tc.redrabbit-第32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！


　　　〃Our　chaps　think　he's　got　five　years　or　so；〃　Harding　offered。
　　　〃Well；　I'm　not　a　doc。　You　can　have　some　people　talk　to　Bernie　about　it　if　you　want；　but　everything　is　right　there。　Cathy　says　you　can　tell　a　lot　about　diabetes　from　looking　at　the　eyeball。〃
　　　〃Does　Suslov　know　that？〃
　　　Ryan　shrugged。　〃That　is　a　good　question；　Simon。　Docs　don't　always　tell　their　patients；　probably　less　so　over　there。　Figure　Suslov's　being　treated　by　a　politically　reliable　doctor　of　professorial　rank。　Here；　that　would　mean　a　top…drawer　guy　who　really　knows　his　stuff。　Over　there。。。？〃
　　　Harding　nodded。　〃Correct。　He　may　know　his　Lenin　more　than　his　Pasteur。　Did　you　ever　hear　about　Sergey　Korolev；　their　chief　rocket　designer？　That　was　a　particularly　ugly　incident。　The　poor　bugger　was　essentially　murdered　on　the　table　because　two　senior　surgeons　didn't　like　each　other；　and　one　wouldn't　bail　the　other　out　when　the　boat　began　to　leak　badly。　It　was　probably　good　for　the　West；　but　he　was　a　fine　engineer；　and　he　was　killed　by　medical　inpetence。〃
　　　〃Anybody　pay　up　for　that　one？〃　Ryan　asked。
　　　〃Oh；　no。　They　were　both　too　politically　important；　lots　of　patrons　in　high　places。　They're　safe；　until　they　kill　one　of　their　friends；　and　that　won't　happen。　I'm　sure　they　both　have　petent　young　people　under　them　to　cover　their　backsides。〃
　　　〃You　know　what　they　need　in　Russia？　Lawyers。　I　don't　like　ambulance…chasers；　but　I　guess　they　do　keep　people　on　their　toes。〃
　　　〃In　any　case；　no；　Suslov　probably　does　not　know　the　gravity　of　his　condition。　At　least　that's　what　our　medical　consultants　think。　He　still　drinks　his　vodka　according　to　HUMINT　reports；　and　that　is　definitely　contra…indicated。〃　Harding　grimaced。　〃And　his　replacement　will　be　Alexandrov；　every　bit　as　unpleasant　a　chap　as　his　mentor。　I'll　have　to　see　about　updating　his　dossier。〃　He　made　a　note。
　　　As　for　Ryan；　he　turned　back　to　his　morning　briefing　pages　before　starting　on　his　official　project。　Greer　wanted　Ryan　to　work　on　a　study　of　management　practices　in　the　Soviet　armament　industry；　to　see　how…and　if…that　segment　of　the　Soviet　economy　worked。　Ryan　and　Harding　would　be　cooperating　on　the　study；　which　would　use　both　British　and　American　data。　It　was　something　that　suited　Ryan's　academic　background。　It　might　even　get　him　noticed　high　up。
　　　The　return　message　came　in　at　11：32　hours。　Fast　work　in　Rome；　Zaitzev　thought；　as　he　began　the　decryption。　He'd　call　Colonel　Rozhdestvenskiy　as　soon　as　he　got　through　it；　but　it　was　going　to　take　a　while。　The　captain　checked　the　wall　clock。　It　would　delay　his　lunch；　too；　but　the　priority　condemned　him　to　some　stomach　growls。　About　the　only　good　news　was　that　Colonel　Goderenko　had　started　his　encipherment　sequence　at　the　top　of　page　285。
　　　MOST　SECRET　IMMEDIATE　AND　URGENT
　　　FROM：　REZIDENT　ROME
　　　To：　OFFICE　OF　CHAIRMAN；　Moscow　CENTRE
　　　REFERENCE：　YOUR　OP　DISPATCH　15…8…82…666
GETTING　CLOSE　TO　THE　PRIEST　is　NOT　DIFFICULT　WITHOUT　FIXED　TIME　CONSTRAINTS。　GUIDANCE　WILL　BE　NEEDED　FOR　A　FULL　EVALUATION　OF　YOUR　REQUEST。　PRIEST　ENGAGES　IN　PREDICTABLE　PUBLIC　AUDIENCES　AND　APPEARANCES　WHICH　ARE　KNOWN　WELL　IN　ADVANCE。　To　MAKE　USE　OF　THIS　OPPORTUNITY　WILL　NOT　RPT　NOT　BE　EASY　DUE　TO　LARGE　CROWDS　ATTENDING　FUNCTIONS。　SECURITY　ARRANGEMENTS　FOR　HIM　DIFFICULT　TO　ASSESS　WITHOUT　FURTHER　GUIDANCE。　REMEND　AGAINST　PHYSICAL　ACTION　TO　BE　TAKEN　AGAINST　PRIEST　DUE　TO　EXPECTED　ADVERSE　POLITICAL　CONSEQUENCES。　DIFFICULT　TO　HIDE　ORIGIN　OF　AN　OPERATION　AGAINST　PRIEST。　ENDS。

　　　Well；　Zaitzev　thought；　the　rezident　didn't　like　this　idea　very　much。　Would　Yuriy　Vladimirovich　listen　to　this　bit　of　advice　from　the　field？　That；　Zaitzev　knew；　was　far　above　his　pay　grade。　He　lifted　his　phone　and　dialed。
　　　〃Colonel　Rozhdestvenskiy；〃　the　brusque　voice　answered。
　　　〃Captain　Zaitzev　in　munications　Central。　I　have　a　reply　to　your　six…six…six；　rade　Colonel。〃
　　　〃On　my　way；〃　Rozhdestvenskiy　responded。
　　　The　colonel　was　as　good　as　his　word；　passing　through　the　control　point　three　minutes　later。　By　that　time；　Zaitzev　had　returned　the　cipher　book　to　central　storage　and　slipped　the　message　form；　plus　the　translation；　into　a　brown　envelope；　which　he　handed　to　the　colonel。
　　　〃Has　anyone　seen　this？〃　Rozhdestvenskiy　asked。
　　　〃Certainly　not；　rade；〃　Zaitzev　replied。
　　　〃Very　well。〃　Colonel　Rozhdestvenskiy　walked　away　without　another　word。　For　his　part；　Zaitzev　left　his　work　desk　and　headed　off　to　the　cafeteria　for　lunch。　The　food　was　the　best　reason　to　work　at　The　Centre。
　　　What　he　could　not　leave　behind　as　he　stopped　at　the　lavatory　to　wash　his　hands　was　the　message　sequence。　Yuriy　Andropov　wanted　to　kill　the　Pope；　and　the　rezident　in　Rome　didn't　like　the　idea。　Zaitzev　wasn't　supposed　to　have　any　opinions。　He　was　just　part　of　the　munications　system。　It　rarely　occurred　to　the　hierarchy　of　the　mittee　for　State　Security　that　its　people　actually　had　minds。。。
　　　。。。　and　even　consciences。。。
　　　Zaitzev　took　his　place　in　line　and　got　the　metal　tray　and　utensils。　He　decided　on　the　beef　stew　and　four　thick　slices　of　bread；　with　a　large　glass　of　tea。　The　cashier　charged　him　fifty…five　kopecks。　His　usual　luncheon　mates　had　already　been　and　gone；　so　he　ended　up　picking　an　end　seat　at　a　table　filled　with　people　he　didn't　know。　They　were　talking　about　football；　and　he　didn't　join　in；　alone　with　his　thoughts。　The　stew　was　quite　good；　as　was　the　bread；　fresh　from　the　ovens。　About　the　only　thing　they　didn't　have　here　was　proper　silverware；　as　they　did　in　the　private　dining　rooms　on　the　upper　floors。　Instead　they　used　the　same　feather…light　zinc…aluminum　as　all　the　other　Soviet　citizens。　It　worked　well　enough；　but　because　it　was　so　light；　it　felt　awkward　in　his　hands。
　　　So；　he　thought；　I　was　right。　The　Chairman　is　thinking　about　murdering　the　Pope。
　　　Zaitzev　was　not　a　religious　man。　He　had　not　been　to　a　church　in　his　entire　life…except　those　large　buildings　converted　to　museums　since　the　Revolution。　All　he　knew　about　religion　was　the　propaganda　dispensed　as　a　matter　of　course　in　Soviet　public　education。　And　yet　some　of　the　children　he'd　known　in　school　had　talked　about　believing　in　God；　and　he　hadn't　reported　them；　because　informing　just　wasn't　his　way。　The　Great　Questions　of　Life　were　things　he　didn't　much　think　about。　For　the　most　part；　life　in　the　Soviet　Union　was　limited　to　yesterday；　today；　and　tomorrow。　The　economic　facts　of　life　really　didn't　allow　a　person　to　make　long…term　plans。　There　were　no　country　houses　to　buy；　no　luxury　cars　to　desire；　no　elaborate　vacations　to　save　for。　In　mitting　what　it　called　socialism　on　the　people；　the　government　of　his　country　allowed…forced…everyone　to　aspire　to　much　the　same　things；　regardless　of　individual　tastes；　which　meant　getting　on　an　endless　list　and　being　notified　when　one's　name　came　up…and　being　unknowingly　bumped　by　those　with　greater　Party　seniority…or　not；　because　some　people　had　access　to　better　places。　His　life；　like　everyone　else's；　was　like　that　of　a　steer　on　a　feed　lot。　He　was　cared　for　moderately　well　and　fed　the　same　bland　food　at　the　same　time　on　endlessly　identical　days。　There　was　a　grayness；　an　overarching　boredom；　to　every　aspect　of　life…alleviated　in　his　case　only　by　the　content　of　the　messages　which　he　processed　and　forwarded。　He　wasn't　supposed　to　think　about　the　messages；　much　less　remember　them；　but　without　anybody　to　talk　to；　all　he　could　do　was　dwell　on　them　in　the　privacy　of　his　own　mind。　Today　his　mind　had　just　one　occupant；　and　it　would　not　silence　itself。　It　raced　around　like　a　hamster　in　an　exercise　wheel；　going　round　and　round　but　always　returning　to　the　same　place。
　　　Andropov　wants　to　kill　the　Pope。
　　　He'd　processed　assassination　messages　before。　Not　many。　KGB　was　gradually　drifting　away　from　it。　Too　many　things　went　wrong。　Despite　the　professional　skill　and　cleverness　of　the　field　officers；　policemen　in　other　countries　were　endlessly　clever　and　had　the　mindless　patience　of　a　spider　in　its　web；　and　until　KGB　could　just　wish　a　person　dead　and　have　it　e　to　pass；　there　would　be　witnesses　and　evidence；　because　a　cloak　of　invisibility　was　something　found　only　in　tales　for　children。
　　　More　often　he　processed　messages　about　defectors　or　suspected　would　be　defectors…or；　just　as　deadly；　suspicion　of　officers　and　agents　who'd　〃doubled；〃