tc.redrabbit-第98章

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　　　〃The　President　is　still　asking　questions；〃　Moore　confirmed。
　　　〃If　they　do　anything；　it　won't　be　a　Russian。　Too　many　political　pitfalls；　Arthur。〃
　　　〃Again；　I　agree。　But　what　the　hell　does　that　leave　us？〃　；　〃They　use　the　Bulgarians　for　wet　work；〃　Greer　pointed　out。
　　　〃So；　look　for　a　Bulgarian　shooter？〃　；　〃How　many　Bulgars　make　pilgrimages　to　Rome；　you　suppose？〃
　　　〃We　can't　tell　the　Italians　to　look　into　that；　can　we？　It　would　leak　sure　as　hell；　and　we　can't　have　that。　It　would　look　pretty　stupid　in　the　press。　It's　just　something　we　can't　do；　James。〃
　　　Greer　let　out　a　long　breath。　〃Yeah；　I　know；　not　without　something　firm。〃
　　　〃Firmer　than　what　we　have　now…and　that's　air；　James；　just　plain　damned　air。〃　It　would　be　nice；　Judge　Moore　thought；　if　CIA　were　as　powerful　as　the　movies　and　the　critics　think　we　are。　Not　all　the　time。　Just　once　in　a　while。　But　they　weren't；　and　that　was　a　fact。
　　　The　next　day　started　in　Moscow　before　it　started　anywhere　else。　Zaitzev　awoke　at　the　ringing　of　his　windup　alarm　clock；　grumbled　and　cursed　like　every　workingman　in　the　world；　then　stumbled　off　to　the　bathroom。　Ten　minutes　later；　he　was　drinking　his　morning　tea　and　eating　his　black　bread　and　butter。
　　　Less　than　a　mile　away；　the　Foley　family　was　doing　much　the　same　thing。　Ed　decided　on　an　English　muffin　and　grape　jelly　with　his　coffee　for　a　change；　joined　by　Little　Eddie；　who　took　a　break　from　Worker　Woman　and　his　Transformers　tapes。　He　was　looking　forward　to　the　preschool　that　had　been　set　up　for　Western　children　right　there　in　the　ghetto；　where　he　showed　great　promise　with　crayons　and　the　newly　arrived　Hot　Wheels　tricycles；　plus　being　champion　at　the　Sit　'n　Spin。
　　　He　told　himself　that　he　could　relax　today。　The　meeting　would　be　in　the　evening；　and　MP　would　handle　that。　In　another　week　or　so。。。　maybe。。。　BEATRIX　would　be　all　over；　and　he　could　relax　again；　letting　his　field　officers　do　the　running　around　this　damned　ugly　city。　Sure　enough；　the　goddamned　Baltimore　Orioles　were　in　the　playoffs；　and　looking　to　go　head　to　head　with　the　Philadelphia　Phillies；　relegating　his　Bronx　Bombers　to　the　Hot　Stove　League　yet　again。　What　was　with　the　new　ownership；　anyway？　How　could　rich　people　be　so　stupid？
　　　He'd　have　to　keep　to　his　metro　routine。　If　KGB　had　him　shadowed；　it　would　be　unusual…or　would　it？…for　them　to　mark　the　specific　train　he　was　getting　on。　There　was　a　question　for　him。　If　they　did　a　one…two　tail；　the　number　two　guy　would　stay　on　the　platform　and；　after　the　train　left；　write　down　the　time　off　the　clock　in　the　station…that　was　the　only　one　that　made　sense；　since　it　was　the　one　that　governed　the　trains　themselves。　KGB　was　thorough　and　professional；　but　would　they　be　that　good？　That　sort　of　precision　was　positively　Germanic；　but　if　the　bastards　could　make　the　trains　run　that　precisely；　then　probably　KGB　could　take　note　of　it；　and　the　precise　timing　was　what　had　enabled　him　to　contact　the　Rabbit。
　　　God　damn　this　life；　anyway！　Foley　raged　briefly。　But　he'd　known　that　before　he'd　accepted　the　posting　to　Moscow；　and　it　was　exciting　here；　wasn't　it？　Yeah；　like　Louis　XVI　was　probably　excited　on　the　cart　ride　to　the　guillotine；　Ed　Sr。　thought。
　　　Someday　he'd　lecture　on　this　down　at　The　Farm。　He　hoped　they'd　appreciate　just　how　hard　it　had　been　to　write　the　lesson　plan　for　his　Operation　BEATRIX　lecture。　Well；　they　might　be　a　little　impressed。
　　　Forty　minutes　later；　he　purchased　his　copy　of　Izvestia　and　rode　down　the　interminable　escalator　to　the　platform；　as　usual　not　noting　the　sideways　looks　of　Russians　looking　at　a　real；　live　American　as　though　he　were　a　creature　in　the　zoo。　It　would　never　have　happened　to　a　Russian　in　New　York；　where　every　ethnic　group　could　be　found；　especially　behind　the　wheel　of　a　yellow　cab。
　　　The　morning　routine　was　set　in　concrete　by　now。　Miss　Margaret　was　hovering　over　the　kids；　and　Eddie　Beaverton　was　outside　the　door。　The　kids　were　duly　hugged　and　kissed；　and　the　parents　headed　off　to　work。　If　there　was　anything　Ryan　hated；　it　was　this　routine。　If　only　he'd　been　able　to　persuade　Cathy　to　buy　a　flat　in　London；　then　every　work　day　would　have　been　a　good　two　hours　shorter…but；　no；　Cathy　wanted　green　stuff　around　for　the　kids　to　play　on。　And　soon　they　wouldn't　see　the　sun　until　they　got　to　work；　and　soon　thereafter；　hardly　even　then。
　　　Ten　minutes　later；　they　were　in　their　first…class　partment　rolling　northwest　for　London；　Cathy　in　her　medical　journal　and　Jack　in　his　Daily　Telegraph。　There　was　an　article　about　Poland；　and　this　reporter　was　unusually　well…informed；　Ryan　saw　at　once。　The　articles　in　Britain　tended　to　be　a　lot　less　long…winded　than　in　The　Washington　Post；　and　for　once　Jack　found　himself　regretting　that。　This　guy　had　been　well…briefed　and/or　he　was　pretty　good　at　analysis。　The　Polish　government　was　really　caught　between　a　rock　and　a　hard　place；　and　was　getting　squeezed；　and　there　was　talk；　he　saw；　that　the　Pope　was　making　some　rumbles　about　the　welfare　of　his　homeland　and　his　people；　and　that；　the　reporter　noted；　could　upset　a　lot　of　apple　carts。
　　　Ain't　that　the　truth；　Jack　thought。　The　really　bad　news　was　that　it　was　in　the　open　now。　Who'd　leaked　it？　He　knew　the　reporter's　name。　He　was　a　specialist　in　foreign　affairs；　mainly　European。　So；　who'd　leaked　this？　Somebody　in　the　Foreign　Office？　Those　people　were；　on　the　whole；　pretty　smart；　but；　like　their　American　counterparts　at　Foggy　Bottom；　they　occasionally　spoke　without　thinking；　and　over　here　that　could　happen　over　a　friendly　pint　in　one　of　the　thousands　of　fortable　pubs；　maybe　in　a　quiet　corner　booth；　with　a　government　employee　paying　off　a　marker　or　just　wanting　to　show　the　media　how　smart　he　was。　Would　a　head　roll　over　this　one？　he　wondered。　Something　to　talk　about　with　Simon。
　　　Unless　Simon　had　been　the　leaker。　He　was　senior　enough　and　well　liked　by　his　boss。　Maybe　Basil　had　authorized　the　leak？　Or　maybe　they　both　knew　a　guy　in　Whitehall　and　had　authorized　him　to　have　a　friendly　pint　with　a　guy　from　Fleet　Street。
　　　Or　maybe　the　reporter　was　smart　enough　to　put　two　and　two　together　all　by　himself。　Not　all　the　smart　guys　worked　at　Century　House。　Damned　sure　not　all　the　smart　ones　in　America　worked　at　Langley。　Generally　speaking；　talent　went　to　where　the　money　was；　because　smart　people　wanted　large　houses　and　nice　vacations　just　like　everyone　else　did。　Those　who　went　into　government　service　knew　that　they　could　live　fortably；　but　not　lavishly…but　the　best　of　them　also　knew　that　they　had　a　mission　to　fulfill　in　life；　and　that　was　why　you　found　very　good　people　wearing　uniforms　or　carrying　guns　and　badges。　In　his　own　case；　Ryan　had　done　well　in　the　trading　business；　but　he　finally　found　it　unsatisfying。　And　so　not　all　talented　people　sought　after　money。　Some　found　themselves　on　some　sort　of　quest。
　　　Is　that　what　you're　doing；　Jack？　he　asked　himself；　as　the　train　pulled　into　Victoria　Station。
　　　〃What　deep　thoughts　this　morning？〃　his　wife　asked。
　　　〃Huh？〃　Jack　responded。
　　　〃I　know　the　look；　honey；〃　she　pointed　out。　〃You're　chewing　over　something　important。〃
　　　〃Cathy；　are　you　an　eye　cutter　or　a　pshrink？〃
　　　〃With　you；　I'm　a　pshrink；〃　she　replied；　with　a　playful　smile。
　　　Jack　stood　and　opened　the　partment　door。　〃Okay；　my　lady。　You　have　eyeballs　to　regulate；　and　I　have　secrets　to　figure　out。〃　He　waved　his　wife　out　the　door。　〃What　new　things　did　you　learn　from　The　Asshole　and　Armpit　Monthly　Gazette　on　the　way　in？〃
　　　〃You　wouldn't　understand。〃
　　　〃Probably；〃　Jack　conceded；　heading　off　to　the　cabstand。　They　took　a　robin's…egg…blue　one　instead　of　the　usual　black。
　　　〃Hammersmith　Hospital；〃　Ryan　told　the　driver；　〃and　then　One　Hundred　Westminster　Bridge　Road。〃
　　　〃Mi…Six；　is　it；　sir？〃
　　　〃Excuse　me？〃　Ryan　replied　innocently。
　　　〃Universal　Export；　sir；　where　James　Bond　used　to　work。〃　He　chuckled　and　pulled　off。
　　　Well；　Ryan　reflected；　the　CIA　exit　off　the　George　Washington　Parkway　wasn't　marked　NATIONAL　HIGHWAY　ADMINISTRATION　anymore。　Cathy　thought　it　was　pretty　funny。　There　was　no　keeping　secrets　from　London　cabdrivers。　Cathy　hopped　out　in　the　large　underpass　at　Hammersmith；　and　the　driver　U…turned　and　went　the　last　few　blocks　to　Century　House。　Ryan　went　through　the　door；　past　Sergeant　Major　Canderton；　and　up　to　his　office。