tc.redrabbit-第7章

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that　his　country　simply　could　not　replicate　them？
　　　And　that　was　what　he　had　to　fix。　The　mythical　tasks　of　Hercules　seemed　trivial　in　parison；　Andropov　told　himself；　stubbing　out　his　cigarette。　Transform　his　nation？　In　Red　Square；　they　kept　the　mummy　of　Lenin　as　some　sort　of　munistic　god；　the　relic　of　the　man　who　had　transformed　Russia　from　a　backward　monarchic　state　into。。。　a　backward　socialist　state。　The　Moscow　government　expressed　contempt　for　any　countries　that　tried　to　bine　socialism　with　capitalism…except　for　one　little　thing：　KGB　tried　to　steal　from　them；　too。　The　West　rarely　shed　blood　and　treasure　to　find　out　about　Soviet　weapons…except　to　find　out　what　was　wrong　with　them。　The　Western　intelligence　services　did　their　best　to　frighten　their　parent　governments；　proclaiming　every　new　Soviet　weapon　to　be　Satan's　own　tool　of　destruction；　but　then　they　later　found　out　that　the　Soviet　tiger　wore　lead　boots；　and　couldn't　catch　the　deer；　however　frightening　the　tiger's　teeth　might　appear。　Whatever　original　ideas　Russian　scientists　did　e　up　with…and　there　were　many　of　them…were　duly　stolen　and　converted　by　the　West　into　instruments　that　actually　worked。
　　　The　design　bureaus　made　their　promises　to　the　military　and　to　the　Politburo。　They　told　them　how　their　new　systems　would　improve；　with　just　a　little　more　funding。。。　Hah！　And　all　the　time；　this　new　American　president　was　doing　what　his　predecessors　hadn't：　He　was　feeding　his　tiger。　The　American　industrial　monster　was　eating　raw　red　meat；　and　actually　manufacturing　in　numbers　the　weapons　they'd　developed　over　the　preceding　decade。　His　field　officers　and　their　agents　reported　that　morale　in　the　American　military　was　rising　for　the　first　time　in　a　generation。　Their　Army　in　particular　was　training　on　increased　tempos；　and　their　new　weapons。。。
　　　。。。　Not　that　the　Politburo　believed　him　when　he　told　them。　Its　members　were　too　insular；　they　were　unexposed　to　the　real　world　beyond　the　Soviet　frontiers。　They　assumed　that　all　the　world　was　more　or　less　like　it　was　here；　in　accord　with　the　political　theories　of　Lenin…written　sixty　years　ago！　As　if　the　world　hadn't　changed　at　all　since　then！　Yuriy　Vladimirovich　raged　silently。　He　expended　enormous　funds　to　find　out　what　was　happening　in　the　world；　had　the　data　run　through　exquisitely　trained　and　qualified　experts；　presented　superbly　organized　reports　to　the　old　men　who　sat　around　that　oaken　table…and　still　they　didn't　listen！
　　　And　then　there　was　the　current　problem。
　　　This　is　how　it　will　start；　Andropov　told　himself；　with　another　long　sip　of　his　Starka。　It　takes　only　one　person；　if　it's　the　right　person。　Being　the　right　person　meant　that　people　listened；　paid　attention　to　his　words　and　deeds。　And　some　people　just　got　that　sort　of　attention。
　　　And　those　were　the　ones　you　had　to　be　afraid　of。。。
　　　Karol；　Karol；　why　must　you　make　such　trouble？
　　　And　trouble　it　would　be　if　he　took　the　action　he　threatened。　The　letter　he'd　sent　to　Warsaw　hadn't　been　just　for　those　lackeys　in　Warsaw…he　had　to　have　known　where　it　would　end　up。　He　was　no　fool。　In　fact；　he　was　as　shrewd　as　any　political　figure　Yuriy　had　ever　known。　You　couldn't　be　a　Catholic　clergyman　in　a　munist　country　and　rise　to　the　very　pinnacle　of　the　world's　largest　church；　to　be　their　General　Secretary；　even；　without　knowing　how　to　operate　the　levers　of　power。　But　his　post　went　back　nearly　two　thousand　years；　if　you　happened　to　believe　all　that　nonsense…well；　maybe　so。　The　age　of　the　Roman　church　was　an　objective　fact；　wasn't　it？　Historical　facts　were　historical　facts；　but　that　didn't　make　the　belief　structure　underneath　it　any　more　valid　than　Marx　said　it　was…or　wasn't；　to　be　more　precise。　Yuriy　Vladimirovich　had　never　considered　belief　in　God　to　make　any　more　sense　than　belief　in　Marx　and　Engels。　But　he　knew　that　everyone　had　to　believe　in　something；　not　because　it　was　true；　but　because　it　in　itself　was　a　source　of　power。　Lesser　people；　the　ones　who　needed　to　be　told　what　to　do；　had　to　believe　in　something　larger　than　themselves。　Primitives　living　in　the　remaining　jungles　of　the　world　still　heard　in　the　thunder；　not　just　the　clash　of　hot　air　and　cold；　but　the　voice　of　some　living　thing。　Why？　Because　they　knew　they　were　weaklings　in　a　strong　world；　and　they　thought　they　could　influence　whatever　deity　controlled　them　with　slaughtered　pigs　or　even　slaughtered　children；　and　those　who　controlled　that　influence　then　acquired　the　power　to　shape　their　society。　Power　was　its　own　currency。　Some　Great　Men　used　it　to　gain　fort；　or　women…one　of　his　own　predecessors　here　at　KGB　had　used　it　to　get　women；　actually　young　girls；　but　Yuriy　Vladimirovich　did　not　share　that　particular　vice。　No；　power　was　enough　in　and　of　。itself。　A　man　could　bask　in　it　as　a　cat　warmed　itself　by　a　fire；　with　the　simple　enjoyment　that　came　from　having　it　close　by；　knowing　that　he　enjoyed　the　ability　to　rule　others；　to　bring　death　or　fort　to　those　who　served　him；　who　pleased　him　with　their　obeisance　and　their　fawning　acknowledgement　that　he　was　greater　than　they。
　　　There　was　more　to　it；　of　course。　You　had　to　do　something　with　that　power。　You　had　to　leave　footprints　in　the　sands　of　time。　Good　or　bad；　it　didn't　matter；　just　so　they　were　large　enough　to　mand　notice。　In　his　case；　a　whole　country　needed　his　direction　because；　of　all　the　men　on　the　Politburo；　only　he　could　see　what　needed　to　be　done。　Only　he　could　chart　the　course　his　nation　needed　to　follow。　And　if　he　did　it　right；　then　he　would　be　remembered。　He　knew　that　someday　his　life　would　end。　In　Andropov's　case；　it　was　a　liver　ailment。　He　ought　not　to　drink　his　vodka；　but　with　power　also　came　the　absolute　right　to　choose　his　own　path。　No　other　man　could　tell　him　what　to　do。　His　latent　intelligence　knew　that　this　was　not　always　the　wise　thing　to　do；　but　Great　Men　did　not　listen　to　lesser　men；　and　he　considered　himself　the　foremost　of　the　former。　Was　not　his　force　of　will　strong　enough　to　define　the　world　in　which　he　lived？　Of　course　it　was；　and　so　he　had　the　occasional　drink　or　two；　or　sometimes　three；　in　the　evening。　Even　more　at　official　dinners。　His　country　had　long　since　passed　beyond　the　point　of　rule　by　a　single　man…that　had　ended　thirty　years　before　with　the　passing　of　〃Koba；〃　Josef　Vissarionovich　Stalin；　who'd　ruled　with　a　ruthlessness　to　make　Ivan　the　Terrible　quake　in　his　boots。　No；　that　sort　of　power　was　too　dangerous　to　ruler　and　ruled。　Stalin　had　made　as　many　errors　as　good　judgments；　and　as　useful　as　the　latter　had　been；　the　former　had　very　nearly　doomed　the　Soviet　Union　to　perpetual　backwardness…and；　in　fact；　by　creating　the　world's　most　formidable　bureaucracy；　he'd　largely　foresworn　progress　for　his　nation。
　　　But　one　man；　the　right　man；　could　lead　and　direct　his　political　associates　on　the　Politburo　in　the　correct　direction；　and　then　by　helping　to　select　the　new　members；　could　acplish　the　needed　goals　by　influence　rather　than　by　terror。　Just　maybe；　then；　he　could　get　his　country　moving　again；　keeping　the　single　control　that　all　nations　needed；　but　adding　the　flexibility　that　they　needed　just　as　much　for　new　things　to　happen…to　achieve　the　True　munism…to　see　the　Radiant　Future　that　the　writings　of　Lenin　proclaimed　awaited　the　Faithful。
　　　Andropov　did　not　quite　see　the　contradiction　in　his　own　mind。　Like　so　many　Great　Men；　he　was　blind　to　those　things　that　conflicted　with　his　own　capacious　ego。
　　　And；　in　any　case；　it　all　came　back　to　Karol　and　the　danger　he　posed。
　　　He　made　a　mental　note　for　the　morning　staff　meeting。　He　had　to　see　what　the　possibilities　were。　The　Politburo　would　wonder　aloud　how　to　deal　with　the　problem　announced　by　the　Warsaw　Letter；　and　eyes　would　turn　to　his　chair；　and　he'd　need　something　to　say。　The　trick　would　be　in　finding　something　that　would　not　frighten　his　colleagues　out　of　their　conservative　wits。　They　were　so　fearful；　these　supposedly　powerful　men。
　　　He　read　so　many　reports　from　his　field　officers；　the　talented　spies　of　the　First　Chief　Directorate；　always　probing　into　the　thoughts　of　their　counterparts。　It　was　so　strange；　how　much　fear　there　was　in　the　world；　and　the　most　fearful　of　all　were　so　often　those　who　held　the　power　in　their　hands。
　　　No；　Andropov　drained　his　glass　and　decided　against　another　nightcap。　The　reason　for　their　fear　was　that　they　worried　they　did　not　have　the　power。　They　were　not　strong。　They　were　henpecked　by　their　wives；　just　like　factory　workers　and　peasant　farmers。　They　dreaded　losing　what　they　so　greedily　held；　and　so　they　used　their　power　in　ignoble　enterprises　directed　at　crushing　those　who　would　seize　what　they　held。　Even　Stalin；　that　mightiest　of　despots；　had　used　his　power　mainly　to　eliminate　those　who　might　sit　in　his　elevated　chair。　And　so　the　great　Koba　had　spent　his　energy　not　looking　forward；　not　looking　outward；　but　looking　down。　He　was　like　a　woman　in　her　kitchen　who　feared　mice　under　her　skirt；　instead　of　a　man　with　the　power　and　the　will　to　slay　an　onrushing　tiger。
　　　But　could　he　do　otherwise？　Yes！　Yes；　he　could　look　forward　and　see　the　future　and　chart　a　path　to　it。　Yes；　he　could　municate　his　vision　to　the　lesser　men　who　sat　around　the　table　in　the　Kremlin；　and　lead　them　with　the　force　of　his　will。　Yes；　he　could　find　and　refocus　the　vision　of　Lenin　and　all　the　thinkers　of　the　governing　philosophy　of　his　country。　Yes；　he　could　alter　the　course　of　his　nation　and　be　forever　remembered　as　a　Great　Man…
　　　But　first；　here　and　now；　he'd　need　to　deal　with　Karol　and　his　annoying　threat　to　the　Soviet　Union。
　　　
　　　CHAPTER　2　…　VISIONS　AND　HORIZONS
　　　Cathy　almost　panicked　at　the　thought　of　driving　him　to　the　train　station。　Seeing　him　walk　to　the　left　side　of　the　car；　she'd　assumed；　as　any　American　would；　that　he'd　be　driving；　and　so　she　was　visibly　surprised　when　he　tossed　her　the　keys。
　　　The　pedals；　she　discovered；　were　the　same　as　in　an　American　car；　because　people　all　around　the　world　were　right…footed；　even　if　those　in　England　drove　left…handed。　The　gear　shift　was　in　the　center　console；　and　so　she　had　to　use　her　left　hand　to　shift。　Backing　out　of　the　brick　driveway　was　not　terribly　different　from　normal。　Both　instantly　wondered　if　it　was　as　hard　for　Brits　to　transform　their　driving　to　the　right…in　more　ways　than　one…side　of　the　road　when　they　came　to　America；　or　hopped　the　ferry　to　France。　Jack　decided　he'd　ask　somebody　over　a　beer　someday。
　　　〃Just　remember；　left　is　right；　and　right　is　left；　and　you　drive　on　the　wrong　side　of　the　road。〃
　　　〃Okay；〃　she　replied　with　annoyance。　She　knew　she'd　have　to　learn；　and　the　rational　part　of　her　brain　knew　that　this　was　as　good　a　time　as　ever；　even　though　now　had　a　nasty　way　of　appearing　out　of　the　ground　like　a　guerrilla　out　of　a　spider　hole。　The　way　out　of　the　mini…development　took　them　past　a　one…story　building　that　looked　like　it　housed　a　doctor's　office；　past　the　park　with　the　swing　set　that　had　sold　Jack　on　this　particular　house。　Sally　liked　swings；　and　she'd　surely　meet　and　make　new　friends　here。　And　Little　Jack　would　get　some　sun　there；　too。　In　the　summer；　anyway。
　　　〃Turn　left；　babe。　It's　a　right　turn　here　when　you　go　left；　you　don't　cross　traffic。〃
　　　〃I　know；〃　Dr。　Caroline　Ryan　said；　wondering　why　Jack　hadn't　called　for　a　cab。　She　still　had　a　ton　of　work　to　do　with　the　house；　and　didn't　need　a　driving　lesson。　Well；　at　least　it　seeme