mean　making　the　attempt　at　a　public　appearance；　at　which　there　will　necessarily　be　many　people。　We　can　tell　our　gunman　that　we　have　the　means　of　getting　him　away；　but　that　will　be　a　lie；　of　course。　From　a　tactical　point　of　view；　it　would　be　better　to　have　a　second　man　present；　to　kill　him　immediately　af