tc.redrabbit-第63章

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　　　〃Well；　he's　in　the　right　town　for　that。〃
　　　〃Ain't　that　the　truth。〃　Foley　gathered　his　papers　and　stood。　〃Let's　get　this　one　done；　Dom。〃
　　　〃Right　now；　Ed。　See　you　tomorrow。〃
　　　
　　　CHAPTER　14　…　DANGER　SIGNAL
　　　If　there　is　anything　constant　in　the　business　of　espionage；　it　is　a　persistent　lack　of　sleep　for　the　players。　That　es　from　stress；　and　stress　is　always　the　handmaiden　of　spooks。　When　sleep　was　slow　in　ing　for　Ed　and　Mary　Pat　Foley；　they　could　at　least　talk　with　their　hands　in　bed。
　　　He's　re＇al　as＇　h＇ell＇；　b＇aby＇；　Foley　told　his　wife　under　the　covers。
　　　Y＇ep＇；　she　agreed。　Have　w＇e＇　ev＇er＇　had　a　g＇uy＇　fr＇om＇　that　far　in　＇side＇？　she　wondered。
　　　N＇o＇　way　Jose；　he　replied。
　　　Lan＇gley＇　will　flip。
　　　B＇ig＇…time；　her　husband　agreed。　Bottom　of　the　ninth；　bases　loaded；　two　outs；　full　count；　and　the　pitcher　had　hung　a　curveball　right　over　Main　Street；　and　he　was　about　to　stroke　it　over　the　Scoreboard。　Assuming　we　don't　fuck　it　all　up；　Foley　warned　himself。
　　　Want　me　to　get　inv＇olved＇？　she　wondered　next。
　　　Need　to　wait　n　s＇ee＇。
　　　A　sigh　told　him；　Yeah；　I　know。　Even　for　them；　patience　came　hard。　Foley　could　see　that　curveball；　hanging　right　over　the　middle　of　the　plate；　just　about　belt…high；　and　the　Louisville　Slugger　was　tight　in　his　hands：　his　eyes　were　locked　on　the　ball　so　tight　that　he　could　see　the　stitches　turning　as　it　approached…and　this　one　was　going　out　of　the　park；　going　down…fuckin'…town。　He'd　show　Reggie　Jackson　who　was　the　hitter　on　this　playground。。。
　　　If　he　didn't　fuck　it　up；　he　thought　again。　But　Ed　Foley　had　done　this　kind　of　operation　in　Tehran；　had　developed　an　agent　in　the　revolutionary　munity；　and　had　been　the　only　field　officer　in　the　station　to　get　a　feel　for　how　bad　it　was　for　the　Shah；　and　that　series　of　reports　had　lit　up　his　star　at　Langley　and　made　him　one　of　Bob　Ritter's　varsity。
　　　And　he　was　going　to　take　this　one　deep；　too。
　　　At　Langley；　MERCURY　was　the　one　place　that　everyone　was　afraid　of…everybody　knew　that　an　employee　there　under　foreign　control　could　damned　near　bring　the　whole　building　down。　That　was　why　they　all　went　〃on　the　box〃　twice　a　year；　polygraphed　by　the　best　examiners　FBI　had…they　didn't　even　trust　CIA's　own　polygraph　experts　for　that　tasking。　A　bad　field　officer　or　a　bad　senior　analyst　could　burn　agents　and　missions；　and　that　was　bad　for　everyone　involved…but　a　leaker　in　MERCURY　would　be　like　turning　a　female　KGB　officer　loose　on　Fifth　Avenue　with　an　American　Express　Gold　Card。　She'd　be　able　to　get　anything　her　heart　desired。　Hell；　the　KGB　might　even　pay　a　million　bucks　for　such　a　source。　It　would　bust　the　Russian　exchequer；　but　they　would　cash　in　one　of　Nikolay　II's　Faberge　eggs；　and　be　glad　for　it。　Everyone　knew　there　had　to　be　a　KGB　counterpart　office　to　MERCURY；　but　nobody　in　any　intelligence　service　had　ever　bagged　a　Russian　national　from　there。
　　　Foley　found　himself　wondering　what　it　was　like；　how　the　room　looked。　At　Langley　it　was　immense；　the　size　of　a　parking　garage；　with　no　internal　walls　or　dividers；　so　that　everyone　could　see　everyone　else。　There　were　seven　drum…shaped　cassette　storage　structures；　named　for　Disney's　Seven　Dwarfs；　they　even　had　TV　cameras　on　the　inside；　should　some　lunatic　try　to　get　in　there；　though　he'd　almost　certainly　be　killed　by　such　an　adventure；　since　the　motorized　retrievers　turned　powerfully　and　without　warning。　Besides；　only　the　big　mainframe　puters…including　the　fastest　and　most　powerful　one；　made　by　Cray　Research…knew　which　cassette　had　which　data　and　lay　in　which　storage　slot。　The　security　there　was　unreal；　multilayered；　and　checked　on　a　daily…maybe　an　hourly…basis。　The　people　who　worked　there　were　occasionally　and　randomly　followed　home　from　work；　probably　by　the　FBI；　which　was　pretty　good　at　such　stuff；　for　a　bunch　of　gumshoed　cops。　It　must　have　been　oppressive　for　the　people　who　worked　there；　but　if　anyone　had　ever　plained　about　it；　those　reports　hadn't　e　to　Ed　Foley。　Marines　had　to　run　their　three　miles　per　day　and　undergo　formal　inspections；　and　CIA　employees　had　to　put　up　with　the　overpowering　institutional　paranoia；　and　that　was　just　how　things　were。　The　polygraph　was　a　particular　pain　in　the　ass；　and　the　Agency　even　had　psychiatrists　who　trained　people　in　how　to　defeat　them。　He'd　undergone　such　training；　and　so　had　his　wife…and　still　CIA　put　them　on　the　box　at　least　once　a　year；　whether　to　test　their　loyalty　or　to　see　if　they　still　remembered　their　training；　who　could　tell？
　　　But　did　KGB　do　that　as　well？　They'd　be　crazy　not　to；　but　he　wasn't　sure　if　they　had　polygraph　technology；　and　so。。。　maybe；　maybe　not。　There　was　so　much　about　KGB　that　he　and　CIA　didn't　know。　Langley　made　a　lot　of　SWAGs…stupid　wild…ass　guesses…mainly　from　people　who　said；　〃Well；　we　do　it　this　way；　and　therefore　they　must；　too；〃　which　was　total　horseshit。　No　two　people；　and　damned…sure　no　two　countries；　had　ever　done　anything　exactly　the　same　way；　and　that　was　why　Ed　Foley　deemed　himself　one　of　the　best　in　this　crazy　business。　He　knew　better。　He　never　stopped　looking。　He　never　did　anything　the　same　way　twice；　except　as　a　ruse；　to　give　a　false　impression　to　someone　else…especially　Russians；　who　probably　（almost　certainly；　he　figured）　suffered　from　the　same　bureaucratic　disease　that　circumscribed　minds　at　CIA。
　　　Wh＇at＇　if　this　g＇uy＇　wants　a　tick＇et＇　out？　Mary　Pat　asked。
　　　First　class　on　Pan　Am；　her　husband　answered；　as　fast　as　his　fingers　could　move；　and　he　gets　to　screw　the　stew。
　　　U　R　bad；　Mary　Patricia　responded；　with　the　gagging　sound　of　a　suppressed　laugh。　But　she　knew　he　was　right。　If　this　guy　wanted　to　play　spy；　it　might　be　smarter　just　to　yank　his　ass　out　of　the　USSR　and　fly　him　to　Washington；　and　toss　in　a　lifetime　pass　to　Disney　World　for　after　the　debrief。　A　Russian　would　go　into　sensory　overload　in　the　Magic　Kingdom；　not　to　mention　the　newly　opened　Epcot　Center。　ing　out　of　Space　Mountain；　Ed　had　joked　that　CIA　ought　to　rent　the　whole　place　for　one　day　and　take　the　Soviet　Politburo　around；　let　them　ride　every　ride　and　gobble　down　the　burgers　and　swill　the　Cokes；　and　then；　on　the　way　out；　tell　them；　〃This　is　what　Americans　do　for　fun。　Unfortunately；　we　can't　show　you　the　things　we　do　when　we're　serious。〃　And　if　that　didn't　scare　the　piss　out　of　them；　nothing　would。　But　it　would　scare　the　piss　out　of　them；　both　Foleys　were　sure。　They…even　the　important　ones　with　access　to　everything　KGB　got　out　of　the　Main　Enemy…even　they　were　the　most　insular　and　provincial　of　people。　For　the　most　part；　they　really　did　believe　the　propaganda　because　they　had　nothing　to　measure　it　against；　because　they　were　as　much　victims　of　their　system　as　the　poor　dumb　muzhiks…peasants…driving　the　dump　trucks。
　　　But　the　Foleys　didn't　live　in　a　fantasy　world。
　　　So；　w＇e＇　d＇o＇　what　he　says；　then　what？　she　asked　next。
　　　One　step　at　a　time；　he　replied；　and　she　nodded　in　the　darkness。　Like　having　a　baby；　this　couldn't　be　rushed　unless　you　wanted　a　funny…looking　kid。　It　told　Mary　Pat　that　her　husband　wasn't　a　total　curmudgeon；　though；　and　that　elicited　a　kiss　in　the　darkness。
　　　Zaitzev　wasn't　municating　with　his　wife。　For　him；　right　now；　even　a　half　liter　of　vodka　couldn't　help　him　sleep。　He'd　made　his　request。　Only　tomorrow　would　he　know　for　sure　if　he　was　dealing　with　someone　able　to　help　him。　What　he'd　asked　wasn't　entirely　reasonable；　but　he　didn't　have　the　time　or　the　security　to　be　reasonable。　He　was　secure　in　the　knowledge　that　even　KGB　couldn't　fake　what　he'd　specified。　Oh；　sure；　maybe　they　could　get　the　Poles　or　the　Romanians　or　some　other　socialist　country　to　do　it；　but　not　the　Americans。　Even　KGB　had　its　limits。
　　　So；　again；　he　got　to　wait；　but　sleep　didn't　e。　Tomorrow　he　would　not　be　a　very　happy　rade。　He　could　feel　the　hangover　ing　already；　like　an　earthquake　trapped　and　contained　inside　his　skull。。。
　　　〃How'd　it　go；　Simon？〃　Ryan　asked。
　　　〃It　could　have　been　worse。　The　PM　didn't　rip　my　head　off。　I　told　her　that　we　only　have　what　we　have；　and　Basil　backed　me　up。　She　wants　more。　She　said　that　in　my　presence。〃
　　　〃No　surprise。　Ever　hear　of　a　president　who　wanted　less　information；　buddy？〃
　　　〃Not　recently；〃　Harding　admitted。　Ryan　saw　the　stress　bleeding　off　his　workmate。　Damned　sure　he'd　have　a　beer　at　the　pub　before　heading　home。　The　Brit