tc.redrabbit-第29章

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hat。　Ryan　rose　and　fixed　the　coffee　for　his　wife；　handing　it　icr　with　a　kiss。
　　　〃Thanks；　honey。〃　Cathy　handed　Jack　his　breakfast。　The　eggs　looked　a　little　different；　as　though　the　chickens　had　eaten　orange　corn　to　makes　the　yellows　e　out　so　bright。　But　they　tasted　just　fine。　Five　satisfying　minutes　after　that；　Ryan　headed　for　the　shower　to　make　room　for　his　wife。
　　　Ten　minutes　later；　he　was　picking　out　a　shirt…white　cotton；　buttondown…striped　tie；　and　his　Marine　Corps　tie　pin。　At　6：40；　there　was　a　knock　at　the　door。
　　　〃Good　morning。〃　It　was　Margaret　van　der　Beek；　the　nanny/governess。　She　lived　just　a　mile　away　and　drove　herself。　Remended　from　an　agency　vetted　by　the　SIS；　she　was　a　South　Africa　native；　the　daughter　of　a　minister；　thin；　pretty；　and　seemingly　very　nice。　She　carried　a　huge　purse。　Her　hair　was　napalm…red；　which　hinted　at　Irish　ancestry；　but　it　was　apparently　strictly　South　African…Dutch。　Her　accent　was　different　from　those　most　locals；　but　nonetheless　pleasant　to　Jack's　ear。　〃Good　morning；　Miss　Margaret。〃　Ryan　waved　her　into　the　house。　〃The　kids　are　still　asleep；　but　I　expect　them　up　at　any　moment。〃
　　　〃Little　Jack　sleeps　well　for　five　months。〃
　　　〃Maybe　it's　the　jet　lag；〃　Ryan　thought　out　loud；　though　Cathy　had　said　that　infants　didn't　suffer　from　it。　Jack　had　trouble　swallowing　that。　In　any　case；　the　little　bastard…Cathy　snarled　at　Jack　whenever　he　said　that…hadn't　gone　to　sleep　until　half　past　ten　the　previous　night。　That　was　harder　on　Cathy　than　on　Jack。　He　could　sleep　through　the　noise。　She　couldn't。　〃Almost　time；　honey；〃　Jack　called。
　　　〃I　know；　Jack；〃　came　the　retort。　Then　she　appeared；　carrying　their　son；　nth　Sally　following　in　her　yellow　bunny…rabbit　sleeper。　〃Hey；　little　girl。〃　Ryan　went　over　to　lift　his　daughter　for　a　hug　and　kiss。　Sally　smiled　back　and　rewarded　her　daddy　with　a　ferocious　hug。　How　children　could　wake　up　in　such　a　good　humor　was　a　perverse　mystery　to　him。　Maybe　it　was　some　important　bonding　instinct；　to　make　sure　their　parents　looked　after　them；　like　when　they　smiled　at　mommy　and　daddy　sporadically　from　their　first　moment。　Clever　little　critters；　babies。
　　　〃Jack；　put　a　bottle　on；〃　Cathy　said；　heading　with　the　little　guy　to　the　changing　table。
　　　〃Roger　that；　doc；〃　the　intelligence　analyst　responded　dutifully；　doubling　back　into　the　kitchen　for　a　bottle　of　the　junk　he'd　mixed　up　the　previous　night…that　was　man's　work；　Cathy　had　made　clear　to　him　during　Sally's　infancy。　Like　moving　furniture　and　taking　out　the　garbage；　the　household　tasks　for　which　men　were　genetically　prepared。
　　　It　was　like　cleaning　a　rifle　to　a　soldier：　unscrew　the　top；　reverse　the　nipple；　place　bottle　in　pot　with　four　to　five　inches　of　water；　turn　on　stove；　and　wait　a　few　minutes。
　　　That　would　be　Miss　Margaret's　task；　however。　Jack　saw　the　taxi　outside　the　window；　just　pulling　onto　the　parking　pad。
　　　〃Car's　here；　babe。〃
　　　〃Okay；〃　was　the　resigned　response。　Cathy　didn't　like　leaving　her　kids　for　work。　Well；　probably　no　mother　did。　Jack　watched　her　head　into　the　half…bath　to　wash　her　hands；　then　emerge　to　put　on　the　suit　coat　that　went　with　her　gray　outfit…even　gray　cloth…covered　flat　shoes。　She　wanted　to　make　a　good　first　impression。　A　kiss　for　Sally；　and　one　for　the　little　guy；　and　she　headed　for　the　door；　which　Jack　held　open　for　her。
　　　The　taxi　was　an　ordinary　Land　Rover　saloon　car…only　London　required　the　classic　English　taxi　for　public　livery；　though　some　of　the　older　ones　found　their　way　into　the　hinterland。　Ryan　had　arranged　the　morning　pickup　the　previous　day。　The　driver　was　one　Edward　Beaverton；　and　he　seemed　awfully　chipper　for　a　man　who　had　to　work　before　7：00　A。M。
　　　〃Howdy；〃　Jack　said。　〃Ed；　this　is　my　wife。　She's　the　good…looking　Dr。　Ryan。〃
　　　〃Good　morning；　mum；〃　the　driver　said。　〃You're　a　surgeon；　I　understand。〃
　　　〃That's　right；　ophthalmic…〃
　　　Her　husband　cut　her　off：　〃She　cuts　up　eyeballs　and　sews　them　back　together。　You　should　watch；　Eddie；　it's　fascinating　to　see　how　she　does　it。〃
　　　The　driver　shuddered。　〃Thank　you；　sir；　but；　no；　thank　you。〃
　　　〃Jack　just　says　that　to　make　people　throw　up；〃　Cathy　told　the　driver。　〃Besides；　he's　too　much　of　a　wuss　to　e　watch　any　real　surgery。〃
　　　〃And　properly　so；　mum。　Much　better　to　cause　surgery　than　to　attend　it。〃
　　　〃Excuse　me？〃
　　　〃You're　a　former　Marine？〃
　　　〃That's　right。　And　you？〃
　　　〃I　was　in　the　Parachute　Regiment。　That's　what　they　taught　us：　Better　to　inflict　harm　on　the　other　bloke　than　to　suffer　it　yourself。〃
　　　〃Most　Marines　would　agree　with　that　one；　pal；〃　Ryan　agreed　with　a　chuckle。
　　　〃That's　not　what　they　taught　us　at　Hopkins；〃　Cathy　sniffed。
　　　It　was　an　hour　later　in　Rome。　Colonel　Goderenko；　titularly　the　Second　Secretary　at　the　Soviet　Embassy；　had　about　two　hours　per　day　of　diplomatic　duties；　but　most　of　his　time　was　taken　up　by　his　job　as　rezident；　or　Chief　of　Station　for　the　KGB。　It　was　a　busy　posting。　Rome　was　a　major　information　nexus　for　NATO；　a　city　in　which　one　could　obtain　all　manner　of　political　and　military　intelligence；　and　that　was　his　main　professional　concern。　He　and　his　six　full…　and　part…time　officers　ran　a　total　of　twenty…three　agents…Italian　（and　one　German）　nationals　who　fed　information　to　the　Soviet　Union　for　political　or　pecuniary　reasons。　It　would　have　been　better　for　him　if　their　motivation　was　mainly　ideological；　but　that　was　rapidly　being　a　thing　of　the　past。　The　rezidentura　in　Bonn　had　a　better　atmosphere　in　which　to　work。　Germans　were　Germans；　and　many　of　them　could　be　persuaded　that　helping　out　their　co…linguists　in　the　DDR　was　preferable　to　working　with　the　Americans；　British；　and　French　who　called　themselves　allies　of　the　Fatherland。　For　Goderenko　and　his　fellow　Russians；　Germans　would　never　be　allies；　whatever　politics　whey　might　claim　to　have；　though　the　fig　leaf　of　Marxism…Leninism　could　sometimes　be　a　useful　disguise。
　　　In　Italy；　things　were　different。　The　lingering　memory　of　Benito　Mussolini　was　pretty　well　faded　now；　and　the　local　true…believer　munists　were　more　interested　in　wine　and　pasta　than　revolutionary　Marxism；　except　for　the　bandits　of　the　Red　Brigade…and　they　were　dangerous　hooligans　rather　than　politically　reliable　operatives。　Vicious　dilettantes　more　than　anything　else；　though　not　without　their　uses。　He　occasionally　saw　to　their　trips　to　Russia；　where　they　studied　political　theory　and；　more　to　the　point；　learned　proper　fieldcraft　skills　that　at　least　had　some　tactical　use。
　　　On　his　desk　was　a　pile　of　overnight　dispatches；　topmost　of　which　was　a　message　flimsy　from　Moscow　Centre。　The　header　told　him　it　was　important；　and　the　cipher　book：　115890。　This　was　in　his　office　safe；　in　the　credenza　behind　his　desk。　He　had　to　turn　in　his　swivel　chair　and　half…kneel　to　dial　in　the　bination　to　open　the　door；　after　first　deactivating　the　electronic　alarm　that　was　wired　to　the　dial。　That　took　a　few　seconds。　Atop　the　book　was　his　cipher　wheel。　Goderenko　cordially　hated　using　one…time　pads；　but　they　were　as　much　a　part　of　his　life　as　using　the　toilet。　Distasteful；　but　necessary。　Decryption　of　the　dispatch　took　him　ten　minutes。　Only　when　it　was　done　did　he　grasp　the　actual　message。　From　the　Chairman　himself？　he　thought。　As　with　any　mid…level　government　official　across　the　world；　it　was　like　being　called　to　the　principal's　office。
　　　The　Pope？　Why　the　hell　does　Yuriy　Vladimirovich　care　a　rat's　ass　about　getting　close　to　the　Pope？　Then　he　thought　for　a　second。　Oh；　of　course。　It's　not　about　the　head　of　the　Catholic　Church。　It's　about　Poland。　You　can　take　the　Polack　out　of　Poland；　but　you　can't　take　Poland　out　of　the　Polack。　It's　political。　That　made　it　important。
　　　But　it　did　not　please　Goderenko。
　　　〃Ascertain　and　report　means　of　getting　physically　close　to　the　pope；〃　he　read　again。　In　the　professional　language　of　the　KGB；　that　could　only　mean　one　thing。
　　　Kill　the　Pope？　Goderenko　thought。　That　would　be　a　political　disaster。　As　Catholic　as　Italy　was；　the　Italians　were　not　a　conspicuously　religious　people。　La　dolce　vita；　the　sweet　life…that　was　the　religion　of　this　country。　The　Italians　were　the　most　profoundly　disorganized　people　in　the　world。　How　they　had　ever　been　allies　to　the　Hitlerites　boggled　the　imagination。　For　the　Germans；　everything　was　supposed　to　be　in　Ordnung；　properly　a