tc.redrabbit-第94章

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　liked　a　little　excitement　in　his　life；　he'd　opted　to　join　the　Secret　Intelligence　Service；　and　worked　his　way　rapidly　up　the　ladder　mainly　on　the　strength　of　his　superior　language　skills。　Here　in　Budapest；　he　needed　those。　The　Hungarian　language　is　known　as　Indo…Altaic　to　philologists。　Its　nearest　European　neighbor　is　Finnish　and；　after　that；　Mongolian。　It　has　no　relationship　at　all　with　any　European　language；　except　for　some　Christian　names；　which　were　conveyed　when　the　Magyar　people　succumbed　to　Christianity；　after　killing　off　enough　missionaries　to　bee　bored　with　doing　so。　Along　the　way；　they'd　also　lost　whatever　warrior　ethos　they'd　once　had。　The　Hungarians　were　about　the　most　un…warlike　people　on　the　continent。
　　　But　they　were　pretty　good　at　intrigue；　and；　like　any　society；　they　had　a　criminal　element…but　theirs　had　mainly　gone　into　the　munist　Party　and　power　apparat。　The　Secret　Police　here；　the　Allavedelmi　Hatosag；　could　be　as　nasty　as　the　Cheka　had　been　under　Iron　Feliks　himself。　But　nasty　wasn't　quite　the　same　as　efficient。　It　was　as　though　they　tried　to　make　up　for　their　inbred　inefficiency　by　viciousness　against　those　whom　they　blundered　into　catching。　And　their　police　were　notoriously　stupid…there　was　a　Hungarian　aphorism；　〃As　stupid　as　six　pairs　of　policeman's　boots；〃　which　Hudson　had　largely　found　to　be　true。　They　weren't　the　Metropolitan　Police；　but　Budapest　wasn't　London；　either。
　　　In　fact；　he　found　life　pleasant　here。　Budapest　was　a　surprisingly　pretty　city；　very　French　in　its　architecture；　and　surprisingly　casual　for　a　munist　capital。　The　food　was　remarkably　good；　even　in　the　government…run　worker　canteens　that　dotted　every　street　corner；　where　the　fare　was　not　elegant　but　tasty。　Public　transportation　was　adequate　to　his　purposes；　which　were　mainly　political　intelligence。　He　had　a　source…called　PARADE…inside　the　Foreign　Ministry　who　fed　him　very　useful　information　about　the　Warsaw　Pact　and　East　Bloc　politics　in　general；　in　return　for　cash；　and　not　very　much　cash　at　that；　so　low　were　his　expectations。
　　　Like　the　rest　of　Central　Europe；　Budapest　was　an　hour　ahead　of　London。　The　embassy　messenger　knocked　on　Hudson's　door；　then　reached　in　to　toss　an　envelope　onto　his　desk。　Hudson　set　down　his　small　cigar　and　lifted　it。　From　London；　he　saw。　Sir　Basil　himself。。。
　　　Bloody　hell；　Hudson　thought。　His　life　was　about　to　get　a　little　bit　more　interesting。
　　　〃More　details　to　follow；〃　it　ended。　About　right。　You　never　knew　it　all　until　you　had　to　do　it。　Sir　Basil　wasn't　a　bad　chap　to　work　for　but；　like　most　spymasters；　he　greatly　enjoyed　being　clever；　which　was　something　never　fully　appreciated　out　in　the　field；　where　the　worker　bees　had　wasps　to　worry　about。　Hudson　had　a　staff　of　three；　including　himself。　Budapest　wasn't　a　major　station；　and　for　him　it　was　a　way　station　until　something　more　important　opened　up。　As　it　was；　he　was　young　to　be　a　Station　Chief。　Basil　was　giving　him　the　chance　to　stretch　his　legs。　That　suited　Hudson。　Most　Station　Chiefs　sat　in　their　offices　like　spiders　in　their　web；　which　looked　dramatic　but　could　actually　be　quite　boring；　since　it　involved　writing　endless　reports。　He　ran　field　tasks　himself。　That　ran　the　risk　of　his　being　burned；　as　Jim　Szell　had　been…bloody　awful　luck；　nothing　more　than　that；　Hudson　had　learned　from　a　source　named　BOOT；　who　was　right　inside　the　AVH。　But　in　the　danger　came　the　charm　of　the　job。　It　was　less　dangerous　than　jumping　out　the　back　of　a　Lockheed　Hercules　with　sixty　pounds　of　weapons　and　rations　strapped　to　your　back。　Also　less　dangerous　than　patrolling　Belfast　with　Provos　about。　But　it　was　the　skills　learned　in　the　city　streets　of　Ulster　that　gave　him　his　street　smarts　as　a　spook。　As　with　everything　else　in　life；　you　took　the　bitter　with　the　sweet。　But　better；　he　told　himself；　to　take　his　bitter　by　the　pint。
　　　He　had　a　rabbit　ing　out。　That　ought　not　to　be　difficult；　though　this　rabbit　had　to　be　an　important　one；　so　much　so　that　CIA　was　asking　for　assistance　from　〃Six；〃　and　that　didn't　happen　every　day。　Only　when　the　bloody　Yanks　buggered　things　up；　which　was；　Hudson　thought；　not　too　infrequent。
　　　There　was　nothing　for　him　to　do　as　yet。　He　could　not　know　what　needed　to　be　done　until　he　had　a　lot　more　specifics；　but　in　the　abstract　he　knew　how　to　get　people　out　of　Hungary。　It　wasn't　all　that　hard。　The　Hungarians　were　insufficiently　wedded　to　Marxism　to　be　that　serious　an　adversary。　So；　he　sent　off　a　〃message　received〃　dispatch　to　Century　House　and　awaited　further　developments。
　　　The　british　airways　noon　flight　to　Moscow　was　a　Boeing　737　twin…engine　jet。　The　flight　took　about　four　hours；　depending　on　winds；　which　were　fairly　calm　today。　On　arriving　at　Sheremetyevo　Airport；　the　Diplomatic　Courier　walked　out　the　forward　door　and　breezed　through　immigration　control　on　the　strength　of　his　canvas　bag　and　diplomatic　passport；　then　walked　to　the　waiting　embassy　car　for　the　drive　into　town。　The　courier　had　been　there　and　done　that　many　times；　enough　so　that　his　driver　and　the　embassy　guards　knew　him　by　sight；　and　he　knew　his　own　way　around　the　embassy。　With　his　delivery　made；　he　headed　down　to　the　canteen　for　a　hot　dog　and　a　beer；　and　settled　into　his　newest　paperback　book。　It　occurred　to　him　that　he　needed　to　exercise　some；　since　his　job　was　entirely　occupied　with　sitting　down；　in　cars　and　mainly　in　airplanes。　It　couldn't　be　healthy；　he　thought。
　　　Mike　Russell　looked　over　the　monstrous　one…time　pad　he'd　been　sent；　hoping　that　he　wouldn't　have　to　use　it　all　in　one　day。　The　sheer　drudgery　of　transposing　random　letters　was　enough　to　drive　a　man　mad；　and　there　had　to　be　an　easier　way。　That　was　what　his　KH…7　encrypting　machines　were　for；　but　Foley　had　suggested　to　him　that　the　…7　was　not　fully　secure；　which　thought　outraged　the　professional　in　him。　The　KH…7　was　the　most　sophisticated　encryption　machine　ever　made；　easy　to　use；　and　utterly　impossible…so　he　thought…to　crack。　He　knew　the　design　team　of　mathematicians　who'd　figured　out　the　algorithms。　The　algebraic　formulas　used　in　the　…7　were　sufficiently　over　his　head　that　he　had　to　strain　to　see　the　bottom。。。　But　what　one　mathematician　could　make；　another；　in　theory；　could　break；　and　the　Russians　had　good　ones。　And　from　that　fact　came　the　nightmare：　The　munications　that　it　was　his　job　to　protect　were　being　read　by　the　enemy。
　　　And　that　just　wouldn't　do。
　　　So；　he　had　to　use　this　pad　for　super…critical　munications；　inconvenient　or　not。　It　wasn't　as　though　he　had　much　of　a　social　life　in　Moscow。　Ordinary　Russian　citizens　viewed　his　dark　skin　as　an　indication　of　some　relationship　with　some　tree…climbing　African　monkey；　which　was　so　offensive　to　Russell　that　he　never　talked　about　it　to　anyone；　just　let　it　generate　rage　in　his　heart；　the　sort　of　deep…soul　anger　that　he'd　felt　for　the　Ku　Klux　Klan　before　the　FBI　had　put　those　ignorant　crackers　out　of　business。　Maybe　they　still　hated　him；　but　a　steer　could　lust　after　a　lot　of　things　without　being　able　to　fuck　them；　and　so　it　was　with　those　bigoted　idiots　who'd　forgotten　that　Ulysses　Simpson　Grant　had　defeated　Bobby　Lee；　after　all。　They　could　hate　all　they　wanted；　but　the　prospect　of　Leavenworth　Federal　Pen　kept　them　in　their　dark　little　holes。　The　Russians　are　just　as　bad；　Russell　thought；　racist　cocksuckers。　But　he　had　his　books　and　his　tape　player　for　cool　jazz；　and　the　extra　pay　that　came　with　this　hardship　post。　And　for　now　he'd　show　Ivan　a　signal　he　couldn't　crack；　and　Foley　would　get　his　Rabbit　out。　He　lifted　his　phone　and　dialed　the　proper　numbers。
　　　〃Foley。〃
　　　〃Russell。　Want　to　e　down　to　my　office　for　a　minute？〃
　　　〃On　the　way；〃　the　Station　Chief　replied。　Four　minutes。　〃What　is　it；　Mike？〃　he　asked；　ing　through　the　door。
　　　Russell　held　up　the　ring　binder。　〃Only　three　copies　of　this。　Us；　Langley；　and　Fort　Meade。　You　want　secure；　my　man；　you　got　secure。　Just　try　to　keep　the　messages　short；　okay？　This　shit　can　really　jack　up　my　blood　pressure。〃
　　　〃Okay；　Mike。　Shame　there　isn't　a　better　way　of　doing　that。〃
　　　〃Maybe　someday。　Ought　to　be　a　way　to　do　it　with　a　puter…you　know；　put　the　pad　on　a　floppy　disk。　Maybe　I'll　write　to　Fort　Meade　about　it；〃　Russell　thought。　〃This　stuff　can　make　you　cross…eyed。〃
　　　Better　you　than　me；　Foley　couldn't　say。　〃Okay；　I'll　have　someth