tc.redrabbit-第23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！


　　　〃No；　he　wasn't。　Okay；　you　can　say　he　was　a　paranoid　bastard；　but　even　he　knew　the　difference　between　paranoia　and　genuine　fear。〃　Greer　knew　that　statement　was　a　mistake　the　moment　the　words　escaped　his　lips。　He　covered　his　tracks：　〃And　even　if　he　was　afraid　of　the　old　goat；　the　current　crop　isn't　like　that。　They　lack　Stalin's　paranoia　but；　more　to　the　point；　they　lack　his　decisiveness。〃
　　　〃Jim；　you're　wrong。　The　Warsaw　Letter　is　a　potentially　dangerous　threat　to　their　political　stability；　and　they　will　take　that　seriously。〃
　　　〃Robert；　I　didn't　know　you　were　that　religious；〃　Moore　joked。
　　　〃I'm　not；　and　neither　are　they；　but　they　will　be　worried　about　this。　I　think　they　will　be　worried　a　lot。　Enough　to　take　direct　action？　That　I'm　not　sure　of；　but　they　will　damned　well　think　about　it。〃
　　　〃That　remains　to　be　seen；〃　Moore　countered。
　　　〃Arthur；　that　is　my　assessment；〃　the　DDO　shot　back；　and　with　the　A…word；　it　became　serious；　at　least　within　the　cloisters　of　the　Central　Intelligence　Agency。
　　　〃What　changed　your　mind　so　quickly；　Bob？〃　the　Judge　asked。
　　　〃The　more　I　think　about　it；　from　their　point　of　view；　the　more　serious　it　starts　to　look。〃
　　　〃You　planning　anything？〃
　　　That　made　Ritter　a　little　uneasy。　〃It's　a　little　early　to　hit　the　Foleys　with　a　major　tasking；　but　I　am　going　to　send　them　a　heads…up；　at　least　to　get　them　thinking　about　it。〃
　　　This　was　an　operational　question；　on　which　the　others　typically　deferred　to　Bob　Ritter　and　his　field…spook　instincts。　Taking　information　from　an　agent　was　often　simpler　and　more　routine　than　getting　instructions　to　an　agent。　Since　it　was　assumed　that　every　employee　of　the　Moscow　embassy　was　followed　on　a　regular　or　irregular　basis；　it　was　dangerous　to　make　them　do　something　that　looked　spookish。　This　was　especially　true　for　the　Foleys…they　were　so　new　that　they　would　be　tightly　covered。　Ritter　didn't　want　them　blown；　for　the　usual　reasons　and　for　one　other：　His　selection　of　this　husband/wife　team　had　been　a　daring　play；　and　if　it　didn't　work；　it　would　e　back　at　him。　A　high…stakes　poker　player；　Ritter　didn't　like　losing　his　chips　any　more　than　the　next　man。　He　had　very　high　hopes　for　the　Foleys。　He　didn't　want　their　potential　blown　two　weeks　into　their　assignment　in　Moscow。
　　　The　other　two　didn't　ment；　which　allowed　Ritter　to　proceed；　running　his　shop　as　he　saw　fit。
　　　〃You　know；〃　Moore　observed；　with　a　lean…back　into　his　chair；　〃here　we　are；　the　best　and　brightest；　the　best…informed　members　of　this　presidential　administration；　and　we　don't　know　beans　about　a　subject　that　may　turn　out　to　be　of　great　importance。〃
　　　〃True；　Arthur；〃　Greer　agreed。　〃But　we　don't　know　with　considerable　authority。　That's　more　than　anybody　else　can　say；　isn't　it？〃
　　　〃Just　what　I　needed　to　hear；　James。〃　It　meant　that　those　outside　this　building　were　free　to　pontificate；　but　that　these　three　men　were　not。　No；　they　had　to　be　cautious　in　everything　they　said；　because　people　tended　to　view　their　opinions　as　facts…which；　you　learned　up　here　on　the　Seventh　Floor；　they　most　certainly　were　not。　If　they　were　that　good；　they'd　be　doing　something　more　profitable　with　their　lives；　like　picking　stocks。
　　　Ryan　settled　back　into　his　easy　chair　with　a　copy　of　the　Financial　Times。　Most　people　preferred　to　read　it　in　the　morning；　but　not　Jack。　Mornings　were　for　general　news；　to　prepare　him　for　the　workday　at　Century　House…back　home；　he'd　listened　to　news　radio　during　the　hour…or…so　drive；　since　the　intelligence　business　so　often　tracked　the　news。　Here　and　now；　he　could　relax　with　the　financial　stuff。　This　British　paper　wasn't　quite　the　same　as　The　Wall　Street　Journal；　but　the　different　twist　it　put　on　things　was　interesting…it　gave　him　a　new　slant　on　abstract　problems；　to　which　he　could　then　apply　his　American…trained　expertise。　Besides；　it　helped　to　keep　current。　There　were　bound　to　be　financial　opportunities　out　here；　waiting　for　people　to　harvest　them。　Finding　a　few　would　make　this　whole　European　adventure　worth　the　time。　He　still　regarded　his　CIA　sojourn　as　a　side　trip　in　life；　whose　ultimate　destination　was　too　far　off　in　the　haze。　He'd　play　his　cards　one　at　a　time。
　　　〃Dad　called　today；〃　Cathy　said；　perusing　her　medical　journal。　This　was　The　New　England　Journal　of　Medicine；　one　of　the　six　she　subscribed　to。
　　　〃What　did　Joe　want？〃
　　　〃Just　asked　how　we　were　doing；　how　the　kids　are；　that　sort　of　thing；〃　Cathy　responded。
　　　Didn't　waste　any　words　about　me；　did　he？　Ryan　didn't　bother　asking。　Joe　Muller；　senior　VP　of　Merrill　Lynch；　didn't　approve　of　the　way　his　son…in…law　had　left　the　trading　business；　after　having　had　the　bad　grace　to　run　off　with　his　own　daughter；　first　to　teach；　and　then　to　play　fox…and…hounds　with　spies　and　other　government　employees。　Joe　didn't　much　care　for　the　government　and　its　minions…he　deemed　them　unproductive　takers　of　what　he　and　others　made。　Jack　was　sympathetic；　but　someone　had　to　deal　with　the　tigers　of　the　world；　and　one　of　those　somebodies　was　John　Patrick　Ryan。　Ryan　liked　money　as　much　as　the　next　guy；　but　to　him　it　was　a　tool；　not　an　end　in　itself。　It　was　like　a　good　car…it　could　take　you　to　nice　places　but；　once　there；　you　didn't　sleep　in　the　car。　Joe　didn't　see　things　that　way　and　didn't　even　try　to　understand　those　who　thought　otherwise。　On　the　other　hand；　he　did　love　his　daughter；　and　he　had　never　hassled　her　about　being　a　surgeon。　Perhaps　he　figured　taking　care　of　sick　people　was　okay　for　girls；　but　making　money　was　man's　work。
　　　〃That's　nice；　honey；〃　Ryan　said　from　behind　the　FT。　The　Japanese　economy　was　starting　to　look　shaky　to　Ryan；　though　not　to　the　paper's　editorial　board。　Well；　they'd　been　wrong　before。
　　　It　was　a　sleepless　night　in　Moscow。　Yuriy　Andropov　had　smoked　more　than　his　usual　plement　of　Marlboros；　but　had　held　himself　to　only　one　vodka　after　he'd　gotten　home　from　a　diplomatic　reception　for　the　ambassador　from　Spain…a　total　waste　of　his　time。　Spain　had　joined　NATO；　and　its　counterintelligence　service　was　depressingly　effective　at　identifying　his　attempts　to　get　a　penetration　agent　into　their　government。　He'd　probably　be　better　advised　to　try　the　king's　court。　Courtiers　were　notoriously　talkative；　after　all；　and　the　elected　government　would　probably　keep　the　newly　restored　monarch　informed；　for　no　other　reason　than　their　desire　to　suck　up　to　him。　So　he　had　drunk　the　wine；　nibbled　on　the　finger　food；　and　chattered　on　with　the　usual　small　talk。　Yes；　it　has　been　a　fine　summer；　hasn't　it？　Sometimes　he　wondered　if　his　elevation　to　the　Politburo　was　worth　the　demands　on　his　time。　He　hardly　ever　had　time　to　read　anymore…just　his　work　and　his　diplomatic/political　duties；　which　were　endless。　Now　he　knew　what　it　must　be　like　to　be　a　woman；　Andropov　thought。　No　wonder　they　all　nagged　and　groused　so　much　at　their　men。
　　　But　the　thought　that　never　left　his　mind　was　the　Warsaw　Letter。　If　the　government　of　Warsaw　persists　in　its　unreasonable　repression　of　the　people；　I　will　be　pelled　to　resign　the　papacy　and　return　to　be　with　my　people　in　their　time　of　trouble。　That　bastard！　Threatening　the　peace　of　the　world。　Had　the　Americans　put　him　up　to　it？　None　of　his　field　officers　had　turned　up　anything　like　that；　but　one　could　never　be　sure。　The　American　President　was　clearly　no　friend　to　his　country；　he　was　always　looking　for　ways　to　sting　Moscow…the　nerve　of　that　intellectual　nonentity；　saying　that　the　Soviet　Union　was　the　center　of　evil　in　the　world！　That　fucking　actor　saying　such　things！　Even　the　howls　of　protest　from　the　American　news　media　and　academia　hadn't　lessened　the　sting。　Europeans　had　picked　up　on　it…worst　of　all；　the　Eastern　European　intelligentsia　had　seized　on　it；　which　had　caused　all　manner　of　problems　for　his　subordinate　counter…intelligence　throughout　the　Warsaw　Pact。　As　if　they　weren't　busy　enough　already；　Yuriy　Vladimirovich　grumbled；　as　he　pulled　another　cigarette　out　of　the　red…and…white　box　and　lit　it　with　a　match。　He　didn't　even　listen　to　the　music　that　was　playing；　as　his　brain　turned　the　information　over　and　over　in　his　head。
　　　Warsaw　had　to　clamp　down　on　those　counterrevolutionary　troublemakers　in　Danzig…strangely；　Andropov　always　thought　of　that　port　city　by　the　old　German　name…lest　its　government　e　pletely　unglued。　Moscow　had　told　th