tc.redrabbit-第102章

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n　a　mile　away。
　　　But　by　the　time　they　got　there；　the　paramedics　in　the　back　knew　that　it　was　just　a　waste　of　their　highly　valuable　time。　The　casualty…receiving　area　was　ready　for　them。　The　driver　reversed　direction　and　backed　in；　the　rear　doors　were　wrenched　open；　and　the　gurney　was　wheeled　out；　with　a　young　doctor　observing　but　not　touching　anything　yet。
　　　〃Smoke　inhalation；〃　the　fireman…paramedic　said；　on　ing　in　the　swinging　doors。　〃Severe　carbon　monoxide　intoxication。〃　The　extensive　but　mainly　superficial　burns　could　wait　for　the　moment。
　　　〃How　long？〃　the　ER　doc　asked　at　once。
　　　〃Don't　know。　It　does　not　look　good；　doctor。　CO　poisoning；　eyes　fixed　and　dilated；　fingernails　red；　no　response　to　CPR　or　oxygen　as　yet；〃　the　paramedic　reported。
　　　The　medics　all　tried。　You　don't　just　kiss　off　the　life　of　a　man　in　his　early　thirties；　but　an　hour　later　it　was　clear　that　Owen　Williams　would　not　open　his　blue　eyes　ever　again；　and；　on　the　doctor's　mand；　lifesaving　efforts　were　stopped　and　a　time　of　death　announced；　to　be　typed　in　on　the　death　certificate。　The　police　were　there；　also；　of　course。　They　mostly　chatted　with　the　firemen　until　the　cause　of　death　was　established。　The　blood　chemistry　was　taken…they'd　drawn　blood　immediately　to　check　blood　gasses…and　after　fifteen　minutes；　the　lab　reported　that　the　level　of　carbon　monoxide　was　39　percent；　deep　into　the　lethal　range。　He'd　been　dead　before　the　firemen　had　rolled　off　their　cots。　And　that　was　that。
　　　It　was　the　police　rather　than　the　firemen　who　took　it　from　there。　A　man　had　died；　and　it　had　to　be　reported　up　the　chain　of　mand。
　　　That　chain　ended　in　London　in　the　steel…and…glass　building　that　was　New　Scotland　Yard；　with　its　revolving　triangular　sign　that　made　tourists　think　that　the　name　of　the　London　police　force　was；　in　fact；　Scotland　Yard；　when　actually　that　had　been　a　street　name　years　before　for　the　old　headquarters　building。　There；　a　Post…it　note　on　a　teletype　machine　announced　that　Chief　Superintendent　Nolan　of　Special　Branch　wanted　to　be　informed　at　once　of　any　death　by　fire　or　accident；　and　the　teletype　operator　lifted　a　phone　and　called　the　appropriate　number。
　　　That　number　was　to　the　Special　Branch　watch　officer；　who　asked　a　few　questions；　then　called　York　for　further　information。　Then　it　was　his　job　to　awaken　〃Tiny〃　Nolan　just　after　four　in　the　morning。
　　　〃Very　well；〃　the　Chief　Superintendent　said；　after　collecting　himself。　〃Tell　them　to　do　nothing　whatsoever　with　the　body…nothing　at　all。　Make　sure　they　understand；　nothing　at　all。〃
　　　〃Very　well；　sir；〃　the　sergeant　in　the　office　confirmed。　〃I　will　relay　that。〃　And　seven　miles　away；　Patrick　Nolan　went　back　to　sleep；　or　at　least　tried　to；　while　his　mind　wondered　again　what　the　hell　SIS　wanted　a　roasted　human　body　for。　It　had　to　be　something　interesting；　just　that　it　was　also　quite　disgusting　to　contemplate…enough　that　it　denied　him　sleep　for　twenty　minutes　or　so；　before　he　faded　back　out。
　　　The　messages　were　flying　back　and　forth　across　the　Atlantic　and　Eastern　Europe　all　that　night；　and　all　of　them　were　processed　by　the　signals　specialists　in　the　various　embassies；　the　underpaid　and　overworked　clerical　people　who；　virtually　alone；　were　needed　to　transmit　all　of　the　most　sensitive　information　from　originators　to　end…users；　and　so；　virtually　alone；　were　the　people　who　knew　it　all　but　did　nothing　with　it。　They　were　also　the　ones　whom　enemies　tried　so　hard　to　corrupt；　and　who　were；　as　a　result；　the　most　carefully　watched　of　all　staffers；　whether　at　headquarters　or　in　the　various　embassies；　though　for　all　the　concern；　there　was　usually　no　pensating　solicitude　for　their　fort。　But　it　was　through　these　so　often　unappreciated　but　vital　people　that　the　dispatches　found　their　way　to　the　proper　desks。
　　　One　recipient　was　Nigel　Haydock；　and　it　was　to　him　that　the　most　important　of　the　morning's　messages　went；　because　only　he；　at　this　moment；　knew　the　scope　of　BEATRIX；　there　in　his　office；　where　he　was　covered　as　mercial　Attache　to　Her　Britannic　Majesty's　Embassy；　on　the　eastern　bank　of　the　Moscow　River。
　　　Haydock　usually　took　his　breakfast　at　the　embassy；　since　with　his　wife　so　gravidly　pregnant；　he　felt　it　improper　for　him　to　have　her　fix　the　morning　meal　for　him…and　besides；　she　was　sleeping　a　lot；　in　preparation　for　not　sleeping　at　all　when　the　little　bugger　arrived；　Nigel　thought。　So　there　he　was　at　his　desk；　drinking　his　morning　tea　and　eating　a　buttered　muffin　when　he　got　to　the　dispatch　from　London。
　　　〃Bloody　hell；〃　he　breathed；　then　paused　to　think。　It　was　brilliant；　this　American　play　on　MINCEMEAT…nasty　and　grisly；　but　brilliant。　And　it　appeared　that　Sir　Basil　was　going　forward　with　it。　That　tricky　old　bugger。　It　was　the　sort　of　thing　Bas　would　like。　The　current　C　was　a　devotee　of　the　old　school；　one　who　liked　the　feel　of　devious　operations。　His　over…cleverness　might　be　the　downfall　of　him　someday；　but；　Haydock　thought；　one　has　to　admire　his　panache。　So　get　the　Rabbit　to　Budapest　and　arrange　his　escape　from　there。。。
　　　Andy　Hudson　preferred　coffee　in　the　morning；　acpanied　by　eggs；　bacon；　fried　tomatoes；　and　toast。　〃Bloody　brilliant；〃　he　said　aloud。　The　audacity　of　this　operation　appealed　to　his　adventurous　nature。　So　they'd　have　to　get　three　individuals…an　adult　male；　an　adult　female；　and　a　little　girl…all　out　of　Hungary　covertly。　Not　overly　difficult；　but　he'd　have　to　check　his　rat　line；　because　this　was　one　operation　he　didn't　want　to　bollix　up；　especially　if　he　had　thoughts　of　promotion　in　the　future。　The　Secret　Intelligence　Service　was　singular　among　British　government　bureaucracies　insofar　as；　while　it　rewarded　success　fairly　well；　it　was　singularly　unforgiving　of　failure…there　was　no　union　at　Century　House　to　protect　the　worker　bees。　But　he'd　known　that　going　in；　and　they　couldn't　take　his　pension　away　in　any　case…once　he　had　the　seniority　to　qualify　for　one；　Hudson　cautioned　himself。　But　while　this　operation　wasn't　quite　the　World　Cup；　it　would　be　rather　like　scoring　the　winning　goal　for　Arsenal　against　Manchester　United　at　Wembly　Stadium。
　　　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