tc.redrabbit-第56章

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ad。　And　the　government　actually　paid　him　to　sit　down　for　twelve　hours；　baby…sitting　a　piece　of　cheap　luggage。　It　was　better　than　flying　his　Huey　around　the　Central　Highlands。　Cox　was　long　past　wondering　what　important　information　he　transported　in　his　bag。　And　if　other　people　were　that　interested；　that　was　their　problem。
　　　Ryan　had　gotten　a　hot　three　pages　done…not　a　very　productive　day；　and　he　couldn't　claim　that　the　artistry　of　his　prose　demanded　a　slow　writing　pace。　His　language　was　literate…he'd　learned　his　grammar　from　priests　and　nuns　for　the　most　part；　and　his　word　mechanics　were　serviceable…but　not　particularly　elegant。　In　his　first　book；　Doomed　Eagles；　every　bit　of　artistic　language　he'd　attempted　to　put　into　his　manuscript　had　been　edited　out；　to　his　quiet　and　submissive　fury。　And　so　the　few　critics　who　had　read　and　mented　on　his　historical　epic　had　faintly　praised　the　quality　of　his　analysis；　but　then　tersely　noted　that　it　might　be　a　good　textbook　for　academic　students　of　history；　but　not　something　on　which　a　casual　reader　might　wish　to　waste　his　money。　And　so　the　book　had　netted　7；865　copies　sold…not　much　to　show　for　two　and　a　half　years'　work；　but　that；　Jack　reminded　himself；　was　just　his　first　outing；　and　maybe　a　new　publisher　would　get　him　an　editor　who　was　more　an　ally　than　an　enemy。　He　could　hope；　after　all。
　　　But　the　damned　thing　would　not　get　done　until　he　did　it；　and　three　pages　wasn't　much　to　show　for　a　full　day　in　his　den。　He　was　time…sharing　his　brain　with　another　problem；　and　that　wasn't　a　useful　productivity　tool。
　　　〃How　did　it　go？〃　Cathy　asked；　suddenly　appearing　at　his　shoulder。
　　　〃Not　too　bad；〃　he　lied。
　　　〃Where　are　you　up　to？〃
　　　〃May。　Halsey　is　fighting　off　his　skin　disease。〃
　　　〃Dermatitis？　That　can　be　nasty；　even　today；〃　Cathy　noted。　〃It　can　drive　the　poor　patients　crazy。〃
　　　〃Since　when　are　you　a　dermatologist？〃
　　　〃M。D。；　Jack；　remember？　I　may　not　know　it　all；　but　I　know　most　of　it。〃
　　　〃All　that；　and　humble；　too。〃　He　made　a　face。
　　　〃Well；　when　you　get　a　cold；　don't　I　take　good　care　of　you？〃
　　　〃I　suppose。〃　She　did；　actually。　〃How　are　the　kids？〃
　　　〃Fine。　Sally　had　a　good　time　on　the　swings；　and　she　made　a　new　friend；　Geoffrey　Froggatt。　His　father's　a　solicitor。〃
　　　〃Great。　Isn't　there　anything　but　lawyers　around　here？〃
　　　〃Well；　there's　a　doctor　and　a　spook；〃　Cathy　pointed　out。　〃Trouble　is；　I　can't　tell　people　what　you　do；　can　I？〃
　　　〃So　what　do　you　tell　them？〃　Jack　asked。
　　　〃That　you　work　for　the　embassy。〃　Close　enough。
　　　〃Another　desk…sitting　bureaucrat；〃　he　grumped。
　　　〃Well；　you　want　to　go　back　to　Merrill　Lynch？〃
　　　〃Ugh。　Not　in　this　lifetime。〃
　　　〃Some　people　like　making　tons　of　money；〃　she　pointed　out。
　　　〃Only　as　a　hobby；　babe。〃　Were　he　to　go　back　to　trading；　his　father…in…law　would　gloat　for　a　year。　No；　not　in　this　lifetime。　He'd　served　his　time　in　hell；　like　a　good　Marine。　〃I　have　more　important　things　to　do。〃
　　　〃Like　what？〃
　　　〃I　can't　tell　you；〃　he　countered。
　　　〃I　know　that；〃　his　wife　responded；　with　a　playful　smile。　〃Well；　at　least　it　isn't　insider　trading。〃
　　　Actually；　it　was；　Ryan　couldn't　say…the　nastiest　sort。　Thousands　of　people　working　every　day　to　find　out　things　they　weren't　supposed　to　know；　and　then　taking　action　they　weren't　supposed　to　take。
　　　But　both　sides　played　that　game…played　it　diligently…because　it　wasn't　about　money。　It　was　about　life　and　death；　and　those　games　were　as　nasty　as　they　got。　But　Cathy　didn't　lose　any　sleep　over　the　cancer　tissue　she　consigned　to　the　hospital　incinerator　and　probably　those　cancer　cells　wanted　to　live；　too；　but　that　was　just　too　damned　bad；　wasn't　it？
　　　Colonel　Bubovoy　had　the　dispatch　on　his　desk　and　read　it。　His　hands　didn't　shake；　but　he　lit　a　cigarette　to　help　his　contemplation。　So；　the　Politburo　was　willing　to　go　forward　with　this。　Leonid　Ilyich　himself　had　signed　the　letter　to　the　Bulgarian　Party　chairman。　He'd　have　the　ambassador　call　Monday　morning　to　set　up　the　meeting；　which　ought　not　to　take　too　long。　The　Bulgarians　were　lapdogs　of　the　Soviet　Union；　but　occasionally　useful　lapdogs。　The　Soviets　had　assisted　in　the　murder　of　Georgiy　Markov　on　Westminster　Bridge　in　London…KGB　had　supplied　the　weapon；　if　you　could　call　it　that；　an　umbrella　to　deliver　the　poison…filled　metal　miniball　to　transfer　the　ricin；　and　so　silence　the　annoying　defector　who'd　talked　too　much　on　BBC　World　Service。　That　had　been　a　while；　and　such　debts　had　no　expiration　date；　did　they？　Not　at　this　level　of　statecraft。　So　Moscow　was　calling　in　the　debt。　Besides　that；　there　was　the　agreement　from　1964；　when　it　had　been　agreed　that　DS　would　handle　KGB's　wet　work　in　the　West。　And　Leonid　Ilyich　was　promising　to　transfer　a　full　battalion's　worth　of　the　new　version　of　the　T…72　main…battle　tank；　which　was　always　the　sort　of　thing　to　make　a　munist　chief　of　state　feel　better　about　his　political　security。　And　it　was　cheaper　than　the　MiG…29s　the　Bulgarians　were　asking　for。　As　though　a　Bulgarian　pilot　could　handle　such　an　aircraft…the　Russian　joke　was　that　they　had　to　tuck　their　mustaches　into　the　flight　helmet　before　closing　the　visor；　Bubovoy　reminded　himself。　Mustaches　or　not；　the　Bulgarians　were　regarded　as　the　children　of　Russia…an　attitude　that　went　back　to　the　czars。　And；　for　the　most　part；　they　were　obedient　children；　though　like　them　they　had　little　appreciation　of　right　and　wrong；　so　long　as　they　weren't　caught。　So　he'd　show　proper　respect　for　this　chief　of　state　and　be　received　cordially　as　the　messenger　of　a　greater　power；　and　the　Chairman　would　hem　and　haw　a　little　bit　and　then　agree。　It　would　be　as　stylized　as　a　performance　of　ballet　dancer　Aleksander　Gudonov；　and　just　as　predicable　in　its　conclusion。
　　　And　then　he'd　meet　with　Boris　Strokov　and　get　an　idea　how　quickly　the　operation　might　proceed。　Boris　Andreyevich　would　find　the　prospect　exciting。　This　would　be　the　biggest　mission　of　his　life；　like　playing　in　the　Olympics；　not　so　much　daunting　as　exhilarating；　and　there　was　a　sure　promotion　to　be　had　for　its　successful　pletion…perhaps　a　new　car　for　Strokov　and/or　a　nice　dacha　outside　Sofia。　Or　even　both。　And　for　myself？　the　KGB　officer　wondered。　A　promotion；　certainly。　General's　stars　and　a　return　to　Moscow；　a　plush　office　at　The　Centre；　a　nice　flat　on　Kutusovskiy　Prospekt。　Going　back　to　Moscow　appealed　to　the　rezident；　who'd　spent　a　lot　of　years　outside　the　borders　of　the　Rodina。　Enough；　he　thought。　More　than　enough。
　　　〃Where's　the　courier？〃　Mary　Pat　asked；　vacuuming　the　living　room　rug。
　　　〃Over　Norway　by　now；〃　her　husband　thought　out　loud。
　　　〃I　have　an　idea；〃　she　said。
　　　〃Oh？〃　Ed　asked　with　no　small　degree　of　trepidation。
　　　〃What　if　we　can　get　the　Rabbit　out　and　they　don't　know？〃
　　　〃How　the　hell　do　we　do　that？〃　her　husband　asked；　in　surprise。　What　was　she　thinking　about　now？　〃Getting　him　and　his　family　out　in　the　first　place　won't　exactly　be　easy。〃
　　　She　told　him　the　idea　she'd　evolved　in　her　tricky　little　head；　and　an　original　one　it　was。
　　　Trust　you　to　e　up　with　something　like　that；　he　thought；　with　a　neutral　expression。　But　then　he　started　thinking　about　it。　〃plicated；〃　the　Chief　of　Station　observed　tersely。
　　　〃But　doable；〃　she　countered。
　　　〃Honey；　that's　a　big　thought。〃　But　he　was　thinking　about　it；　Mary　Pat　saw　in　his　eyes。
　　　〃Yeah；　but　if　we　can　pull　it　off；　what　a　coup；〃　she　said；　getting　under　the　sofa。　Eddie　slid　himself　closer　to　the　TV　so　that　he　could　hear　what　the　Transformer　robots　were　saying。　A　good　sign。　If　Eddie　couldn't　hear；　then　neither　would　the　KGB　microphones。
　　　〃It's　worth　thinking　about；〃　Ed　conceded。　〃But　doing　it…damn。〃
　　　〃Well；　they　pay　us　to　be　creative；　don't　they？〃
　　　〃No　way　in　hell　we　could　pull　that　one　off　here〃…not　without　involving　a　whole　lot　of　assets；　some　of　whom　might　not　be　entirely　reliable；　which　was；　of　course；　their　greatest　fear；　and　one　they　couldn't　easily　defend　against。　That　was　one　of　the　problems　in　the　spook　business。　If　the　counterspies　in　KGB　ID'd　one　of　their　assets；　they　were　very　often　clever　about　how　they　handled　it。　They　could；　for　example；　have　a　little　chat　with　the　guy　and　tell　him　to　keep　operating；　and　then；　maybe；　he'd　live　to　the　end　of　the　year。　Their　agents　were　trained　to　give　a　danger…wave…off　signal；　but　who　was　to　say　that　the　agent　would　do　it？　It　demanded　a　lot　from　the　supposed　dedication　of　their　assets；　more　than　some…most…of　them　would　probably　give。
　　　〃So；　there　are　other　places　they　can　go。　Eastern　Europe；　for　example。　Get　them　out　that　way；〃　she　suggested。
　　　〃I　suppose　it's　possible；〃　he　conceded　again。　〃But　the　mission　here　is　to　get　them　out；　not　score　style　points　from　the　East　German　judge。〃
　　　〃I　know；　but　think　about　it。　If　we　can　get　him　away　from　Moscow；　that　gives　us　a　lot　more　flexibility　in　our　options；　doesn't　it？〃
　　　〃Yes；　honey。　It　also　means　munications　problems。〃　And　that　meant　the　risk　of　screwing　everything　up。　The　KISS　principle…〃keep　it　simple；　stupid〃…was　as　much　a　part　of　the　CIA　ethos　as　the　trench　coat　and　fedora　hat　that　people　used　in　bad　movies。　Too　many　cooks　fucked　up　the　soup。
　　　Yet　what　she'd　suggested　had　real　merit。　Getting　the　Rabbit　out　in　a　way　that　made　the　Soviets　think　him　dead　would　mean　that　they'd　take　no　precautions。　It　would　be　like　sending　Captain　Kirk　into　KGB　headquarters　by　transporter…and　invisible…and　extracting　him　without　anyone　knowing　he'd　been　there；　along　with　tons　of　hot　information。　It　would　be　as　close　to　the　perfect　play　as　anything　that　had　ever　happened。　Hell；　Ed　thought；　as　perfect　a　play　as　never　happened　in　the　real　world。　He　reflected　for　a　moment　that　he　was　blessed　to　have　a　wife　as　creative　in　her　work　as　she　was　in　bed。
　　　And　that　was　pretty　damned　good。
　　　Mary　Pat　saw　her　husband's　face；　and　she　knew　how　to　read　his　mind。　He　was　a　cautious　player；　but　she'd　pushed　a　very　sensitive　button；　and　he　was　smart　enough　to　see　the　merit　in　it。　Her　idea　was　a　plication。。。　but　maybe　not　that　great　of　one。　Getting　the　package　out　of　Moscow　would　be　no　day　at　the　beach　under　the　best　of　circumstances。　The　hard　part　would　be　in　crossing　the　Finnish　border…it　was　always　Finland；　and　everyone　knew　it。　There　were　ways　to　do　it；　and　it　mostly　involved　trick　cars　with　hidden　passenger　acmodations。　The　Russians　had　trouble　countering　that　tactic；　because　if　the　driver　of　the　car　had　diplomatic　credentials；　then　international　convention　limited　their　search　options。　Any　diplomat　who　wanted　to　make　fast　money　could　make　a　small　pile　by　smuggling　drugs…and　some　did；　she　was　sure；　and　few　of　them　ever　got　caught。　With　a　get…out…of…jail…free　card；　you　could　acplish　a　lot。　But　even　that　was　not　an　entirely　free　pass。　If　the　Soviets　knew　this　guy　was　missing；　then　rules　might　get　broken　because　the　data　inside　his　head　was　so　valuable。　The　other　side　of　the　diplomatic…rules　violation　was　that　it　would　result　only　in　a　protest；　muddled　up　by　the　public　disclosure　that　an　accredited　foreign　diplomat　was　spying…and　if　some　of　their　diplomats　got　roughed　up　in　the　process；　well；　the　Soviets　had　been　known　to　sacrifice　large　numbers　of　military　forces　for　a　political　end　and　just　think　of　it　as　a　price　of　doing　business。　For　the　information　the　Rabbit　had；　they'd　gladly　shed　blood…including　some　of　their　own。　Mary　Pat　wondered　how　well　this　guy　understood　the　danger　he