tc.redrabbit-第49章

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　　　〃A　lot　of　traffic　last　night　from　Washington。　That　madman　of　a　president　was　at　it　again。　Did　you　know　that　we　are　'the　focus　of　evil　in　the　modern　world'？〃
　　　〃He　said　that？〃　Zaitzev　asked　incredulously。
　　　Dobrik　nodded。　〃He　did。　The　Washington　rezidentura　sent　us　the　text　of　his　speech…it　was　red　meat　for　his　party　faithful；　but　it　was　incendiary　even　so。　I　expect　the　ambassador　will　get　instructions　from　the　foreign　ministry　about　it；　and　the　Politburo　will　probably　have　something　to　say。　But　at　least　it　gave　me　a　lively　watch　to　read　it　all！〃
　　　〃They　didn't　put　it　on　the　pad；　did　they？〃　A　plete　transmission　on　a　one…time　cipher　pad　would　have　been　a　nightmare　job　for　the　clerks。
　　　〃No；　it　was　a　machine　job；　thank　God；〃　Dobrik　replied。　His　choice　of　words　wasn't　entirely　ironic。　That　euphemism　was　a　mon　one；　even　at　The　Centre。　〃Our　officers　are　trying　to　make　sense　of　his　words　even　now。　The　political　department　will　be　going　over　it　for　hours…days；　more　likely；　plete　with　the　psychiatrists；　I　wager。〃
　　　Zaitzev　managed　a　chuckle。　The　back…and…forth　between　the　head　doctors　and　the　field　officers　would　undoubtedly　be　entertaining　to　read…and；　like　good　clerks；　they　tended　to　read　all　of　the　entertaining　dispatches。
　　　〃You　have　to　wonder　how　such　men　get　to　rule　major　countries；〃　Dobrik　observed；　standing　up　and　lighting　a　cigarette。
　　　〃I　think　they　call　it　the　democratic　process；〃　Zaitzev　responded。
　　　〃Well；　in　that　case；　thanks　be　for　the　Collective　Will　of　the　People　as　expressed　through　the　beloved　Party。〃　Dobrik　was　a　good　Party　member；　despite　the　planned　irony　of　his　remark；　as　was　everyone　in　this　room；　of　course。
　　　〃Indeed；　Kolya。　In　any　case〃…Zaitzev　looked　over　at　the　wall　clock。　He　was　six　minutes　early…〃I　relieve　you；　rade　Major。〃
　　　〃And　I　thank　you；　rade　Major。〃　Dobrik　headed　off　to　the　exit。
　　　Zaitzev　took　the　seat；　still　warm　from　Dobrik's　backside；　and　signed　in　on　the　time　sheet；　noting　the　time。　Next　he　dumped　the　contents　of　the　desk　ashtray　into　the　trash　bucket…Dobrik　never　seemed　to　do　that…and　started　a　new　day　at　the　office。　Relieving　his　colleague　had　been　a　rote　process；　if　a　pleasant　one。　He　hardly　knew　Dobrik；　except　for　these　moments　at　the　start　of　his　day。　Why　anyone　would　volunteer　for　continuous　night　duty　mystified　him。　At　least　Dobrik　always　left　a　clean　desk　behind；　not　one　piled　up　with　unfinished　work；　which　gave　Zaitzev　a　few　minutes　to　get　caught　up　and　mentally　organized　for　the　day。
　　　In　this　case；　however；　those　few　minutes　merely　brought　back　the　images　that；　it　seemed；　were　not　about　to　go　away。　And　so　Oleg　Ivanovich　lit　up　his　first　work　cigarette　of　the　day　and　shuffled　the　papers　on　the　metal　desk　while　his　mind　was　elsewhere；　doing　things　that　he　himself　didn't　want　to　know　about　just　yet。　It　was　ten　minutes　after　the　hour　when　a　cipher　clerk　came　to　him　with　a　folder。
　　　〃From　Station　Washington；　rade　Major；〃　the　clerk　announced。
　　　〃Thank　you；　rade；〃　Zaitzev　acknowledged。
　　　Taking　the　manila　folder；　he　opened　it　and　started　leafing　through　the　dispatches。
　　　Ah；　he　thought；　this　CASSIUS　fellow　has　reported　in。。。　yes；　more　political　intelligence。　He　didn't　know　the　name　or　face　that　went　along　with　CASSIUS；　but　he　had　to　be　an　aide　to　a　senior　parliamentarian；　possibly　even　a　senator。　He　delivered　high…quality　political　intelligence　that　hinted　at　access　to　hard　intelligence　information。　So　a　servant　to　a　very　senior　American　politician　worked　for　the　Soviet　Union；　too。　He　wasn't　paid；　which　made　him　an　ideologically　motivated　agent；　the　very　best　sort。
　　　He　read　through　the　dispatch　and　then　searched　his　memory　for　the　right　recipient　upstairs。。。　Colonel　Anatoliy　Gregorovich　Fokin；　in　the　political　department；　whose　address　was　Washington　Desk；　Line　PR；　First　Department；　First　Chief　Directorate；　up　on　the　fourth　floor。
　　　Outside　of　town；　colonel　Ilya　Fedorovich　Bubovoy　walked　off　his　morning　flight　from　Sofia。　To　catch　it；　he'd　had　to　arise　at　three　in　the　morning；　an　embassy　car　taking　him　to　the　airport　for　the　flight　to　Moscow。　The　summons　had　e　from　Aleksey　Rozhdestvenskiy；　whom　he'd　known　for　some　years　and　who　had　shown　him　the　courtesy　to　call　the　day　before　and　assure　him　that　nothing　untoward　was　meant　by　this　summons　to　The　Centre。　Bubovoy　had　a　clear　conscience；　but　it　was　nice　to　know；　even　so。　You　never　could　be　sure　with　KGB。　Like　children　called　to　the　principal's　office；　officers　were　often　known　to　have　a　few　upper…gastric　butterflies　on　the　way　into　headquarters。　In　any　case；　his　tie　was　properly　knotted；　and　his　good　shoes　shined　properly。　He　did　not　wear　his　uniform；　as　his　identity　as　the　Sofia　rezident　was　technically　secret。
　　　A　uniformed　sergeant　of　the　Red　Army　met　him　at　the　gate　and　led　him　out　to　a　car…in　fact；　the　sergeant　was　KGB；　but　that　wasn't　for　public　knowledge：　Who　knew　if　CIA　or　other　Western　services　had　eyes　at　the　airport？　Bubovoy　picked　up　a　copy　of　Sovietskiy　Sports　a　kiosk　on　the　walk　out　to　the　car。　It　would　be　thirty…five　minutes　in。　Sofia's　soccer　team　had　just　beaten　Moscow　Dynamo；　3…2；　a　few　days　before。　The　colonel　wondered　if　the　local　sportswriters　would　be　calling　for　the　heads　of　the　Moscow　team；　couched　in　appropriate　Marxist　rhetoric；　of　course。　Good　socialists　always　won；　but　the　sportswriters　tended　to　get　confused　when　one　socialist　team　lost　to　another。
　　　Foley　was　on　the　metro　as　well；　running　a　little　late　this　morning。　A　power　failure　had　reset　his　alarm　clock　without　formal　notice；　so　he'd　been　awakened　by　sunlight　through　the　windows　instead　of　the　usual　metallic　buzz。　As　always；　he　tried　not　to　look　around　too　much；　but　he　couldn't　help　checking　for　the　owner　of　the　hand　that　had　searched　his　pocket。　But　none　of　the　faces　looked　back　at　him。　He'd　try　again　that　afternoon；　on　the　train　that　left　the　station　at　17：41；　just　in　case。　In　case　of　what？　Foley　didn't　know；　but　that　was　one　of　the　exciting　things　about　his　chosen　line　of　work。　If　it　had　been　just　happenstance；　all　well　and　good；　but　for　the　next　few　days　he'd　be　on　the　same　train；　in　the　same　coach；　standing　in　much　the　same　place。　If　he　had　a　shadow；　the　man　wouldn't　remark　on　it。　The　Russians　actually　found　it　forting　to　trail　someone　who　followed　a　routine…the　randomness　of　Americans　could　drive　them　to　distraction。　So；　he'd　be　a　〃good〃　American；　and　show　them　what　they　want；　and　they　wouldn't　find　it　strange。　The　Moscow　Chief　of　Station　shook　his　head　in　amazement。
　　　Reaching　his　stop；　he　took　the　escalator　up　to　the　street　level；　and　from　there　it　was　a　short　walk　to　the　embassy；　just　across　the　street　from　Our　Lady　of　the　Microchips；　and　the　world's　largest　microwave　oven。　Foley　always　liked　to　see　the　flag　on　the　pole；　and　the　Marines　inside；　more　proof　that　he　was　in　the　right　place。　They　always　looked　good；　in　their　khaki　shirts　over　dress…blue　uniform　trousers；　bolstered　pistols；　and　white　caps。
　　　His　office　was　as　shabby　as　usual…it　was　part　of　his　cover　to　be　a　little　on　the　untidy　side。
　　　But　his　cover　did　not　include　the　munications　department。　It　couldn't。　Heading　embassy　ms　was　Mike　Russell；　formerly　a　lieutenant　colonel　in　the　Army　Security　Agency…ASA　was　the　Army's　own　munications…security　arm…and　now　a　civilian　with　the　National　Security　Agency；　which　officially　did　the　same　for　the　entire　government。
　　　Moscow　was　a　hardship　tour　for　Russell。　Black　and　divorced…single；　he　didn't　get　much　female　action　here；　since　the　Russians　were　notoriously　dubious　of　people　with　dark　skin。　The　knock　on　the　door　was　distinctive。
　　　〃e　on　in；　Mike；〃　Foley　said。
　　　〃Morning；　Ed。〃　Russell　was　under　six　feet；　and　he　needed　to　watch　his　eating　by　the　look　of　his　waist。　But　he　was　a　good　guy　with　codes　and　ms；　and　that　was　sufficient　for　the　moment。　〃Quiet　night　for　you。〃
　　　〃Oh？〃
　　　〃Yeah；　just　this。〃　He　fished　an　envelope　out　of　his　coat　pocket　and　handed　it　over。　〃Nothing　important；　looks　like。〃　He　had　also　decrypted　the　dispatch。　Even　the　ambassador　wasn't　cleared　as　high　as　the　head　of　munications。　Foley　was　suddenly　glad　for　Russian　racism。　It　made　Mike　that　much　less　likely　to　get　turned。　That　was　a　scary　thought。　Of　all　the　people　in　the　embassy；　Mike　Russell　was　the　one　guy　who　could　rat　everyone　out；