tc.redrabbit-第106章

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　　　〃Dry　ice；　then。〃
　　　〃Yes。　The　metal　casket　is　well　insulated　and　it　seals　hermetically。　Dry　ice　doesn't　melt；　you　know。　It　goes　directly　from　a　solid　to　a　gas。　Now　we　need　to　get　it　dressed。〃　The　doctor　had　brought　the　underclothing　with　him。　None　of　it　was　British　in　origin；　and　all　of　it　was　badly　damaged　by　fire。　All　in　all；　it　was　a　distasteful　job；　but　one　that　pathologists　and　morticians　get　used　to　very　early　in　their　professions。　It　was　just　a　different　way　of　thinking　for　a　different　kind　of　job。　But　this　was　unusually　gruesome；　even　for　these　two。　Both　would　have　an　extra　drink　before　turning　in　that　night。　When　they　finished；　the　aluminum　box　was　reloaded　on　the　van　and　driven　to　Century　House。　There　would　be　a　note　on　Sir　Basil's　desk　in　the　morning　to　let　him　know　that　Rabbit　A　was　ready　for　his　last　flight。
　　　Later　that　night　and　three　thousand　miles　away；　in　Boston；　Massachusetts；　there　was　a　gas　explosion　on　the　second　floor　of　a　two…story　frame　dwelling　overlooking　the　harbor。　Three　people　were　there　when　it　happened。　The　two　adults　were　not　married；　but　both　were　drunk；　and　the　woman's　four…year…old　daughter…not　related　to　the　male　resident…was　already　in　bed。　The　fire　spread　quickly；　too　quickly　for　the　two　adults　to　respond　to　it　through　their　intoxication。　The　three　deaths　didn't　take　long；　all　of　them　from　smoke　inhalation　rather　than　incineration。　The　Boston　Fire　Department　responded　within　ten　minutes；　and　their　search…and…rescue　ladder　men　battled　their　way　through　the　flames　under　cover　of　two　hose　streams；　found　the　bodies；　and　dragged　them　out；　but　they　knew　that　they'd　been　too　late　again。　The　captain　of　the　responding　pany　could　tell　almost　instantly　what　had　gone　wrong。　There　had　been　a　gas　leak　in　the　kitchen　from　the　old　stove　that　the　landlord　hadn't　wanted　to　replace；　and　so　three　people　had　died　of　his　parsimony。　（He'd　gladly　collect　the　insurance　check；　of　course；　and　say　how　sorry　he　was　about　the　tragic　incident。）　This　was　not　the　first　such　case。　It　wouldn't　be　the　last；　either；　and　so　he　and　his　men　would　have　some　nightmares　about　the　three　bodies；　especially　the　little　girl's。　But　that　just　went　with　the　job。
　　　The　story　was　early　enough　to　make　the　eleven　o'clock　news　on　the　rule　that　〃If　it　bleeds；　it　leads。〃　The　Special　Agent　in　Charge　of　the　FBI's　Boston　field　division　was　up　and　watching；　actually　waiting　for　coverage　of　the　baseball　playoffs…he'd　been　at　an　official　dinner　and　missed　the　live　broadcast　on　NBC…and　saw　the　story　and　instantly　remembered　the　lunatic　telex　he'd　gotten　earlier　in　the　day。　That　caused　a　curse　to　be　muttered　and　a　phone　to　be　lifted。
　　　〃FBI；〃　said　the　young　agent　guarding　the　phones　when　he　picked　up。
　　　〃Get　Johnny　up；〃　the　SAC　ordered。　〃A　family　got　burned　up　in　a　fire　on　Hester　Street。　He'll　know　what　to　do。　Have　him　call　me　at　home　if　he　has　to。〃
　　　〃Yes；　sir。〃　And　that　was　that；　except　for　Assistant　Special　Agent　in　Charge　John　Tyler；　who'd　been　reading　a　book　in　his　bed…a　native　of　South　Carolina；　he　preferred　college　football　to　professional　baseball…when　the　phone　rang。　He　managed　to　grumble　on　the　way　to　the　bathroom；　then　collected　his　side　arm　and　car　keys　for　the　ride　south。　He'd　seen　the　telex　from　Washington；　too；　and　wondered　what　sort　of　drugs　Emil　Jacobs　was　taking；　but　his　was　not　to　reason　why。
　　　Not　too　long　after　that；　but　five　time　zones　to　the　east；　Jack　Ryan　rolled　out　of　bed；　got　his　paper；　and　switched　on　the　TV　CNN　also　carried　the　fire　story　from　Boston…it　was　a　slow　news　night　at　home…and　he　breathed　a　quiet　prayer　for　the　victims　of　the　fire；　followed　by　speculation　about　the　gas　pipe　connection　in　his　own　stove。　His　house；　though；　was　a　lot　newer　than　the　standing　lumberyard　that　defined　a　house　in　south　Boston。　When　they　went；　they　went　big；　and　they　went　fast。　Too　fast　for　those　people　to　get　out；　evidently。　He　remembered　his　father　often　saying　how　much　he　respected　firemen；　people　who　ran　into　burning　buildings　instead　of　away　from　them。　The　worst　part　of　the　job　had　to　be　what　they　found　unmoving　on　the　inside。　He　shook　his　head　as　he　opened　his　morning　paper　and　reached　for　his　coffee；　while　his　physician　wife　saw　the　tail　end　of　the　fire　story　and　thought　her　own　thoughts。　She　remembered　treating　burn　victims　in　her　third　year　of　medical　school　and　the　horrid　screams　that　went　with　debriding　burned　tissue　off　the　underlying　wounds；　and　there　wasn't　a　damned　thing　you　could　do　about　it。　But　those　people　in　Boston　were　dead　now；　and　that　was　that。　She　didn't　like　it；　but　she'd　seen　a　lot　of　death；　because　sometimes　the　Bad　Guy　won；　and　that　was　just　how　things　worked。　It　was　not　a　pleasant　thought　for　a　parent；　especially　since　the　little　girl　in　Boston　had　been　Sally's　age　and　now　would　never　get　older。　She　sighed。　At　least　she'd　be　doing　some　surgery　that　morning；　something　that　really　made　a　difference　with　somebody's　health。
　　　Sir　Basil　Charleston　lived　in　an　expensive　townhouse　in　London's　posh　Belgravia　district　south　of　Knightsbridge。　A　widower　whose　grown　children　had　long　since　moved　away；　he　was　accustomed　to　living　alone；　though　he　had　a　discreet　security　detail　in　attendance　at　all　times。　He　also　had　a　maid　service　which　came　in　three　times　a　week　to　straighten　up；　though　he　didn't　bother　with　a　cook；　preferring　to　dine　out　or　even　fix　small　meals　for　himself。　He　had；　of　course；　the　usual　accoutrements　of　a　king　spook：　three　different　sorts　of　secure　phones；　a　secure　telex；　and　a　new　secure　fax　machine。　There　was　no　live…in　secretary；　but　when　the　office　was　busy　and　he　wasn't　there；　a　courier　service　kept　him　apprised　of　the　printed　material　circulating　in　Century　House。　Indeed；　since　he　had　to　assume　that　the　〃opposition〃　kept　an　eye　on　his　home；　he　deemed　it　smarter　to　remain　at　home　in　time　of　crisis；　the　better　to　project　the　image　of　calmness。　It　really　didn't　matter。　He　was　firmly　tied　to　the　SIS　by　an　electronic　umbilical　cord。
　　　And　so　it　was　this　morning。　Someone　at　Century　House　had　decided　to　let　him　know　that　SIS　had　an　adult　male　body　to　use　in　Operation　BEATRIX：　just　the　sort　of　thing　he　needed　with　breakfast；　Basil　noted；　with　a　twisted　expression。　They　needed　three；　though；　one　of　them　a　female　child；　which　was　really　not　something　to　contemplate　with　his　morning　tea　and　Scottish　oatmeal。
　　　However；　it　was　hard　not　to　get　excited　about　this　BEATRIX　operation。　If　their　Rabbit　was　speaking　the　truth…not　all　of　them　did…this　chap　would　have　all　manner　of　useful　information　in　his　head。　The　most　useful　of　all；　of　course；　would　be　if　he　could　identify　Soviet　agents　within　Her　Majesty's　government。　That　was　properly　the　job　of　the　Security　Service…erroneously　called　MI…5…but　the　two　agencies　cooperated　closely；　more　closely　than　CIA　and　FBI　did　in　America；　or　so　it　appeared　to　Charleston。　Sir　Basil　and　his　people　had　long　suspected　a　high…level　leak　somewhere　in　the　Foreign　Office；　but　they'd　been　unable　to　close　in　on　him　or　her。　So；　if　they　got　their　Rabbit　out…it　wasn't　done　until　it　was　done；　he　reminded　himself…that　was　certainly　one　question　his　people　would　be　asking　in　the　safe　house　they　used　outside　of　Taunton　in　the　rolling　hills　of　Somerset。
　　　〃Not　going　to　work　today？〃　Irina　asked　her　husband。　He　ought　to　have　left　for　the　office　by　now；　surely。
　　　〃No；　and　I　have　a　surprise　for　you；〃　Oleg　announced。
　　　〃What　is　that？〃
　　　〃We're　going　to　Budapest　tomorrow。〃
　　　That　snapped　her　head　around。　〃What？〃
　　　〃I　decided　to　take　my　vacation　days；　and　there's　a　new　conductor　in　Budapest　now；　Jozsef　Rozsa。　I　knew　you　liked　classical　music；　and　I　decided　to　take　you　and　zaichik　there；　dear。〃
　　　〃Oh；〃　was　all　she　had　to　say。　〃But　what　about　my　job　at　GUM？〃
　　　〃Can't　you　get　free　of　that？〃
　　　〃Well；　yes；　I　suppose；〃　Irina　admitted。　〃But　why　Budapest？〃
　　　〃Well；　the　music；　and　we　can　buy　some　things　there。　I　have　a　list　of　items　to　get　for　people　at　The　Centre；〃　he　told　her。
　　　〃Ah；　yes。。。　we　can　get　some　nice　things　for　Svetlana；〃　she　thought　out　loud　on　reflection。　Working　at　GUM；　she　knew　what　was　available　in　Hungary　that　she'd　never　get　in　Moscow；　even　in　the　〃closed〃　stores。　〃Who　is　this　Rozsa；　anyway？〃
　　　〃He's　a　young　Hungarian　conductor　touring　Eastern　Europe。　He