tc.redrabbit-第82章

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y　predictable；　munique　that　had　arrived　with　the　Station　Chief；　which　was　now　sitting　in　the　center　of　his　desk。
　　　〃Bob　Taylor's　wife…she's　pregnant；　remember？…had　some　plumbing　problems；　and　they　flew　'em　both　off　to　Second　Army　General　Hospital　up　at　Kaiserslauten　to　get　checked　out。〃
　　　Ericsson　grunted。　〃Yeah；　I　forgot。〃
　　　〃Anyway；　the　short　version　is；　I　blew　it；〃　Szell　had　to　admit。　It　just　wasn't　his　way　to　cover　things　up。　It　would　cause　a　major　hiccup　in　his　CIA　career；　but　that　couldn't　be　helped。　Damned　sure　it　was　a　lot　rougher　right　now　for　that　poor　clumsy　bastard　who'd　screwed　up　the　transfer。　The　Hungarian　State　Security　Authority…Allavedelmi　Hatosag；　or　AVH…officers　who'd　interrogated　him　evidently　hadn't　had　a　good　gloat　in　some　time；　and　had　made　a　point　of　telling　him　how　easily　he'd　been　bagged。　Fucking　amateurs；　Szell　raged。　But　the　end　of　the　game　was　that　he　was　now　PNG'd；　declared　persona　non　grata　by　the　Hungarian　government；　and　requested　to　leave　the　country　in　forty…eight　hours…preferably；　with　his　tail　tucked　firmly　between　his　legs。
　　　〃Sorry　to　lose　you；　Bob；　but　there's　nothing　much　I　can　do。〃
　　　〃And　I'm　pretty　useless　to　the　team　now　anyway。　I　know。〃　Szell　let　out　a　long　and　frustrated　breath。　He'd　been　here　long　enough　to　set　up　a　pretty　good　little　spy　shop；　providing　fairly　good　political　and　military　information…none　of　it　overly　important；　because　Hungary　was　not　an　overly　important　country；　but　you　just　never　knew　when　something　of　interest　would　happen；　even　in　Lesotho…which　might　well　be　his　next　posting；　Szell　reflected。　He'd　have　to　buy　some　sunblock　and　a　nice　bush　jacket。。。　At　least　he'd　get　to　catch　the　World　Series　back　at　home。
　　　But　for　now；　Station　Budapest　was　out　of　business。　Not　that　Langley　would　really　miss　it；　Szell　consoled　himself。
　　　The　signal　about　this　would　go　to　Foggy　Bottom　via　embassy　telex…encrypted；　of　course。　Ambassador　Ericsson　drafted　his　reply　to　the　Hungarian　Foreign　Ministry；　rejecting　out　of　hand　the　absurd　allegation　that　James　Szell；　Second　Secretary　to　the　Embassy　of　the　United　States　of　America；　had　done　anything　inconsistent　with　his　diplomatic　status；　and　lodging　an　official　protest　in　the　name　of　the　U。S。　Department　of　State。　Perhaps　in　the　next　week；　Washington　would　send　some　Hungarian　diplomat　back…whether　he　was　a　sheep　or　a　goat　would　be　decided　in　Washington。　Ericsson　thought　it　would　be　a　sheep。　Why　let　on　that　the　FBI　had　ID'd　a　goat；　after　all？　Better　to　let　the　goat　continue　to　munch　away　in　whatever　garden　it　had　invaded…under　close　observation。　And　so　the　game　went　on。　The　Ambassador　thought　it　a　stupid　game；　but　every　member　of　his　staff　played　it　with　greater　or　lesser　enthusiasm。
　　　The　message　about　Szell；　it　turned　out；　was　sufficiently　under　the　radar　so　that　when　it　was　forwarded　to　CIA　headquarters；　it　was　tucked　into　routine　traffic　as　not　worthy　of　interfering　with　the　DCI's　weekendJudge　Moore　got　a　morning　brief　every　single　day　anyway；　of　course；　and　this　item　would　wait　until　8：00　A。M。　Sunday；　the　watch　officers　collectively　decided；　because　judges　liked　an　orderly　life。　And　Budapest　wasn't　all　that　important　in　the　Great　Scheme　of　Things；　was　it？
　　　Sunday　morning　in　Moscow　was　much　the　same　as　Sunday　morning　everywhere　else；　albeit　with　fewer　people　getting　dressed　up　for　church。　That　was　true　for　Ed　and　Mary　Pat；　also。　A　Catholic　priest　celebrated　mass　at　the　U。S。　Embassy　on　Sunday　mornings；　but　most　of　the　time　they　didn't　make　it…though　they　were　both　Catholic　enough　to　feel　guilt　for　their　slothful　transgressions。　They　both　told　themselves　that　their　guilt　was　mitigated　by　the　fact　that　they　were　both　doing　God's　own　work　right　in　the　center　of　the　land　of　the　heathen。　So　the　plan　for　today　was　to　take　Eddie　for　a　walk　in　the　park；　where　he　might　meet　some　kids　to　play　with。　At　least；　that　was　Eddie's　mission　brief。　Ed　rolled　out　of　bed　and　headed　to　the　bathroom　first；　followed　by　his　wife　and　then　by　little　Eddie。　No　morning　paper；　and　the　Sunday　TV　programming　was　every　bit　as　bad　as　it　was　the　rest　of　the　week。　So　they　actually　had　to　talk　over　breakfast；　something　many　Americans　find　hard　to　do。　Their　son　was　still　young　and　impressionable　enough　to　find　Moscow　interesting；　though　nearly　all　of　his　friends　were　Americans　or　Brits：　inmates；　like　his　entire　family；　in　the　pound/ghetto；　guarded　by　MGB　or　KGB…opinions　were　divided　on　that　question；　but　everyone　knew　it　made　little　real　difference。
　　　The　meeting　was　set　for　11：00。　Oleg　Ivan'ch　would　be　easy　to　spot…as　would　she；　Mary　Pat　knew。　Like　a　peacock　among　crows；　her　husband　liked　to　say　（even　though　the　peacock　was　actually　a　male　bird）。　She　decided　to　play　it　down　today。　No　makeup；　just　casually　brushed…out　hair；　jeans；　and　a　pullover　shirt。　She　couldn't　change　her　figure　very　much…the　local　aesthetic　preferred　women　of　her　height　to　be　about　ten　kilograms　heavier。　Diet；　she　supposed。　Or　maybe　when　you　had　food　available　in　what　was　largely　a　hungry　country；　you　ate　it。　Maybe　the　fat　layer　you　acquired　made　the　winters　more　fortable？　Whatever；　the　level　of　fashion　for　the　average　Russian　female　was　like　something　from　a　Dead　End　Kids　movie。　You　could　tell　the　wives　of　important　people　easily；　because　their　clothes　looked　almost　middle…class；　as　opposed　to　the　more　normal　Appalachia　class　of　dress。　But　that　was　grossly　unfair　to　the　people　of　Appalachia；　Mary　Pat　decided。
　　　〃You　ing；　Ed？〃　she　asked　after　breakfast。
　　　〃No；　honey。　I'll　clean　up　the　kitchen　and　get　into　this　new　book　I　got　last　week。〃
　　　〃The　truck　driver　did　it；〃　she　offered。　〃I've　read　that　guy　before。〃
　　　〃Thanks　a　bunch；〃　her　husband　grumbled。
　　　And　with　that；　she　checked　her　watch　and　headed　out。　The　park　was　just　three　of　the　long　blocks　to　the　east。　She　waved　to　the　gate　guard…definitely　KGB；　she　thought…and　headed　to　the　left；　holding　little　Eddie's　hand。　The　traffic　on　the　street　was　minimal　by　American　standards；　and　it　was　definitely　getting　cooler　out。　She　was　glad　she'd　dressed　her　son　in　a　long…sleeve　shirt。　A　turn　to　look　down　at　him　revealed　no　obvious　tail。　There　could；　of　course；　be　binoculars　in　the　apartments　across　the　street；　but　somehow　she　thought　not。　She'd　pretty　well　established　herself　as　a　dumb　American　blonde；　and　just　about　everyone　bought　it。　Even　Ed's　press　contacts　thought　her　dumber　than　him…and　they　thought　him　to　be　an　ass…which　could　not　have　suited　her　any　better。　Those　chattering　blackbirds　repeated　everything　she　and　Ed　said　to　one　another；　until　the　word　was　as　uniformly　spread　as　the　icing　on　one　of　her　cakes。　It　all　got　back　to　KGB　as　quickly　as　any　rumor　could　go…damned　near　the　speed　of　light　in　that　munity；　because　reporters　did　intellectual　incest　as　a　way　of　life…and　the　Russians　listened　to　them　and　put　everything　in　their　voluminous　dossiers　until　it　became　something　that　〃everybody　knows。〃　A　good　field　officer　always　used　others　to　build　his　or　her　cover。　Such　a　cover　was　random…sounding…just　as　real　life　always　was…and　that　made　it　plausible；　even　to　a　professional　spook。
　　　The　park　was　about　as　bleak　as　everything　else　in　Moscow。　A　few　trees；　some　badly　trodden　grass。　Almost　as　though　KGB　had　had　all　the　parks　trimmed　to　make　them　bad　contact　points。　That　it　would　also　limit　places　for　young　Muscovites　to　rendezvous　and　trade　some　kisses　probably　would　not　have　troubled　the　consciences　at　The　Centre；　which　were　probably　about　the　Pontius　Pilate　level　on　a　reflective　day。
　　　And　there　was　the　Rabbit；　a　hundred　meters　or　so　away；　nicely　located；　near　some　play　items　that　would　appeal　to　a　three…year…old…or　a　four…year…old。　Walking　closer；　she　saw　again　that　Russians　doted　on　their　little　ones；　and；　in　this　case；　maybe　a　little　more…the　Rabbit　was　KGB；　and　so　he　had　access　to　better　consumer　goods　than　the　average　Russian；　which；　like　a　good　parent　in　any　land；　he　lavished　on　his　little　girl。　That　was　a　good　sign　for　his　character；　Mary　Pat　decided。　Maybe　she　could　even　like　this　guy；　an　unexpected　gift　for　a　field　officer。　So　many　agents　were　screwed　up　as　badly　as　a　South　Bronx　street　mugger。　He　didn't　observe　her　approach　any　more　than　to　turn　and　scan　the　area　in　boredom；　as　men　walking　their　children　did。　The　two　Americ