tc.redrabbit-第75章

按键盘上方向键 ← 或 → 可快速上下翻页，按键盘上的 Enter 键可回到本书目录页，按键盘上方向键 ↑ 可回到本页顶部！
————未阅读完？加入书签已便下次继续阅读！


　　　So　his　first　task　of　the　day　was　to　see　after　his　cross…border　connections。　Those　were　reliable；　he　thought。　He'd　spent　a　good　deal　of　time　setting　them　up；　and　he'd　checked　them　out　before。　But　he'd　check　them　out　again；　starting　today。　He'd　also　check　in　with　his　AVH　contact。。。　or　would　he？　Hudson　wondered。　What　would　that　get　him？　It　could　allow　him　to　find　out　if　the　Hungarian　secret　police　force　was　on　a　state　of　alert　or　looking　for　something；　but　if　that　were　true；　the　Rabbit　would　not　be　leaving　Moscow。　His　information　had　to　be　highly　important　for　an　operation　of　this　plexity　to　be　run　by　CIA　through　SIS；　and　KGB　was　too　careful　and　conservative　an　agency　to　take　any　sort　of　chances　with　information　of　that　importance。　The　other　side　was　never　predictable　in　the　intelligence　business。　There　were　just　too　many　people　with　slightly　different　ideas　for　everyone　to　operate　in　lockstep。　So；　no；　AVH　wouldn't　know　very　much；　if　anything　at　all。　KGB　trusted　no　one　at　all；　absent　direct　oversight；　preferably　with　guns。
　　　So　the　only　smart　thing　for　him　to　do　would　be　to　look　in　on　his　escape　procedures；　and　even　to　do　that　circumspectly；　and　otherwise　wait　for　this　Ryan　chap　to　arrive　from　London　to　look　over　his　shoulder。。。　Ryan；　he　thought；　CIA。　The　same　one　who…no　chance　of　that。　Just　a　coincidence。　Had　to　be。　That　Ryan　was　a　bootneck…an　American　bootneck。　Just　too　much　of　a　coincidence；　the　COS　Budapest　decided。
　　　Ryan　had　remembered　his　croissants；　and　this　time　he'd　taken　them　with　him　in　the　cab　from　Victoria　to　Century　House；　along　with　the　coffee。　He　arrived　to　see　Simon's　coat　on　the　tree；　but　no　Simon。　Probably　off　with　Sir　Basil；　he　decided；　and　sat　down　at　his　desk；　looking　at　the　pile　of　overnights　to　go　through。　The　croissants…he'd　pigged　out　and　bought　three　of　them；　plus　butter　and　grape…jelly　packets…were　sufficiently　flaky　that　he　risked　ending　up　wearing　them　instead　of　eating　them；　and　this　morning's　coffee　wasn't　half　bad。　He　made　a　mental　note　to　write　to　Starbucks　and　suggest　that　they　open　some　outlets　in　London。　The　Brits　needed　good　coffee　to　get　them　off　their　damned　tea；　and　this　new　Seattle　pany　might　just　pull　it　off；　assuming　they　could　train　people　to　brew　it　up　right。　He　looked　up　when　the　door　opened。
　　　〃Morning；　Jack。〃
　　　〃Hey；　Simon。　How's　Sir　Basil　this　morning？〃
　　　〃He's　feeling　very　clever　indeed　with　this　Operation　BEATRIX。　It's　under　way；　in　a　manner　of　speaking。〃
　　　〃Can　you　fill　me　in　on　what's　happening？〃
　　　Simon　Harding　thought　for　a　moment；　then　explained　briefly。
　　　〃Is　somebody　out　of　his　fucking　mind？〃　Ryan　demanded　at　the　conclusion　of　the　minibrief。
　　　〃Jack；　yes；　it　is　creative；〃　Harding　agreed。　〃But　there　should　be　little　in　the　way　of　operational　difficulties。〃
　　　〃Unless　I　barf；〃　Jack　responded　darkly。
　　　〃So　take　a　plastic　bag；〃　Harding　suggested。　〃Take　one　from　the　airplane　with　you。〃
　　　〃Funny；　Simon。〃　Ryan　paused。　〃What　is　this；　some　sort　of　initiation　ceremony　for　me？〃
　　　〃No；　we　don't　do　that　sort　of　thing。　The　operational　concept　es　from　your　people；　and　the　request　for　cooperation　es　from　Judge　Moore　himself。〃
　　　〃Fuck！〃　Jack　observed。　〃And　they　dump　me　in　the　shitter；　eh？〃
　　　〃Jack；　the　objective　here　is　not　merely　to　get　the　Rabbit　out；　but　to　do　so　in　such　a　way　as　to　make　Ivan　believe　he's　dead；　not　defected；　along　with　his　wife　and　daughter。〃
　　　Actually；　the　part　that　bothered　Ryan　was　the　corpses。　What　could　be　more　distasteful　than　that？　And　he　doesn't　even　know　the　nasty　part　yet；　Simon　Harding　thought；　glad　that　he'd　edited　that　part　out。
　　　Zaitzev　walked　into　the　administrative　office　on　The　Centre's　second　floor。　He　showed　his　ID　to　the　girl　and　waited　a　few　minutes　before　going　into　the　supervisor's　office。
　　　〃Yes？〃　the　bureaucrat　said；　only　half　looking　up。
　　　〃I　wish　to　take　my　vacation　days。　I　want　to　take　my　wife　to　Budapest。　There's　a　conductor　there　she　wants　to　hear…and　I　wish　to　travel　there　by　train　instead　of　by　air。〃
　　　〃When？〃
　　　〃In　the　next　few　days。　As　soon　as　possible；　in　fact。〃
　　　〃I　see。〃　The　KGB's　travel　office　did　many　things；　most　of　them　totally　mundane。　The　travel　agent…what　else　could　Zaitzev　call　him？…still　didn't　look　up。　〃I　must　check　the　availability　of　space　on　the　train。〃
　　　〃I　want　to　travel　International　Class；　partments；　beds　for　three…I　have　a　child；　you　see。〃
　　　〃That　may　not　be　easy；〃　the　bureaucrat　noted。
　　　〃rade；　if　there　are　any　difficulties；　please　contact　Colonel　Rozhdestvenskiy；〃　he　said　mildly。
　　　That　name　caused　him　to　look　up；　Zaitzev　saw。　The　only　question　was　whether　or　not　he'd　make　the　call。　The　average　desk…sitter　did　not　go　out　of　his　way　to　bee　known　to　a　senior　official；　and；　like　most　people　in　The　Centre；　he　had　a　healthy　fear　of　those　on　the　top　floor。　On　the　one　hand；　he　might　want　to　see　if　someone　were　taking　the　colonel's　name　in　vain。　On　the　other　hand；　calling　his　attention　to　that　senior　officer　as　an　officious　little　worm　in　Administration　would　do　him　little　good。　He　looked　at　Zaitzev；　wondering　if　he　had　authorization　to　invoke　Rozhdestvenskiy's　name　and　authority。
　　　〃I　will　see　what　I　can　do；　rade　Captain；〃　he　promised。
　　　〃When　can　I　call　you？〃
　　　〃Later　today。〃
　　　〃Thank　you；　rade。〃　Zaitzev　walked　out　and　down　the　corridor　to　the　elevators。　So　that　was　done；　thanks　to　his　temporary　patron　on　the　top　floor。　To　make　sure　everything　was　all　right；　he　had　his　blue　striped　tie　folded　and　in　his　coat　pocket。　Back　at　his　desk；　he　went　back　to　memorizing　the　content　of　his　routine　message　traffic。　A　pity；　he　thought；　that　he　could　not　copy　out　of　the　one…time…pad　books；　but　that　was　not　practical；　and　memorizing　them　was　a　sheer　impossibility　even　for　his　trained　memory。
　　　Underway　was　the　single　word　on　the　message　from　Langley；　Foley　saw。　So　they　were　going　forward。　That　was　good。　Headquarters　was　hot　to　trot　on　BEATRIX；　and　that　was　probably　because　the　Rabbit　had　warned　them　about　general　munications　security；　the　one　thing　sure　to　cause　a　general　panic　on　the　Seventh　Floor　at　headquarters。　But　could　it　possibly　be　true？　No。　Mike　Russell　didn't　think　so；　and；　as　he'd　already　observed；　were　it　true；　some　of　his　agents　would　have　been　swept　up　like　confetti　after　a　parade；　and　that　hadn't　happened。。。　unless　KGB　was　really　being　clever　and　had　doubled　his　agents；　operating　them　under　Soviet　control；　and　he'd　be　able　to　determine　that；　wouldn't　he？　Well；　probably；　Foley　judged。　Certainly　they　could　not　all　be　double　agents。　Some　things　were　just　impossible　to　hide；　unless　KGB's　Second　Chief　Directorate　had　the　cleverest　operation　in　the　history　of　espionage；　and　while　that　was　theoretically　possible；　it　was　the　tallest　of　tall　orders；　and　something　that　they'd　probably　avoid　since　the　quality　of　some　information　going　out　would　have　to　be　good…too　good　to　let　go　voluntarily。。。
　　　But　he　couldn't　entirely　discount　that　possibility。　For　sure；　NSA　would　be　taking　steps　right　now　to　examine　their　KH…7　and　other　cipher　machines；　but　Fort　Meade　had　a　very　active　Red　Team　whose　only　job　was　to　crack　their　own　systems；　and　while　Russian　mathematicians　were　pretty　smart…always　had　been…they　weren't　aliens　from　another　planet。。。　unless　they　had　an　agent　of　their　own　deep　inside　Fort　Meade；　and　that　was　a　worry　that　everyone　had。　How　much　would　KGB　pay　for　that　sort　of　information？　Millions；　perhaps。　They　didn't　have　all　that　much　cash　to　pay　their　people　and；　in　addition　to　being　niggardly；　KGB　was　singularly　disloyal　to　its　people；　regarding　them　all　as　expendable　assets。　Oh；　sure；　they　got　Kim　Philby　out　and　safely　ensconced　in　Moscow。　The　Western　spy　agencies　knew　where　he　lived　and　had　even　photographed　the　turncoat　bastard。　They　even　knew　how　much　he　drank…a　lot；　even　by　Russian　standards。　But　when　the　Russians　lost　an　agent　to　arrest；　did　they　ever　try　to　bargain　for　him；　do　a　trade？　No；　not　since　CIA　had　bargained　for　Francis　Gary　Powers；　the　unlucky　U…2　pilot　whom　they'd　shot　down　in　1961　and　then　traded　for　Rudolf　Abel；　but　Abel　had　been　one　of　their　own　officers；　a　colonel　and　a　pretty　good　one；　operating　in　New　York。　That　had　to　be　a　deterrent　to　any　American　national　in　the　spook　business　who　had　illusions　of　getting　rich　off　Mother　Russia's　bank　account。　And　traitors　did　hard　time　in　the　federal　prison　system；　which　had　to　be　one　hell　of　a　deterrent。
　　　But　traitors　were　real；　however　misguided　they　were。　At　least　the　age　of　the　ideological　spy　was　largely　ended。　Those　had　been　the　most　productive　and　the　most　dedicated；　back　when　people　really　had　believed　that　munism　was　the　leading　wave　of　human　evolution；　but　even　Russians　no　longer　believed　in　Marxism…Leninism；　except　for　Suslov…who　was　just　about　dead…and　his　successor…to…be；　Alexandrov。　So；　no；　KGB　agents　in　the　West　were　almost　entirely　mercenary　bastards。　Not　the　freedom　fighters　Ed　Foley　ran　on　the　streets　of　Moscow；　the　COS　told　himself。　That　was　an　illusion　all　CIA　officers　held　dearly；　even　his　wife。
　　　And　the　Rabbit？　He　was　mad　about　something。　A　murder；　he　said；　a　proposed　killing。　Something　that　offended　the　sense　of　an　honorable　and　decent　man。　So；　yes；　the　Rabbit　was　honorable　in　his　motivations；　and　therefore　worthy　of　CIA's　attention　and　solicitude。
　　　Jesus；　Ed　Foley　thought；　the　illusions　you　have　to　have　to　carry　on　this　stupid　fucking　business。　You　had　to　be　psychiatrist；　loving　mother；　stern　father；　close　friend；　and　father　confessor　to　the　idealistic；　confused；　angry；　or　just　plain　greedy　individuals　who　chose　to　betray　their　country。　Some　of　them　drank　too　much；　some　of　them　were　so　enraged　that　they　endangered　themselves　by　taking　grotesque　risks。　Some　were　just　plain　mad；　demented；　clinically　disturbed。　Some　became　sexual　deviants…hell；　some　started　off　that　way　and　just　got　worse。　But　Ed　Foley　had　to　be　their　social　worker；　which　was　such　an　odd　job　description　for　someone　who　thought　of　himself　as　a　warrior　against　the　Big　Ugly　Bear。　Well；　he　told　himself；　one　thing　at　a　time。　He'd　knowingly　chosen　a　profession　with　barely　adequate　pay；　virtually　no　credit　ever　to　be　awarded；　and　no　recognition　for　the　dangers；　physical　and　psychological；　that　attended　it；　serving　his　country　in　a　way　that　would　never　be　appreciated　by　the　millions　of　citizens　he　helped　to　protect；　despised　by　the　news　media…whom　he　in　turn　despised…and　never　being　able　to　defend　himself　with　the　truth　of　what　he　did。　What　a　hell　of　a　life。
　　　But　it　did　have　its　satisfactions；　like　getting　the　Rabbit　the　hell　out　of　Dodge　City。
　　　If　BEATRIX　worked。
　　　Foley　told　himself　that　now；　once　more；　he　knew　what　it　was　like　to　pitch　in　the　World　Series。
　　　Istvan　Kovacs　lived　a　few　blocks　from　the　Hungarian　parliamentary　palace；　an　ornate　building　reminiscent　of　the　Palace　of　Westminster；　on　the　third　floor　of　a　turn…of…the…century　tenement；　whose　four　toilets　were　on　the　first　floor　of　a　singularly　dreary　courtyard。　Hudson　took　the　local　metro　over　to　the　government　palace　and　walked　the　rest　of　the　way；　making　sure　that　he　didn't　have　a　tail。　He'd　called　ahead…remarkably；　the　city's　phone　lines　were　secure；　uncontrolled　mainly　because　of　the　inefficiency　of　the　local　phone　systems。
　　　Kovacs　was　so　typically　Hungarian　as　to　deserve　a　photo　in　the　non　existent　tourist　brochures：　five…eight；　swarthy；　a　mainly　circ