tc.patriotgames-第34章

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　　　　〃Thanks。　If　it　didn't　work；　though；　I　had　something　else　planned。〃　
　　　　〃Oh；　did　Santa　e　for　me；　too？〃　
　　　　〃I'm　not　sure。　I'll　check　in　a　few　minutes。〃
　　　　〃You　didn't　do　bad；　considering；〃　his　wife　said；　finishing　off　the　orange　plastic　roof。　〃That's　it；　isn't　it？〃　
　　　　〃Last　one；〃　Jack　confirmed。　〃Thanks　for　the　assist；　babe。〃　
　　　　〃Did　I　ever　tell　you　what　　no；　I　didn't。　It　was　one　of　the　ladies…in…waiting。　I　never　did　find　out　what　they　were　waiting　for。　Anyway；　this　one　countess　。　。　。　she　was　right　out　of　Gone　With　the　Wind；〃　Cathy　said　with　a　chuckle。　It　was　his　wife's　favorite　epithet　for　useless　women。　〃She　asked　me　if　I　did　needlepoint。〃　
　　　　Not　the　sort　of　thing　you　ask　my　wife。　Jack　grinned　at　the　windows。　〃And　you　said　。　。　。　〃　
　　　　〃Only　on　eyeballs。〃　A　sweet；　nasty　smile。　
　　　　〃Oooh。　I　hope　that　wasn't　over　lunch。〃
　　　　〃Jack！　You　know　me　better　than　that。　She　was　nice　enough；　and　she　played　a　pretty　good　piano。〃　
　　　　〃Good　as　yours？〃
　　　　〃No。〃　His　wife　smiled　at　him。　Jack　reached　out　to　squeeze　the　tip　of　her　nose。
　　　　〃Caroline　Ryan；　MD；　liberated　woman；　instructor　in　ophthalmic　surgery；　world…famous　player　of　classical　piano；　wife　and　mother；　takes　no　crap　off　anybody。〃　
　　　　〃Except　her　husband。〃
　　　　〃When's　the　last　time　I　ever　won　an　exchange　with　you？〃　Jack　asked。
　　　　〃Jack；　we're　not　in　petition。　We're　in　love。〃　She　leaned　toward　him。
　　　　〃I　won't　argue　with　you　on　that；〃　he　said　quietly　before　kissing　his　wife's　offered　lips。　〃How　many　people　do　you　suppose　are　still　in　love　after　all　the　time　we've　been　married？〃　
　　　　〃Just　the　lucky　ones；　you　old　fart。　'All　the　time　we've　been　married'！〃
　　　　Jack　kissed　her　again　and　rose。　He　walked　carefully　around　the　sea　of　toys　toward　the　tree　and　returned　with　a　small　box　wrapped　in　green　Christmas　paper。　He　sat　down　beside　his　wife；　his　shoulder　against　hers　as　he　dropped　the　box　in　her　lap。　
　　　　〃Merry　Christmas；　Cathy。〃
　　　　She　opened　the　box　as　greedily　as　a　child；　but　neatly；　using　her　nails　to　slit　the　paper。　She　found　a　white　cardboard　box；　and　inside　it；　a　felt…covered　one。　This　she　opened　slowly。
　　　　It　was　a　necklace　of　fine　gold；　more　than　a　quarter…inch　wide；　designed　to　fit　closely　around　the　neck。　You　could　tell　the　price　by　the　workmanship　and　the　weight。　Cathy　Ryan　took　a　deep　breath。　Her　husband　held　his。　Figuring　out　women's　fashions　was　not　his　strongest　point。　He'd　gotten　advice　from　Sissy　Jackson；　and　a　very　patient　clerk　at　the　jewelry　store。　Do　you　like　it？　
　　　　〃I　better　not　swim　with　this　on。〃
　　　　〃But　you　won't　have　to　take　it　off　when　you　scrub；〃　Jack　said。　〃Here。〃　He　took　it　from　the　box　and　put　it　around　her　neck。　He　managed　to　clasp　it　one…handed　on　the　first　try。
　　　　〃You　practiced。〃　One　hand　traced　over　the　necklace　while　her　eyes　looked　deeply　into　his。　〃You　practiced；　just　so　you　could　put　it　on　me　yourself；　didn't　you？〃
　　　　〃For　a　week　at　the　office。〃　Jack　nodded。　〃Wrapping　it　was　a　bitch；　too。〃
　　　　〃It's　wonderful。　Oh；　Jack！〃　Both　her　arms　darted　around　his　neck；　and　he　kissed　the　base　of　hers。
　　　　〃Thanks；　babe。　Thanks　for　being　my　wife。　Thanks　for　having　my　kids。　Thanks　for　letting　me　love　you。〃
　　　　Cathy　blinked　away　a　tear　or　two。　They　gave　her　blue　eyes　a　gleam　that　made　him　happier　than　any　man　on　earth。　Let　me　count　the　ways　。　。　。　
　　　　〃Just　something　I　saw；〃　he　explained　casually；　lying。　It　was　something　he'd　seen　after　looking　for　nine　hours；　through　seven　stores　in　three　shopping　malls。　〃And　it　just　said　to　me；　'I　was　made　for　her。'　〃　
　　　　〃Jack；　I　didn't　get　you　anything　like　〃
　　　　〃Shut　up。　Every　morning　I　wake　up；　and　I　see　you　next　to　me；　I　get　the　best　present　there　is。〃
　　　　〃You　are　a　sentimental　jerk　right　out　of　some　book　　but　I　don't　mind。〃　
　　　　〃You　do　like　it？〃　he　asked　carefully。
　　　　〃You　dummy　　I　love　it！〃　They　kissed　again。　Jack　had　lost　his　parents　years　before。　His　sister　lived　in　Seattle；　and　most　of　the　rest　of　his　relations　were　in　Chicago。　Everything　he　loved　was　in　this　house：　a　wife；　a　child　　and　a　third　of　another。　He'd　made　his　wife　smile　on　Christmas；　and　now　this　year　went　into　the　ledger　book　as　a　success。

　　　　About　the　time　Ryan　started　assembling　the　doll　house；　four　identical　blue　vans　left　the　Brixton　Prison　at　five…minute　intervals。　For　each；　the　first　thirty　minutes　involved　driving　through　the　side　streets　of　suburban　London。　In　each；　a　pair　of　police　officers　sat　looking　out　the　small　windows　in　the　rear　doors；　watching　to　see　if　there　might　be　a　car　trailing　the　truck　on　its　random　path　through　the　city。
　　　　They'd　picked　a　good　day　for　it。　It　was　a　fairly　typical　morning　for　the　English　winter。　The　vans　drove　through　patches　of　fog　and　cold　rain。　There　was　a　moderate　storm　blowing　in　from　the　Channel；　and　best　of　all；　it　was　dark。　The　island's　northern　latitude　guaranteed　that　the　sun　would　not　be　up　for　some　hours　yet；　and　the　dark　blue　vans　were　invisible　in　the　early　morning。
　　　　Security　was　so　strict　that　Sergeant　Bob　Highland　of　C…13　didn't　even　know　that　he　was　in　the　third　van　to　leave　the　jail。　He　did　know　that　he　was　sitting　only　a　few　feet　from　Sean　Miller；　and　that　their　destination　was　the　small　port　of　Lymington。　They　had　a　choice　of　three　ports　to　take　them　to　the　Isle　of　Wight；　and　three　different　modes　of　transport：　ordinary　ferry；　hovercraft；　and　hydrofoil。　They　might　also　have　chosen　a　Royal　Navy　helicopter　out　of　Gosport；　but　Highland　needed　only　a　quick　look　at　the　starless　sky　to　rule　that　one　out。　Not　a　good　idea；　he　thought　to　himself。　Besides；　security　is　airtight。　Not　more　than　thirty　people　knew　that　Miller　was　being　moved　this　morning。　Miller　himself　hadn't　known　until　three　hours　before；　and　he　still　didn't　know　what　prison　he　was　heading　to。　He'd　only　learn　when　he　got　to　the　island。
　　　　Embarrassments　to　the　British　prison　system　had　accumulated　over　the　years。　The　old；　forbidding　structures　that　inhabited　such　desolate　places　as　Dartmoor　in　Cornwall　had　turned　out　to　be　amazingly　easy　to　escape　from；　and　as　a　result　two　new　maximum…security　facilities；　Albany　and　Parkhurst；　had　been　built　on　the　Isle　of　Wight。　There　were　many　advantages　to　this。　An　island　by　definition　was　easier　to　secure；　and　this　one　had　only　four　regular　entry　points。　More　importantly；　this　island　was　a　clannish　place　even　by　English　standards；　and　any　stranger　on　the　loose　would　at　least　be　noticed；　and　might　even　be　mented　upon。　The　new　prisons　were　somewhat　more　fortable　than　those　constructed　in　the　previous　century。　It　was　an　accident；　but　one　to　which　Highland　did　not　object。　Along　with　the　better　living　conditions　for　the　prisoners　came　facilities　designed　to　make　escape　very　difficult　　nothing　made　them　impossible；　but　these　new　prisons　had　television　cameras　to　cover　every　inch　of　wall；　electronic　alarms　in　the　most　unlikely　of　places；　and　guards　armed　with　automatic　weapons。
　　　　Highland　stretched　and　yawned。　With　luck　he'd　get　home　by　early　afternoon　and　still　salvage　something　of　Christmas　Day　with　his　family。
　　　　〃I　don't　see　anything　at　all　to　concern　us；〃　the　other　constable　said；　his　nose　against　the　small　glass　rectangle　in　the　door。　〃Only　a　handful　of　vehicles　on　the　street；　and　none　are　following　us。〃　
　　　　〃I　shouldn't　plain；〃　Highland　observed。　He　turned　around　to　look　at　Miller。
　　　　The　prisoner　sat　all　the　way　forward　on　the　left…hand　bench。　His　hands　were　manacled；　a　chain　running　from　the　cuffs　to　a　similar　pair　on　his　ankles。　With　luck　and　a　little　assistance；　a　man　so　restrained　might　be　able　to　keep　pace　with　a　crawling　infant；　but　he'd　have　little　chance　of　outracing　a　two…year…old。　Miller　just　sat　there；　his　head　back　against　the　wall　of　the　van；　his　eyes　closed　as　the　vehicle　bounced　and　jolted　over　the　road。　He　looked　to　be　asleep；　but　Highland　knew　better。　Miller　had　withdrawn　into　himself　again；　lost　in　some　kind　of　contemplation。
　　　　What　are　you　thinking　about；　Mr。　Miller？　the　policeman　wanted　to　ask。　It　wasn't　that　he'd　failed　to　ask　questions。　Almost　every　day　since　the　incident　on　The　Mall；　Highland　and　several　other　detectives　had　sat　across　a　rugged　wood　table　from　this　young　man　and　tried　to　start　some　kind　of　conversation。　He　was　a　strong　one。　Highland　admitted　to　himself。　He　had　spoken　but　one　unnecessary　word；　and　that　only　nine　days　before。　A　jailer　with　more　indignation　than　professionalism　had　used　the　excuse　of　a　plumbing　problem　in　Miller's　cell　to　move　him　temporarily　to　another。　In　the　other　were　two　ODCs；　as　they　were　called：　Ordinary　Decent　Criminals；　as　opposed　to　the　political　kind　that　C…13　dealt　with。　One　was　awaiting　sentencing　for　a　series　of　vicious　street　robberies；　the　other　for　the　gun…murder　of　a　shop　owner　in　Kensington。　Both　knew　who　Miller　was；　and　hated　him　enough　to　look　at　the　small　young　man　as　a　way　to　atone　for　the　crimes　which　they　little　regretted　in　any　case。　When　Highland　had　shown　up　for　yet　another　fruitless　interrogation　session；　he'd　found　Miller　facedown　on　the　floor　of　the　cell；　his　pants　gone；　and　the　robber　sodomizing　him　so　brutally　that　the　policeman　had　actually　felt　sympathy　for　the　terrorist。
　　　　The　Ordinary　Decent　Criminals　had　withdrawn　at　Highland's　mand；　and　when　the　cell　door　was　opened；　Highland　had　himself　picked　Miller　up　and　helped　him　to　the　dispensary。　And　there　Miller　had　actually　spoken　to　him　as　though　to　another　human　being。　A　single　word　from　the　puffy；　split　lips；　〃Thanks。〃　
　　　　Cop　rescues　terrorist。　Highland　thought　to　himself；　some　headline　that　would　be。　The　jailer　had　pleaded　innocence；　of　course。　There　was　a　problem　with　the　plumbing　in　Miller's　cell　　somehow　the　work　order　had　got　mislaid；　you　see　　and　the　jailer　had　been　called　to　quell　a　disturbance　elsewhere。　Hadn't　heard　a　sound　from　that　end　of　the　cell　block。　Not　a　sound。　Miller's　face　had　been　beaten　to　a　bloody　pulp；　and　certainly　he'd　have　no　toilet　problems　for　a　few　more　days。　His　sympathy　for　Miller　had　been　short…lived。　Highland　was　still　angry　with　the　jailer。　It　was　his　professionalism　that　was　offended。　What　the　jailer　had　done　was；　quite　simply；　wrong；　and　potentially　the　first　step　on　a　path　that　could　lead　back　to　the　rack　and　hot　pincers。　The　law　was　not　so　much　designed　to　protect　society　from　the　criminals；　but　more　profoundly　to　protect　society　from　itself。　This　was　a　truth　that　not　even　all　policemen　understood　fully；　but　it　was　the　single　lesson　that　Highland　had　learned　from　five　years　in　the　Anti…Terrorist　Branch。　It　was　a　hard　lesson　to　believe　when　you'd　seen　the　work　of　the　terrorists。
　　　　Miller's　face　still　bore　some　of　the　marks；　but　he　was　a　young　man　and　he　was　healing　quickly。　Only　for　a　brief　few　minutes　had　he　been　a　victim；　a　human　victim。　Now　he　was　an　animal　again。　Highland　was　hard…pressed　to　think　of　him　as　a　fellow　man　　but　that　was　what　his　professionalism　was　for。　Even　for　the　likes　of　you。　The　policeman　looked　back　out　the　rear　window。
　　　　It　was　a　boring　drive；　as　it　had　to　be　with　no　radio；　no　conversation；　only　vigilance　for　something　that　almost　certainly　wasn't　out　there。　Highland　wished　that　he'd　put　coffee　in　his　thermos　instead　of　tea。　They　watched　the　truck　pass　out　of　Woking；　then　Aldershot　and　Farnham。　They　were　in　the　estate　country　of　Southern　England　now。　All　around　them　were　stately　homes　belonging　to　the　horse　crowd；　and　the