scoonts.theminotaur-第31部分

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ss　the　street？〃
　〃Apparently。　One　of　my　men　was　going　to　check　the　D。C。　police　mug　books。　We'll　have　names　and　rap　sheets　by　tomorrow；　probably。〃
　〃But　there's　no　way　to　tie　this　in　with　the　crack　gang？〃
　〃You　know　there　isn't。〃
　〃Did　Mrs。　Jackson　ever　see　Franklin？〃　Luis　Camacho　rubbed　his　chin　thoughtfully。　〃I'm　not　sure。　She　may　have　and　doesn't　remember。　She　said　she'd　think　about　it。〃
　〃What　do　you　think？〃
　〃How　many　times　has　he　been　to　that　drop？〃
　〃Five。〃
　He　considered。　〃I　think　she's　probably　seen　him；〃　he　said　at　last。　〃Whether　she　could　pick　him　out　of　a　lineup　or　mug　book；　I　don't　know。〃
　〃Where　will　you　be　if　your　boss　asks　you　why　you　haven't　tried　that；　once　the　Pentagon　angle　is　nailed　down？〃
　〃I'll　look　like　an　inpetent。　I'll　have　to　bring　her　in　to　go　over　the　photo　books　to　cover　myself。〃
　〃When？〃
　〃Maybe　next　week。　Maybe　the　week　after。　They'll　want　to　evaluate。　At　first　they're　going　to　be　interested　in　Pochinkov。　For　a　day　or　two。　Then　they'll　get　interested　in　Mrs。　Jackson　again。〃
　〃Pochinkov　is　a　dead　end。〃
　〃They'll　e　to　that　conclusion。　Bigelow；　my　boss；　has　no　background　in　counterespionage；　but　he's　a　smart　man。　Hell　drool　over　Pochinkov　for　a　day　or　two；　toy　with　the　idea　of　trapping　and　turning　him；　then　eventually　decide　that　we　can't　spare　the　manpower　to　watch　him　day　and　night　forever。　Of　course；　the　National　Security　Council　could　decide　to　try　to　catch　him　servicing　a　drop　just　so　we　can　kick　him　out　of　the　country；　but　you　probably　have　a　better　feel　for　that　than　I。〃
　A　wry　grin　twisted　Albright's　lips。　The　implication　was　that　Albright　knew　whether　or　not　the　Soviets　were　going　to　pick　up　an　American　diplomat　in　Moscow　anytime　soon；　knowledge　that　Camacho　well　knew　Albright　would　never　have。　So　even　here；　in　the　safety　and　fort　of　his　own　den；　Camacho　was　stroking　the　ego　of　his　control。　He　did　it　unconsciously；　without　even　thinking。　No　wonder　Luis　Camacho　had　done　so　well　in　the　FBI。
　〃How　e　you　guys　had　a　drop　in　that　neighborhood　anyway？〃
　〃It　was　on　the　approved　list。〃　Albright　shrugged。　The　paper　pushers　in　Moscow　had　no　appreciation　of　the　dynamics　of　an　American　neighborhood；　how　fast　it　could　evolve　or　erode。　The　approval　of　drop　sites　was　one　method　Soviet　intelligence　bureaucrats　used　to　justify　their　salaries；　but　Albright　wasn't　going　to　explain　that　to　Camacho。　He　had　learned　early　in　his　career　that　a　wise　man　never　plains　about　things　he　can't　change；　especially　to　an　agent　he　needed　to　keep　loyal　and　motivated。
　Still；　Luis　Camacho　wasn't　like　other　agents。　Albright　had　been　running　him　now　for　over　ten　years；　but　it　was　only　in　the　last　few　years；　when　the　source　the　Americans　called　the　Minotaur　had　surfaced　and　within　months　Camacho　had　had　the　serendipitous　good　fortune　to　be　assigned　to　head　the　Washington；　D。C。；　FBI　counterespionage　department；　that　Camacho　had　bee　a　Soviet　treasure。
　Tonight　as　he　stared　at　the　ballet　of　black　men　on　the　television　screen；　Albright　reflected　again　on　that　chain　of　events。　After　a　high…profile　black…tie　affair　in　the　ballroom　of　a　Washington　hotel；　the　Soviet　ambassador　had　discovered　a　picture　postcard　in　his　coat　pocket　as　his　limousine　returned　him　to　the　embassy。　On　the　front　of　the　card　was　a　photo　of　the　Pentagon　at　night。　On　the　back　were　two　words　and　a　series　of　numbers　and　letters…a　puter　file　name…all　written　in　block　letters。　Below　that　were　ten　words；　not　a　message；　just　words。　Nothing　else。　No　fingerprints　except　the　ambassador's。
　It　had　been　enough。　Using　Terry　Franklin；　the　Soviets　had　obtained　engineering　and　performance　data　on　the　new　U。S。　Air　Force　stealth　fighter；　the　F…117A；　from　the　Pentagon　puter　system。　The　information　appeared　genuine。　So　who　was　the　source？　Unmasking　the　source　would　undoubtedly　reveal　why　the　information　was　passed　and　enable　the　Soviet　intelligence　munity　to　properly　evaluate　its　authenticity。　But　the　official　guest　list　for　the　black…tie　reception　ran　to　over　three　hundred　names　and　was　almost　a　Who's　Who　of　official　Washington。　The　names　of　spouses　and　girlfriends　in　attendance　were　not　on　the　list；　nor　were　the　names　of　at　least　a　dozen　officials　who　had　been　seen　there。　The　fists　of　hotel　and　caterer　personnel　were　also　inaccurate　and　inplete。
　The　upper　echelons　of　the　Soviet　intelligence　munity　were　stymied。　The　first　rule　of　intelligence　gathering…know　your　source…had　been　violated。　Yet　the　information　appeared　genuine　and　revealed　just　how　far　ahead　of　the　Soviets　the　Americans　were　with　stealth　technology。
　Three　months　after　the　ambassador　had　received　the　postcard；　an　unsigned　letter　in　a　plain　white　envelope　arrived　at　the　Soviet　embassy　addressed　to　the　ambassador。　The　letter；　in　neat　dock　letters；　was　a　mentary　on　the　rights　of　minorities　in　the　Soviet　Union。　In　accordance　with　standard　procedure　for　unsolicited　mail；　the　letter　was　sent　to　Moscow。　There　the　code　was　broken。　The　writer　had　constructed　a　matrix　using　the　first　random　word　on　the　original　postcard　as　the　key　word。　The　message　was　three　random　words；　the　first　two　of　which　proved　to　be　puter　access　words。　The　third　word　wasn't　a　word　at　all；　but　a　series　of　numbers　and　letters。　From　the　bowels　of　the　Pentagon；　Terry　Franklin　produced　a　fascinating　document　concerning　the　development　of　a　land…based　anti…satellite　laser　about　which　Soviet　intelligence　had　known　absolutely　nothing。
　Further　letters　followed；　each　encoded　on　the　basis　of　a　key　word　which　appeared　on　the　original　postcard；　the　ambassador's。　The　information　was　golden：　more　stealth。　Trident　missile　updates；　SDI　research　breakthroughs；　laser　optics　for　artillery；　satellite　navigation　systems。。。　the　list　was　breathtaking。　The　Soviets　were　seeing　hard　data　on　America's　most　precious　defense　secrets。　And　they　didn't　know　who　was　giving　it　to　them。　Or　why。
　So　Harlan　Albright　was　told　to　use　Mother　Russia's　most　precious　agent　to　find　out。　And　here　he　sat；　Luis　Camacho；　FBI　special　agent　in　charge；　Washington；　D。C。；　office　of　counterespionage。
　Camacho　hadn't　found　a　sniff。
　Damn；　it　was　frustrating。　And　now　the　Terry　Franklin　tool　to　exploit　the　unknown　source　was　unraveling。
　〃Do　you　believe　in　the　entropy　principle？〃　Camacho　asked。　There　was　a　mercial　on　the　television。
　Albright　shifted　his　gaze　and　tried　to　dear　his　thoughts。　〃Entropy？〃
　〃Disorder　always　increases　in　a　closed　system。〃
　〃I　suppose。〃
　〃Will　Franklin　hold　up？〃
　〃I　don't　know。　I　doubt　it。　And　he　knows　too　much。〃　He　felt　a　chut　as　he　contemplated　the　wrath　of　his　superiors　if　Franklin　should　ever　list　his　thefts　for　the　Americans。
　〃Can　you　get　him　to　the　Soviet　Union？〃　Albright　shrugged　and　stood。　〃I'd　better　go　home　and　get　some　deep。〃
　〃Yeah。〃
　〃Drop　over　tomorrow　evening。〃
　〃Sure。〃
　
　Rita　Moravia's　worst　moment　came　when　she　preceded　Toad　into　his　apartment。　〃I've　only　been　here　a　month　or　so；〃　Toad　said　behind　her。　Open　cardboard　boxes　brimming　with　books　and　towels　and　bric…a…brac　sat　everywhere。　She　stepped　into　the　kitchen。　The　sink　was　full　of　dishes。　Something　hideous　was　growing　in　a　saucepan　on　the　stove。　The　refrigerator　contained　half　a　case　of　beer　and　a　six…pack　of　Coke…nothing　else。　At　least　it　was　clean。　But　how　in　the　world　had　this　man　managed　to　get　all　these　dishes　dirty？　Aha；　the　freezer　was　chock…full　of　frozen　vegetables　and　TV　dinners。　Even　some　meat。
　She　dumped　the　contents　of　the　saucepan　into　the　sink　and　ran　the　pan　full　of　water；　then　let　the　water　from　the　faucet　flush　the　putrid　mixture　past　the　trap。
　Toad　was　fidgety。　〃I'm　not　much　of　a　housekeeper；〃　he　mumbled。　〃Been　trying　to　get　unpacked　and　all　but　I've　been　so　busy。〃
　Rita　went　into　the　bedroom　and　snapped　on　the　lights。　The　bed　was　a　rumpled　mess。　She　ripped　away　the　spread　and　blanket　and　tossed　them　on　the　floor；　then　began　stripping　the　sheets。　〃Get　out　dean　sheets。〃
　〃Uh。。。　y'see；　that's　the　only　set　I　have。　Why　waste　money　on　extra　sheets　when　you　can　only　use　one　set　at　a。。。〃　He　ran　out　of　words　when　she　glanced　at　him　as　she　removed　the　pillows　from　their　cases。　〃Why　don't　I　take　the　sheets　and　pillowcases　down　to　the　basement　and　run　them　through　the　washer。〃　He　grabbed　them　from　the　floor　where　Rita　had　thrown　them　and　charged　for　the　door。　It　closed　behind　him　with　a　bang。　Rita　Moravia　smiled　and　shook　her　head。
　She　tackled　the　bedroom　first。　Dirty　clothes　were　piled　in　one　corner　of　the　closet。　She　used　a　T…shirt　for　a　dustrag。　No　cleanser　in　the　bathroom。　He　had　never　cleaned　the　mode。　She　was　swabbing　it　when　she　heard　the　apartment　door　open。　In　seconds　he　appeared。
　〃Hey；　Rita；　you　don't…〃
　〃Is　there　a　convenience　store　nearby　that's　still　open？〃
　〃I　suppose。。。〃
　〃I　want　cleanser；　dishwashing　liquid；　something　to　clean　these　floors　with。。。　a　mop　and　some　sponges。　And　an　air　freshener。〃
　〃Tomorrow　I…〃
　〃Now；　Tarkington。〃
　He　turned　and　left　without　a　word。
　In　twenty　minutes　he　was　back　with　a　bag　full　of　supplies。　She　handed　him　the　laundry　from　the　closet。　〃You　go　wash　these　and　then　clean　up　the　living　room　and　kitchen。〃
　When　she　got　the　sheets　back　on　the　bed　she　locked　the　bedroom　door。　Toad　was　making　noises　in　the　kitchen。　She　washed　her　face；　brushed　her　teeth　and　hung　up　her　clothes　from　the　overnight　bag。　She　put　on　a　frilly　negligee　Harriet　had　given　her　for　Christmas　when　it　looked　as　if　her　anemic　romance　with　Ogden　might　finally　blossom。
　Poor　Ogden。　His　town　house　always　looked　as　if　the　maid　just　left　five　minutes　before　you　arrived。　Appearances　were　so　important　to　him。　He　would　be　devastated　if　he　could　see　her　in　this　slum。　Oh　well。　Toad　had　something　that　Ogden　would　never　have。　She　thought　about　it　as　she　brushed　out　her　hair　again。　Tarkington　had　guts　as　well　as　brains；　and　he　knew　what　was　important　and　what　wasn't。　He　believed　in　himself　and　his　abilities　with　a　profound；　unshakable　faith；　so　he　wasn't　threatened　by　what　she　was；　what　she　acplished。　Any　way　you　looked　at　it。　Toad　Tarkington　was　a　man。
　And　a　man　was　precisely　what　Rita　Moravia　wanted　in　her　life。
　She　turned　off　all　the　lights　except　the　one　on　the　nightstand；　then　opened　the　bedroom　door。
　Toad　was　up　to　his　elbows　in　soapsuds　in　the　sink。　He　had　used　too　much　dishwashing　liquid。　Too　much　wa