tc.redrabbit-第57章

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hed　blood…including　some　of　their　own。　Mary　Pat　wondered　how　well　this　guy　understood　the　danger　he　was　in；　and　how　formidable　the　forces　were　arrayed　against　him。　What　it　came　down　to　was　whether　or　not　the　Sovs　knew　something　was　afoot。　If　not；　their　routine　surveillance　procedures；　no　matter　how　thorough；　were　predictable。　If　alerted；　however；　they　could　put　the　entire　city　of　Moscow　under　lockdown。
　　　But　everything　they　did　in　the　CIA's　Clandestine　Service　was　done　carefully；　and　there　were　backup　procedures　for　when　things　went　wrong；　as　well　as　other　measures；　some　desperate；　that　had　proven　to　be　effective　when　you　put　them　in　play。　You　just　tried　to　avoid　doing　that。
　　　〃Finishing　up；〃　she　warned　her　husband。
　　　〃Okay；　Mary　Pat；　you　have　me　thinking。〃　And　with　that　his　formidable　mind　started　sifting　through　ideas。　Sometimes　he　needs　a　little　push；　Mary　Pat　thought；　but　once　you　had　him　going　in　the　right　direction；　he　was　like　George　Patton　with　the　bit　in　his　teeth。　She　wondered　how　much　sleeping　Ed　would　be　doing　tonight。　Well；　she'd　be　able　to　tell；　wouldn't　she？
　　　Basil　likes　you；　Murray　said。　The　womenfolk　were　in　the　kitchen。　Jack　and　Dan　were　out　in　the　garden；　pretending　to　inspect　the　roses。
　　　〃Really？〃
　　　〃Yeah；　a　lot。〃
　　　〃Damned　if　I　know　why；〃　Ryan　said。　〃I　haven't　turned　much　work　out　yet。〃
　　　〃Your　roomie　reports　to　him　about　you　every　day。　Simon　Harding　is　a　er；　in　case　nobody　told　you。　That's　why　he　went　with　Bas　to　Number　Ten。〃
　　　〃Dan；　I　thought　you　were　Bureau；　not　Agency；〃　Jack　noted；　wondering　just　how　far　the　Legal　Attache　spread　himself。
　　　〃Well；　the　guys　down　the　hall　are　pals；　and　I　interface　with　the　local　spooks　some。〃　The　guys　down　the　hall　was　Dan's　way　of　saying　CIA　people。　Yet　again　Jack　wondered　just　which　branch　of　the　government　Murray　actually　belonged　to。　But　everything　about　him　said　〃cop〃　to　one　who　knew　what　to　look　for。　Was　this　some　elaborate　kind　of　disguise；　too？　No；　not　possible。　Dan　had　been　the　personal　troubleshooter　for　Emil　Jacobs；　the　quiet；　petent　FBI　Director；　and　that　was　far　too　elaborate　for　a　government　cover。　Besides；　Murray　didn't　run　agents　in　London；　did　he？
　　　Did　he？　Nothing　was　ever　what　it　seemed　to　be。　Ryan　hated　that　aspect　of　his　CIA　job；　but　he　had　to　admit　that　it　kept　his　mind　fully　awake。　Even　drinking　a　beer　in　his　backyard。
　　　〃Well；　nice　to　hear；　I　suppose。〃
　　　〃Basil's　hard　to　impress；　my　boy。　But　he　and　Judge　Moore　like　each　other。　Jim　Greer；　too。　Basil　just　plain　loves　his　analytical　ability。〃
　　　〃He's　pretty　smart；〃　Ryan　agreed。　〃I've　learned　a　lot　from　him。〃
　　　〃He's　making　you　one　of　his　stars。〃
　　　〃Really？〃　It　didn't　always　seem　that　way　to　Ryan。
　　　〃Haven't　you　noticed　how　quick　he's　moving　you　up？　Like　you　were　a　professor　from　Harvard　or　something；　fella。〃
　　　〃Boston　College　and　Georgetown；　remember？〃
　　　〃Yeah；　well；　us　Jesuit　products　run　the　world…we're　just　humble　about　it。　They　don't　teach　'humble'　at　Harvard。〃
　　　For　sure　they　don't　encourage　their　graduates　to　do　anything　as　plebeian　as　police　work；　Ryan　thought。　He　remembered　the　Harvard　kids　in　Boston；　many　of　whom　thought　they　owned　the　world…because　daddy　had　bought　it　for　them。　Ryan　preferred　to　make　the　purchase　himself；　doubtless　because　of　his　working…class　background。　But　Cathy　wasn't　like　those　upper…class　snots；　and　she　had　been　born　with　a　golden　spoon　in　her　mouth。　Of　course；　nobody　was　ever　disgraced　to　point　to　his　son　or　daughter　the　doctor；　and　certainly　not　to　a　graduate　of　Johns　Hopkins。　Maybe　Joe　Muller　wasn't　so　bad　a　guy　after　all；　Ryan　thought　briefly。　He'd　helped　raise　a　pretty　good　daughter。　Too　bad　he　was　an　overbearing　asshole　to　his　son…in…law。
　　　〃So；　you　like　it　at　Century　House？〃
　　　〃Better　than　Langley。　Too　much　like　a　monastery　out　there。　At　least　in　London　you　live　in　a　city。　You　can　step　out　for　a　beer　or　do　some　shopping　over　lunch。〃
　　　〃Shame　the　building's　ing　apart。　It's　the　same　trouble　they've　had　in　some　other　buildings　in　London…the　mortar　or　grout；　whatever　you　call　it；　it's　defective。　So　the　facade's　peeling　off。　Embarrassing；　but　the　contractor's　gotta　be　long　dead。　Can't　take　a　corpse　to　court。〃
　　　〃You　never　have？〃　Jack　asked；　lightheartedly。
　　　Murray　shook　his　head。　〃No；　I've　never　popped　a　cap　on　anyone。　Came　close　once；　but　stopped　short。　Good　thing；　too。　Turned　out　the　mutt　wasn't　armed。　Would　have　been　embarrassing　to　explain　that　to　the　judge；〃　he　added；　sipping　his　beer。
　　　〃So；　how　are　the　local　cops　doing？〃　It　was　Murray's　job　to　interface　with　them　after　all。
　　　〃They're　pretty　good；　really。　Well　organized；　good　investigators　for　the　major　stuff。　Not　much　street　crime　for　them　to　worry　about。〃
　　　〃Not　like　New　York　or　B。C。〃
　　　〃Not　hardly。　So；　anything　interesting　shaking　at　Century　House？〃　he　asked。
　　　〃Not　really。　Mainly；　I've　been　looking　over　old　stuff；　back…checking　old　analysis　against　newly　developed　data。　Nothing　worth　writing　home　about…but　I　have　to　do　that　anyway。　The　Admiral　is　keeping　me　on　a　long　leash；　but　it's　still　a　leash。〃
　　　〃What　do　you　think　of　our　cousins？〃
　　　〃Basil　is　pretty　smart；〃　Ryan　observed。　〃But　he's　careful　about　what　he　shows　me。　That's　fair；　I　suppose。　He　knows　that　I'm　reporting　back　to　Langley；　and　I　really　don't　need　to　know　much　about　sources。。。　But　I　can　make　some　guesses。　'Six'　has　gotta　have　some　good　people　in　Moscow。〃　Ryan　paused。　〃Damned　if　I'd　ever　play　that　game。　Our　prisons　are　pretty　nasty。　I　don't　even　want　to　think　about　what　the　Russian　ones　are　like。〃
　　　〃You　wouldn't　live　long　enough　to　find　out；　Jack。　They're　not　the　most　forgiving　people　in　the　world；　especially　on　espionage。　You're　a　lot　safer　whacking　a　cop　right　in　front　of　the　precinct　station　than　playing　spy。〃
　　　〃And　with　us？〃
　　　〃It's　amazing…how　patriotic　convicts　are；　that　is。　Spies　do　very　hard　time　in　the　Federal　prisons。　Them　and　child　molesters。　They　get　a　lot　of　attention　from　Bubba　and　his　armed…robber　friends…you　know；　honest　crooks。〃
　　　〃Yeah；　my　dad　talked　about　that　once　in　a　while；　how　there's　a　hierarchy　in　prison；　and　you　don't　want　to　be　on　the　bottom。〃
　　　〃Better　to　be　a　pitcher　than　a　catcher。〃　Murray　laughed。
　　　It　was　time　for　a　real　question：　〃So；　Dan；　just　how　tight　are　you　with　the　spook　shops？〃
　　　Murray　surveyed　the　horizon。　〃Oh；　we　get　along　pretty　nicely〃　was　all　he　was　willing　to　say。
　　　〃You　know；　Dan；〃　Jack　observed；　〃if　there's　anything　I've　learned　to　worry　about　over　here；　it's　understatement。〃
　　　Murray　liked　that　one。　〃Well；　then　you're　living　in　the　wrong　place；　son。　They　all　talk　like　that　over　here。〃
　　　〃Yeah；　especially　in　the　spook　shops。〃
　　　〃Well；　if　we　talked　like　everybody　else；　then　the　mystique　would　be　gone；　and　people　would　understand　how　screwed　up　everything　really　is。〃　Murray　had　a　sip　and　grinned　broadly。　〃We　couldn't　maintain　the　confidence　of　the　people　that　way。　I　bet　it's　the　same　with　doctors　and　stockbrokers；〃　the　FBI　rep　suggested。
　　　〃Every　business　has　its　own　insiders　language。〃　The　supposed　reason　was　that　it　offered　more　speedy　and　efficient　munications　to　those　inside　the　fold…but　the　truth　of　the　matter；　of　course；　was　that　it　denied　knowledge　and/or　access　to　outsiders。　But　that　was　really　okay　if　you　were　one　of　the　people　on　the　inside。
　　　The　bad　news　happened　in　Budapest；　and　it　resulted　from　pure　bad　luck。　The　agent　wasn't　even　all　that　important。　He　provided　information　on　the　Hungarian　Air　Force；　but　that　was　an　organization　that　no　one　took　very　seriously　at　best；　along　with　the　rest　of　the　Hungarian　military；　which　had　rarely　distinguished　itself　on　the　field　of　battle。　Marxism…Leninism　had　never　really　taken　firm　root　here　anyway；　but　the　state　did　have　a　hardworking；　if　not　especially　petent；　intelligence/counterintelligence　service；　and　not　all　of　them　were　stupid。　Some　of　them　were　even　KGB…trained；　and　if　there　was　anything　the　Soviets　knew；　it　was　intelligence　and　counterintelligence。　This　officer；　Andreas　Morrisay；　was　just　sitting；　drinking　his　morning　coffee　in　a　shop　on　Andrassy　Utca；　when　he　saw　someone　make　a　mistake。　He　would　not　have　caught　it　had　he　not　been　bored　with　his　newspaper；　but　there　it　was。　A　Hungarian　national…you　could　tell　from　his　clothing…dropped　something。　It　was　about　the　size　of　a　tin　of　pipe　tobacco。　He　quickly　bent　down　to　pick　it　up；　and　then；　remarkably　enough；　he　stuck　it　to　the　underside　of　his　table。　And；　Andreas　saw；　it　didn't　fall　off。　It　must　have　some　sort　of　adhesive　on　the　side。　And　that　sort　of　thing　was　not　only　unusual；　but　also　one　of　the　things　he'd　been　shown　in　a　training　film　at　the　KGB　Academy　outside　Moscow。　It　was　a　very　simple　and　obsolete　form　of　dead…drop；　something　used　by　enemy　spies　to　transfer　information。　It　was；　Andreas　thought；　like　walking　unexpectedly　into　the　cinema　and　watching　a　spy　film　and　knowing　what　was　happening　just　on　pure　instinct。　His　immediate　reaction　was　to　walk　off　to　the　men's　room；　where　there　was　a　pay　phone。　There　he　dialed　his　office　and　spoke　for　less　than　thirty　seconds。　Next　he　made　use　of　the　men's　room；　because　this　might　take　a　while；　and　he　was　suddenly　excited。　No　harm　was　done。　The　head　office　of　his　agency　was　only　a　half…dozen　blocks　away；　and　two　of　his　coworkers　came　in；　took　their　seats；　and　ordered　their　coffee；　talking　with　apparent　animation　about　something　or　other。　Andreas　was　relatively　new　in　his　job…just　two　years…and　he'd　yet　to　catch　anyone　doing　anything。　But　this　was　his　day；　the　officer　knew。　He　was　looking　at　a　spy。　A　Hungarian　national　who　was　working　for　some　foreign　power；　and　even　if　he　were　giving　information　to　the　Soviet　KGB；　he　was　mitting　a　crime　for　which　he　could　be　arrested…though　in　that　case；　it　would　be　cleared　up　quickly　by　the　KGB　liaison　officer。　After　another　ten　minutes；　the　Hungarian　rose　and　walked　out；　with　one　of　the　two　other　officers　in　trail。
　　　What　followed　was；　well；　nothing；　for　more　than　an　hour。　Andreas　ordered　some　strudel…every　bit　as　tasty　here　as　it　was　in　Vienna；　three　hundred　kilometers　away；　and　this　despite　the　Marxist　government　in　the　country；　because　the　Hungarians　loved　their　food；　and　Hungary　was　a　productive　agricultural　country；　despite　the　mand　economy　imposed　on　the　farmers　to　the　east。　Andreas　lit　up　a　string　of　cigarettes；　read　his　newspaper；　and　just　waited　for　something　to　happen。
　　　Presently；　it　did。　A　man　dressed　a　little　too　well　to　be　a　Hungarian　citizen　took　his　seat　at　the　table　next　to　his；　lit　a　cigarette　of　his　own；　and　read　his　newspaper。
　　　Here　it　worked　for　Andreas　that　he　was　badly　nearsighted。　His　glasses　were　so　thick　that　it　took　a　few　seconds　for　anyone　to　see　where　his　eyes　were　pointed；　and　he　remembered　his　training　enough　not　to　allow　his　eyes　to　linger　on　any　one　spot　more　than　a　few　brief　seconds。　Mainly　he　appeared　to　be　reading　his　paper；　like　half　a　dozen　others　in　this　elegant　little　shop；　which　had　somehow　survived　the　Second　World　War。　He　watched　the　American…Andreas　had　it　fixed　in　his　mind　that　this　one　had　to　be　an　American…sip　his　own　coffee　and　read　his　own　paper；　until　he　set　his　coffee　cup　down　in　the　saucer；　then　reached　into　his　hip　pocket　for　a　handkerchief；　which　he　used　to　wipe　his　nose；　and　then　replaced　in　the　pocket。。。
　　　But　first　he　retrieved　the　tobacco　tin　from　under　the　table。　It