tc.redrabbit-第67章

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　　　〃And　her；　too；　Jack。　She　has　to　do　questions　in　Parliament。〃
　　　〃On　this　sort　of　thing？〃　Jack　asked；　surprised。
　　　〃No；　not　this。　It's　occasionally　discussed　with　the　opposition；　but　under　strict　rules。〃
　　　〃You　worry　about　leaks？〃　Jack　asked；　wondering。　In　America；　there　were　select　mittees　whose　members　were　thoroughly　briefed　on　what　they　could　say　and　what　they　could　not。　The　Agency　did　worry　about　leaks…they　were　politicians；　after　all…but　he'd　never　heard　of　a　serious　one　off　The　Hill。　Those　more　often　came　from　inside　the　Agency；　and　mainly　from　the　Seventh　Floor。。。　or　from　the　White　House's　West　Wing。　That　didn't　mean　that　CIA　was　fortable　with　leaks　of　any　kind；　but　at　least　these　were　more　often　than　not　sanctioned；　and　often　they　were　disinformation　with　a　political　purpose　behind　them。　It　was　probably　the　same　here；　especially　since　the　local　news　media　operated　under　controls　that　would　have　given　The　New　York　Times　a　serious　conniption　fit。
　　　〃One　always　wonders　about　them；　Jack。　So；　anything　new　e　in　last　night？〃
　　　〃Nothing　new　on　the　Pope；〃　Ryan　reported。　〃Our　sources；　such　as　they　are；　have　run　into　a　brick　wall。　Will　you　be　turning　your　field　spooks　loose？〃
　　　〃Yes；　the　PM　made　it　clear　to　Basil　that　she　wants　more　information。　If　something　happens　to　His　Holiness；　well…〃
　　　〃…she　blows　a　head　gasket；　right？〃
　　　〃You　Americans　do　have　a　way　with　words；　Jack。　And　your　President？〃
　　　〃He'll　be　seriously　pissed；　and　by　that　I　do　not　mean　hitting　the　booze。　His　dad　was　Catholic；　and　his　mom　raised　him　a　Protestant；　but　he　wouldn't　be　real　happy　if　the　Pope　so　much　as　catches　a　late…summer　cold。〃
　　　〃You　know；　even　if　we　turn　some　information；　it　is　not　at　all　certain　that　we'll　be　able　to　do　a　thing　with　it。〃
　　　〃I　kinda　figured　that；　but　at　least　we　can　say　something　to　his　protective　detail。　We　can　do　that　much；　and　maybe　he　can　change　his　schedule…no；　he　won't。　He'd　rather　take　the　bullet　like　a　man。　But　maybe　we　can　interfere　somehow　with　what　the　Bad　Guys　are　planning。　You　just　can't　know　until　you　have　a　few　facts　to　rub　together。　But　that's　not　really　our　job；　is　it？〃
　　　Harding　shook　his　head；　as　he　stirred　his　morning　tea。　〃No；　the　field　officers　feed　it　to　us；　and　we　try　to　determine　what　it　means。〃
　　　〃Frustrating？〃　Ryan　wondered。　Harding　had　been　at　the　job　much　longer　than　he　had。
　　　〃Frequently。　I　know　the　field　officers　sweat　blood　doing　their　jobs…and　it　can　be　physically　dangerous　to　the　ones　who　do　not　have　a　'legal'　cover…but　we　users　of　information　can't　always　see　it　from　their　perspective。　As　a　result；　they　do　not　appreciate　us　as　much　as　we　appreciate　them。　I've　met　with　a　few　of　them　over　the　years；　and　they　are　good　chaps；　but　it's　a　clash　of　cultures；　Jack。〃
　　　The　field　guys　are　probably　pretty　good　at　analysis　themselves；　when　you　get　down　to　it；　Ryan　thought。　I　wonder　how　often　the　analyst　munity　really　appreciates　that？　It　was　something　for　Ryan　to　slip　into　his　mental　do…not…forget　file。　The　Agency　was　supposed　to　be　one　big　happy　team；　after　all。　Of　course　it　wasn't；　even　at　the　Seventh　Floor　level。
　　　〃Anyway；　we　had　this　e　in　from　East　Germany。〃　Jack　handed　the　folder　across。　〃Some　rumbles　in　their　political　hierarchy　last　week。〃
　　　〃Those　bloody　Prussians；〃　Harding　breathed；　as　he　took　it　and　flipped　to　the　first　page。
　　　〃Cheer　up。　The　Russians　don't　much　like　them　either。〃
　　　〃I　don't　blame　them　a　bit。〃
　　　Zaitzev　was　doing　some　hard　thinking　at　his　desk；　as　his　brain　worked　on　autopilot。　He'd　have　to　meet　with　his　new　American　friend。　There　was　danger　involved；　unless　he　could　find　a　nice；　anonymous　place。　The　good　news　was　that　Moscow　abounded　with　such　places。　The　bad　news　was　that　the　Second　Chief　Directorate　of　the　KGB　probably　knew　all　of　them。　But　if　it　was　crowded　enough；　that　didn't　matter。
　　　What　would　he　say？
　　　What　would　he　ask　for？
　　　What　would　he　offer　them？
　　　Those　were　all　good　questions；　weren't　they？　The　dangers　would　only　increase。　The　best　possible　oute　would　be　for　him　to　leave　the　Soviet　Union　permanently；　with　his　wife　and　daughter。
　　　Yes；　that　was　what　he'd　ask　for；　and　if　the　Americans　said　no；　he'd　just　melt　back　into　his　accustomed　reality；　knowing　that　he'd　tried。　He　had　things　they　would　want；　and　he'd　make　it　clear　to　them　that　the　price　of　that　information　was　his　escape。
　　　Life　in　the　West；　he　thought。　All　the　decadent　things　the　State　preached　to　everyone　who　could　read　a　newspaper　or　watch　TV；　all　the　awful　things　they　talked　about。　The　way　America　treated　its　minorities。　They　even　showed　pictures　on　TV　of　the　slum　areas…but　they　also　showed　automobiles。　If　America　oppressed　its　blacks；　why；　then；　did　it　allow　them　to　purchase　so　many　automobiles？　Why　did　it　permit　them　to　riot　in　the　streets？　Had　that　sort　of　thing　happened　in　the　USSR；　the　government　would　have　called　in　armed　troops。　So　no；　the　state　propaganda　could　not　be　entirely　true；　could　it？　And；　besides；　wasn't　he　white？　What　did　he　care　about　some　discontented　blacks　who　could　buy　any　car　they　wished？　Like　most　Russians；　he'd　only　seen　black　people　on　TV…his　first　reaction　was　to　wonder　if　there　really　were　such　a　thing　as　a　chocolate　man；　but；　yes；　there　were。　KGB　ran　operations　in　Africa。　But　then　he　asked　himself：　Could　he　remember　a　KGB　operation　in　America　using　a　black　agent？　Not　very　many；　perhaps　one　or　two；　and　those　had　both　been　sergeants　in　the　American　army。　If　blacks　were　oppressed；　how　then　did　they　get　to　bee　sergeants？　In　the　Red　Army；　only　the　politically　reliable　were　admitted　to　Sergeant　School。　So；　one　more　lie　uncovered…and　that　one　only　because　he　worked　for　KGB。　What　other　lies　was　he　being　told？　Why　not　leave？　Why　not　ask　the　Americans　for　a　ticket　out？
　　　But　will　they　grant　it？　Zaitzev　wondered。
　　　Surely　they　would。　He　could　tell　them　about　all　manner　of　KGB　operations　in　the　West。　He　had　the　names　of　officers　and　the　code　names　of　agents…traitors　to　the　Western　governments；　people　whom　they　would　definitely　wish　to　eliminate。
　　　Was　that　being　an　accessory　to　murder？　he　asked　himself。
　　　No；　it　was　not。　Those　persons　were　traitors；　after　all。　And　a　traitor　was　a　traitor。。。
　　　And　what　does　that　make　you；　Oleg　Ivanovich？　The　little　voice　in　his　mind　asked；　just　to　torment　him。
　　　But　he　was　strong　enough　now　to　shake　it　off　with　a　simple　movement　of　his　head　left　and　right。　Traitor？　No；　he　was　preventing　a　murder；　and　that　was　an　honorable　thing。　And　he　was　an　honorable　man。
　　　But　he　still　had　to　figure　a　way　to　do　it。　He　had　to　meet　with　an　American　spy　and　say　what　he　wanted。
　　　Where　and　how？
　　　It　would　have　to　be　a　crowded　place；　where　people　could　bump　into　each　other　so　naturally　that　even　a　counterspy　from　the　Second　Chief　Directorate　would　not　be　able　to　see　what　was　happening　or　hear　what　was　being　said。
　　　And　suddenly　he　realized：　His　own　wife　worked　in　such　a　place。
　　　So　he'd　write　it　down　on　another　blank　message　form　and　transfer　it　on　the　metro　as　he'd　already　done　twice。　Then　he'd　see　if　the　Americans　really　wanted　to　play　his　game。　He　was　in　the　Chairman's　seat　now；　wasn't　he？　He　had　something　they　wanted；　and　he　controlled　how　they　could　get　it；　and　he　would　make　the　rules　in　this　game；　and　they　would　have　to　play　by　those　rules。　It　was　just　that　simple；　wasn't　it？
　　　Yes；　he　told　himself。
　　　Wasn't　this　rich？　He'd　be　doing　something　the　KGB　had　always　wanted　to　do；　dictate　terms　to　the　American　CIA。
　　　Chairman　for　a　day；　the　municator　told　himself。　The　words　had　a　delicious　taste　to　them。
　　　In　London；　Cathy　watched　as　two　local　ophthalmic　surgeons　worked　on　one　Ronald　Smithson；　a　bricklayer　with　a　tumor　behind　his　right　eye。　The　X…rays　showed　a　mass　about　half　the　size　of　a　golf　ball；　which　had　been　so　worrisome　that　Mr。　Smithson　had　only　waited　five　weeks　for　the　procedure　to　be　done。　That　was　maybe　thirty…three　days　longer　than　it　would　have　been　at　Hopkins；　but　considerably　faster　than　was　usual　over　here。
　　　The　two　Moorefields　surgeons　were　Clive　Hood　and　Geoffrey　Phillips；　both　experienced　senior　residents。　It　was　a　fairly　routine　procedure。　After　exposing　the　tumor；　a　sliver　was　removed　for　freezing　and　dispatch　to　Pathology…they　had　a　good　histopathologist　on　duty　and　he　would　d