tc.redrabbit-第51章

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d　have　movie　film　of　him　buggering　Andropov's　pet　goat　and　not　be　able　to　do　a　thing　about　it。　He　was　technically　a　diplomat；　and　protected　by　the　Vienna　Convention；　which　made　his　person　inviolable…even　in　time　of　war；　though　things　got　a　little　dicier　then。　But　that；　Foley　judged；　was　not　a　problem。　He'd　be　fried　like　everyone　else　in　Moscow　then；　and　so　would　not　be　lonely　in　whatever　afterlife　spies　inhabited。
　　　He　wrenched　his　mind　away　from　the　irrelevancies；　entertaining　though　they　might　be。　It　came　down　to　one　thing：　Would　his　friend　Ivan　take　the　next　step；　or　would　he　just　fade　back　into　the　woodwork；　taking　satisfaction　that　he'd　managed　to　make　the　U。S。　Embassy　dance　to　his　tune　one　cool　Moscow　morning？　To　find　that　out；　you　had　to　turn　over　the　cards。　Would　it　be　blackjack；　or　just　a　pair　of　fours？
　　　That's　why　you　got　into　this　business；　Ed；　Foley　reminded　himself…the　thrill　of　the　chase。　It　sure　as　hell　was　a　thrill；　even　if　the　game　disappeared　into　the　mists　of　the　forest。　It　was　more　fun　skinning　the　bear　than　smelling　it。
　　　Why　was　this　guy　doing　what　he　was　doing？　Money？　Ideology？　Conscience？　Ego？　Those　were　the　classic　reasons；　as　summarized　by　the　acronym　MICE。　Some　spies　just　wanted　the　mayonnaise　jar　full　of　one…hundred…dollar　bills。　Some　came　to　believe　in　the　politics　of　the　foreign　countries　they　served　with　the　religious　fervor　of　the　newly　converted。　Some　were　troubled　because　their　Motherland　was　doing　something　they　couldn't　abide。　Some　just　knew　they　were　better　men　than　their　bosses；　and　this　was　a　way　to　get　even　with　the　sons…of…bitches。
　　　Historically；　ideological　spies　were　the　most　productive。　Men　would　put　their　lives　on　the　betting　line　for　their　beliefs…which　was　why　religious　wars　were　so　bloody。　Foley　preferred　the　monetarily　motivated。　They　were　always　rational；　and　they'd　take　chances；　because　the　bigger　the　risk；　the　greater　their　reward。　Ego…driven　agents　were　touchy　and　troublesome。　Revenge　was　never　a　pretty　motive　for　doing　anything；　and　those　people　were　usually　unstable。　Conscience　was　almost　as　good　as　ideology。　At　least　they　were　driven　by　a　principle　of　sorts。　The　truth　of　the　matter　was　that　CIA　paid　its　agents　well；　just　out　of　the　spirit　of　fair　play　if　nothing　else；　and　besides；　it　didn't　hurt　to　have　that　word　out　on　the　street。　Knowing　that　you'd　be　properly　pensated　made　for　one　hell　of　a　tiebreaker　for　those　who　had　trouble　making　up　their　minds。　Whatever　your　baseline　motivation；　being　paid　was　always　attractive。　The　ideological　needed　to　eat；　too。　So　did　the　conscience…driven。　And　the　ego　types　saw　that　living　well　was　indeed　a　pretty　good　form　of　revenge。
　　　Which　one　are　you；　Ivan？　Foley　wondered。　What　is　driving　you　to　betray　your　country？　The　Russians　were　a　ferociously　patriotic　people。　When　Stephen　Decatur　said；　〃Our　country；　right　or　wrong；〃　he　could　well　have　been　speaking　as　a　Russian　citizen。　But　the　country　was　so　badly　run…tragically　so。　Russia　had　to　be　the　world's　unluckiest　nation…first　too　large　to　be　governed　efficiently；　then　taken　over　by　the　hopelessly　inept　Romanovs；　and　then；　when　even　they　couldn't　hold　back　the　vitality　of　their　nation；　dropped　screaming　into　the　bloody　maw　of　the　First　World　War；　suffering　such　huge　casualties　that　Vladimir　Ilyich　lyanov…Lenin…had　been　able　to　take　over　and　set　in　place　a　political　regime　calculated　to　do　destruction　to　itself；　then　handing　the　wounded　country　over　to　the　most　vicious　psychopath　since　Caligula；　in　the　person　of　Josef　Stalin。　The　accumulation　of　that　sort　of　abuse　was　beginning　to　shake　the　faith　of　the　people　here。。。
　　　Your　mind　sure　is　wandering；　Foley；　the　Chief　of　Station　told　himself。　Another　half　hour。　He'd　leave　the　embassy　on　time　and　catch　the　metro；　with　his　topcoat　open　and　loose　around　him；　and　just　wait　and　see。　He　headed　off　to　the　men's　room。　Occasionally；　his　bladder　got　as　excited　as　his　intellect。
　　　Across　town；　Zaitzev　took　his　time。　He'd　be　able　to　write　on　only　one　message　blank…throwing　one　away　in　plain　view　was　too　dangerous；　the　burn　bag　could　not　be　trusted；　and　he　could　hardly　light　one　up　in　his　ashtray…and　so　he　mentally　posed　his　message；　then　rethought　the　words；　then　rethought　them　again；　and　again；　and　again。
　　　The　process　took　him　more　than　an　hour　in　full；　and　then　he　was　able　to　write　it　up　surreptitiously；　fold　it；　and　tuck　it　into　his　cigarette　pack。
　　　Little　Eddie　slid　his　favorite　Transformers　tape　into　the　VCR。　Mary　Pat　watched　idly；　behind　her　son's　rapt　attention　on　the　living　room　floor。　Then　it　hit　her。
　　　That's　what　I　am；　she　realized。　I　transform　myself　from　ditsy　blonde　housewife　to　CIA　spy。　And　I　do　it　seamlessly。　The　thought　appealed　to　her。　She　was　giving　the　Soviet　Bear　a　peptic　ulcer；　hopefully　a　bleeding　one　that　wouldn't　be　fixed　by　drinking　milk　and　taking　Rolaids。　In　another　forty　minutes；　Ed　will　find　out　if　his　new　friend　really　wants　to　play　and；　if　he　wants　to　play；　I'll　have　to　work　the　agent。　I'll　hold　his　hand　and　lead　him　along　and　take　his　information　and　send　it　off　to　Langley。
　　　What　will　he　give　us？　she　wondered。　Something　nice　and　juicy？　Does　he　work　in　their　munications　center；　or　does　he　just　have　access　to　a　blank　message　pad？　Probably　a　lot　of　those　in　The　Centre。。。　well；　maybe；　depending　on　their　security　procedures。　Those　would　be　pretty　stringent。　Only　a　very　few　people　would　be　trusted　with　KGB　signals。。。
　　　And　that　was　the　worm　dangling　on　the　hook；　she　knew；　watching　a　Kenworth　diesel　tractor　turn　into　a　two…legged　robot。　This　Christmas；　they'd　have　to　start　buying　those　toys。　She　wondered　if　Little　Eddie　would　need　help　transforming　them。
　　　The　time　came。　ed　would　leave　the　embassy　door　exactly　on　time；　which　would　be　a　fort　to　his　shadow；　if　any。　If　there　was；　he'd　notice　a　green　tie　again；　and　think　that　the　earlier　one　was　not　all　that　unusual…not　unusual　enough　to　be　any　sort　of　signal　for　an　agent　he　might　be　working。　Even　the　KGB　couldn't　think　every　embassy　employee　was　a　spook；　Foley　told　himself。　Despite　the　paranoia　that　was　pandemic　in　the　Soviet　Union；　even　they　knew　the　rules　of　the　game；　and　his　friend　from　the　The　New　York　Times　had　probably　told　his　own　contacts　that　Foley　was　a　dumb　son　of　a　bitch　who　hadn't　even　made　it　as　a　police　reporter　in　the　Big　Apple；　where　the　busy　police　made　that　field　about　as　difficult　as　watching　TV　on　a　weekend。　The　best　possible　cover　for　a　spook　was　to　be　too　dumb；　and　what　better　person　to　set　it　up　for　him　than　that　arrogant　ass；　Anthony…never　just　plain　Tony…Prince。
　　　Out　on　the　street；　the　air　was　cool　with　approaching　autumn。　Ed　wondered　if　the　Russian　winter　was　all　it　was　cracked　up　to　be。　If　so；　you　could　always　dress　for　cold　weather。　It　was　heat　that　Foley　detested；　though　he　remembered　playing　stickball　out　on　the　streets；　and　the　sprinklers　on　the　tops　of　some　of　the　fire　hydrants。　The　innocence　of　youth　was　far　behind　him。　A　damned　far　way　behind；　the　chief　of　station　reflected；　checking　his　watch　as　he　entered　the　metro　station。　As　before；　the　efficiency　of　the　metro　worked　for　him；　and　he　entered　the　usual　subway　car。
　　　There；　Zaitzev　thought；　maneuvering　that　way。　His　American　friend　was　doing　everything　exactly　as　before；　reading　his　paper；　his　right　hand　on　the　grab　rail；　his　raincoat　hanging　loose　around　him。。。　and　in　a　minute　or　two；　he　was　standing　next　to　him。
　　　Foley's　peripheral　vision　was　still　working；　The　shape　was　there；　dressed　exactly　as　before。　Okay；　Ivan；　make　your　transfer。。。　Be　careful；　boy；　be　very　careful；　his　mind　said；　knowing　that　this　sort　of　thing　was　going　to　be　too　dangerous　to　sustain。　No；　they'd　have　to　set　up　a　dead…drop　somewhere　convenient。　But　first　they'd　have　to　do　a　meet；　and　he'd　let　Mary　Pat　handle　that　one　for　him；　probably。　She　just　had　a　better　disguise。。。
　　　Zaitzev　waited　until　the　train　slowed。　Bodies　shifted　as　it　did　so；　and　he　reached　quickly　in　and　out　of　the　offered　pocket。　Then　he　turned　away；　slowly；　not　so　far　as　to　be　obvious；　just　a　natural　motion　easily　explained　by　the　movement　of　the　metro　car。
　　　Yes！　well　done；　Ivan。　Every　fiber　of　his　being　wanted　to　turn　and　eyeball　the　guy；　but　the　rules　didn't　allow　that。　If　there　was　a　shadow　in　the　car；　those　people　noticed　that　sort　of　thing；　and　it　wasn't　Ed　Foley's　job　to　be　noticed。　So　he　waited　patientiy　for　his　subway　stop；　and　this　time　he　turned　right；　away　from　Ivan；　and　made　his　way　off　the　car；　onto　the　platform；　and　up　to　the　cool　air　on　the　street。
　　　He　didn't　reach　into　his　pocket。　Instead；　he　walked　all　the　way　home；　as　normal　as　a　sunset　on　a　clear　day；　into　the　elevator；　not　reaching　in　even　then；　because　there　could　well　be　a　video　camera　in　the　ceiling。
　　　Not　until　he　got　into　his　flat　did　Foley　pull　out　the　message　blank。　This　time　it　was　anything　but　blank；　covered　with　black　ink　letters…as　before；　written　in　English。　Whoever　Ivan　was；　Foley　reflected；　he　was　educated；　and　that　was　very　good　news；　wasn't　it？
　　　〃Hi；　Ed。〃　A　kiss　for　the　microphones。　〃Anything　interesting　happen　at　work？〃
　　　〃The　usual　crap。　What's　for　dinner？〃
　　　〃Fish；〃　she　answered；　looking　at　the　paper　in　her　husband's　hand　and　giving　an　immediate　thumbs…up。
　　　Bingo！　They　both　thought。　They　had　an　agent。　A　no…shit　spy　in　KGB。　Working　for　them。
　　　
　　　CHAPTER　16　…　A　FUR　HAT　FOR　THE　WINTER
　　　〃They　did　what？〃　Jack　asked。
　　　〃They　broke　for　lunch　in　the　middle　of　surgery　and　went　to　a　pub　and　had　a　beer　each！〃　Cathy　replied；　repeating　herself。
　　　〃Well；　so　did　I。〃
　　　〃You　weren't　doing　surgery！〃
　　　〃What　would　happen　if　you　did　that　at　home？〃
　　　〃Oh；　nothing　much；〃　Cathy　said。　〃You'd　probably　lose　your　license　to　practice　medicine…after　Bernie　amputated　your　fucking　hands　with　a　chain　saw！〃
　　　That　got　Jack's　attention。　Cathy　didn't　talk　like　that。
　　　〃No　shit？〃
　　　〃I　had　a　bacon；　lettuce；　and　tom…AH…to　sandwich　with　chips…that's　French　fries　for　us　dumb　colonials。　I　had　a　Coke；　by　the　way。〃
　　　〃Glad　to　hear　it；　doctor。〃　Ryan　walked　over　to　give　his　wife　a　kiss。　She　appeared　to　need　it。
　　　〃I've　never　seen　anything　like　it；〃　she　went　on。　〃Oh；　maybe　out　in　Bumfuck；　Montana；　they　do　stuff　like　that；　but　not　in　a　real　hospital。〃
　　　〃Cathy；　settle　down。　You're　talking　like　a　stevedore。〃
　　　〃Or　maybe　a　foulmouthed　ex…Marine。〃　She　finally　managed　a　smile。　〃Jack；　I　didn't　say　anything。　I　didn't　know　what　to　say。　Those　two　eye　cutters　are　technically　senior　to　me；　but　if　they　ever　tried　that　sort　of　shit　at　home；　they'd　be　finished。　They　wouldn't　even　let　them　work　on　dogs。〃
　　　〃Is　the　patient　okay？〃
　　　〃Oh；　yeah。　The　frozen　section　came　back　cold　as　ice…totally　benign；　not　malignant…and　we　took　out　the　growth　and　closed　him　back　up。　He'll　be　just　fine…four　or　five　days　for　recovery。　No　impairment　to　his　sight；　no　more　headaches；　but　those　two　bozos　operated　on　him　with　booze　in　their　systems！〃
　　　〃No　harm；　no　foul；　babe；〃　he　suggested；　lamely。
　　　〃Jack；　it　isn't　supposed　to　be　that　way。〃
　　　〃So　report　them　to　your　friend　Byrd。〃
　　　〃I　ought　to。　I　really　ought　to。〃
　　　〃And　what　would　happen？〃
　　　That　lit　her　up　again：　〃I　don't　know！〃
　　　〃It's　a　big　deal　to　take　the　bread　off　somebody's　table；　and　you'd　be　branded　as　a　troublemaker；〃　Jack　warned。
　　　〃Jack；　at　Hopkins；　I'd've　called　them　on　it　right　then　and　there；　and　there