tc.redrabbit-第50部分

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perations…taking　some　innocent　Soviet　citizen　and　making　him　an　agent；　an　information…procuring　asset　of　the　CIA；　a　spy…that　was　harder　than　going　to　a　CYO　dance　and　getting　laid。　The　real　trick　was　not　getting　the　girl　pregnant…or　the　agent　killed。　No；　the　way　the　game　was　played；　you　had　the　first　fast　dance；　then　the　first　slow　dance；　then　the　first　kiss；　then　the　first　grope；　and　then；　if　you　got　lucky；　unbuttoning　the　blouse。。。　and　then。。。
　　　The　reverie　stopped　when　the　train　did。　Foley　removed　his　hand　from　the　overhead　rail　and　looked　around。。。
　　　And　there　he　was；　actually　looking　at　him；　and　the　face　went　into　the　mental　photo　album。
　　　Bad　tradecraft；　buddy。　That　can　get　your　ass　killed。　Never　look　right　at　your　case　officer　in　a　public　place；　Foley　thought；　his　eyes　passing　right　over　him；　no　expression　at　all　on　his　own　face　as　he　walked　past　the　guy；　deliberately　taking　the　long　way　to　the　door。
　　　Zaitzev　was　impressed　by　the　American。　He'd　actually　looked　at　his　new　Russian　contact；　but　his　eyes　had　revealed　nothing；　had　not　even　looked　at　him　directly；　but　past　him　to　the　end　of　the　carriage。　And；　just　that　quickly；　the　American　had　walked　away。　Be　what　I　hope　you　are；　Oleg　Ivan'ch's　mind　thought；　just　as　loudly　as　it　could。
　　　Fifty　meters　up　on　the　open　street；　Foley　refused　even　to　let　his　hand　go　into　the　coat。　He　was　certain　that　a　hand　had　been　there。　He'd　felt　it；　all　right。　And　Ivan　Whoever　hadn't　done　it　looking　for　change。
　　　Foley　walked　past　the　gate　guard；　into　the　building；　and　went　up　in　the　elevator。　His　key　went　into　the　lock；　and　the　door　opened。　Only　when　it　was　closed　behind　him　did　he　reach　into　the　pocket。
　　　Mary　Pat　was　there；　watching　his　face；　and　she　saw　the　unguarded　flash　of　recognition　and　discovery。
　　　Ed　took　the　note　out。　It　was　the　same　blank　message　form　and；　as　before；　it　had　writing　on　it。　Foley　read　it　once；　then　again；　and　a　third　time　before　handing　it　over　to　his　wife。
　　　Mary　Pat's　eyes　flared；　too。
　　　It　was　a　fish；　Foley　thought。　Maybe　a　big　one。　And　he　was　asking　for　something　substantive。　Whoever　he　was；　he　wasn't　stupid。　It　would　not　be　easy　to　arrange　what　he　wanted；　but　he'd　be　able　to　pull　it　off。　It　just　meant　making　the　gunnery　sergeant　angry；　and　more　important；　visibly　angry；　because　the　embassy　was　always　under　surveillance。　Something　like　this　could　not　appear　routine；　or　deliberate；　but　it　didn't　have　to　be　an　Oscar…class　bit　of　acting　either。　He　was　sure　the　Marines　could　bring　it　off。　Then　he　felt　Mary　Pat's　hand　in　his。
　　　〃Hey；　honey；〃　he　said；　for　the　microphones。
　　　〃Hi；　Ed。〃　Her　hand　entered　his。
　　　This　guy's　re＇al＇；　her　hand　said。　He　answered　with　a　nod。
　　　Tomor＇row＇　mor＇ning＇；　she　asked；　and　got　another　nod。
　　　〃Honey；　I　have　to　run　back　to　the　embassy。　I　left　something　in　my　desk；　damn　it。〃　Her　answer　was　a　thumbs…up。
　　　〃Well；　don't　take　too　long。　I　have　dinner　on。　Got　a　nice　roast　from　the　Finnish　store。　Baked　potatoes　and　frozen　corn　on　the　cob。〃
　　　〃Sounds　good；〃　he　agreed。　〃Half　an　hour；　max。〃
　　　〃Well；　don't　be　late。〃
　　　〃Where　are　the　car　keys？〃
　　　〃In　the　kitchen。〃　And　they　both　walked　that　way。
　　　〃Do　I　have　to　leave　without　a　kiss？〃　he　asked　in　his　best　pussy…whipped　voice。
　　　〃I　guess　not〃　was　the　playful　reply。
　　　〃Anything　interesting　at　work　today？〃
　　　〃Just　that　Price　guy　from　the　Times。〃
　　　〃He's　a　jerk。〃
　　　〃Tell　me　about　it。　Later；　honey。〃　Foley　headed　for　the　door；　still　wearing　his　topcoat。
　　　He　waved　to　the　gate　guard　on　the　way　back　out；　a　frustrated　grimace　on　his　face　for　theatrical　effect。　The　guards　would　probably　write　down　his　passage…maybe　even　call　it　in　somewhere…and；　with　luck；　his　drive　to　the　embassy　would　be　matched　against　the　tapes　from　the　apartment；　and　the　Second　Chief　Directorate　pukes　would　tick　off　whatever　box　they　had　on　their　surveillance　forms　and　decide　that　Ed　Foley　had　fucked　up　and　indeed　left　something　at　the　office。　He'd　have　to　remember　to　drive　back　with　a　manila　envelope　on　the　front　seat　of　the　Mercedes。　Spooks　earned　their　living　most　of　all　by　remembering　everything　and　forgetting　nothing。
　　　The　drive　to　the　embassy　was　faster　than　taking　the　metro　at　this　time　of　day；　but　that　was　factored　in　to　everything　else　his　working　routine　enpassed。　In　just　a　few　minutes；　he　pulled　into　the　embassy　gate；　past　the　Marine　sentry；　and　took　a　visitor's　slot　before　running　in；　past　some　more　Marines；　and　up　to　his　office。　There　he　lifted　the　phone　and　made　a　call；　while　he　took　a　manila　envelope　and　slid　a　copy　of　the　International　Herald　Tribune　into　it。
　　　〃Yeah；　Ed？〃　The　voice　belonged　to　Dominic　Corso；　one　of　Foley's　field　officers。　Actually　older　than　his　boss；　Corso　was　covered　as　a　mercial　Attache。　He'd　worked　Moscow　for　three　years　and　was　well　regarded　by　his　Station　Chief。　Another　New　Yorker；　he　was　a　native　of　the　Borough　of　Richmond…Staten　Island…the　son　of　an　NYPD　detective。　He　looked　like　what　he　was；　a　New　York　guinea；　but　he　was　a　quite　a　bit　smarter　than　ethnic　bigots　would　like　to　have　admitted。　Corso　had　the　fey　brown　eyes　of　an　old　red　fox；　but　he　kept　his　intelligence　under　wraps。
　　　〃Need　you　to　do　something。〃
　　　〃What's　that？〃
　　　Foley　told　him。
　　　〃You're　serious？〃　It　wasn't　exactly　a　normal　request。
　　　〃Yep。〃
　　　〃Okay；　I'll　tell　the　gunny。　He's　going　to　ask　why。〃　Gunnery　Sergeant　Tom　Drake；　the　NCO…in…Charge　of　the　Marine　detail　at　the　embassy；　knew　whom　Corso　worked　for。
　　　〃Tell　him　it's　a　joke；　but　it's　an　important　one。〃
　　　〃Right。〃　Corso　nodded。　〃Anything　I　need　to　know？〃
　　　〃Not　right　now。〃
　　　Corso　blinked。　Okay；　this　was　sensitive　if　the　COS　wasn't　sharing　information；　but　that　wasn't　so　unusual；　was　it？　Corso　reflected。　In　CIA；　you　often　didn't　know　what　your　own　team　was　doing。　He　didn't　know　Foley　all　that　well；　but　he　knew　enough　to　respect　him。
　　　〃Okay；　I'll　go　see　him　now。〃
　　　〃Thanks；　Dom。〃
　　　〃How's　the　boy　like　Moscow？〃　the　field　officer　asked　his　boss　on　the　way　out　the　door。
　　　〃He's　adjusting。　Be　better　when　he　can　skate　some。　He　really　likes　hockey。〃
　　　〃Well；　he's　in　the　right　town　for　that。〃
　　　〃Ain't　that　the　truth。〃　Foley　gathered　his　papers　and　stood。　〃Let's　get　this　one　done；　Dom。〃
　　　〃Right　now；　Ed。　See　you　tomorrow。〃
　　　
　　　CHAPTER　14　…　DANGER　SIGNAL
　　　If　there　is　anything　constant　in　the　business　of　espionage；　it　is　a　persistent　lack　of　sleep　for　the　players。　That　es　from　stress；　and　stress　is　always　the　handmaiden　of　spooks。　When　sleep　was　slow　in　ing　for　Ed　and　Mary　Pat　Foley；　they　could　at　least　talk　with　their　hands　in　bed。
　　　He's　re＇al　as＇　h＇ell＇；　b＇aby＇；　Foley　told　his　wife　under　the　covers。
　　　Y＇ep＇；　she　agreed。　Have　w＇e＇　ev＇er＇　had　a　g＇uy＇　fr＇om＇　that　far　in　＇side＇？　she　wondered。
　　　N＇o＇　way　Jose；　he　replied。
　　　Lan＇gley＇　will　flip。
　　　B＇ig＇…time；　her　husband　agreed。　Bottom　of　the　ninth；　bases　loaded；　two　outs；　full　count；　and　the　pitcher　had　hung　a　curveball　right　over　Main　Street；　and　he　was　about　to　stroke　it　over　the　Scoreboard。　Assuming　we　don't　fuck　it　all　up；　Foley　warned　himself。
　　　Want　me　to　get　inv＇olved＇？　she　wondered　next。
　　　Need　to　wait　n　s＇ee＇。
　　　A　sigh　told　him；　Yeah；　I　know。　Even　for　them；　patience　came　hard。　Foley　could　see　that　curveball；　hanging　right　over　the　middle　of　the　plate；　just　about　belt…high；　and　the　Louisville　Slugger　was　tight　in　his　hands：　his　eyes　were　locked　on　the　ball　so　tight　that　he　could　see　the　stitches　turning　as　it　approached…and　this　one　was　going　out　of　the　park；　going　down…fuckin'…town。　He'd　show　Reggie　Jackson　who　was　the　hitter　on　this　playground。。。
　　　If　he　didn't　fuck　it　up；　he　thought　again。　But　Ed　Foley　had　done　this　kind　of　operation　in　Tehran；　had　developed　an　agent　in　the　revolutionary　munity；　and　had　been　the　only　field　officer　in　the　station　to　get　a　feel　for　how　bad　it　was　for　the　Shah；　and　that　series　of　reports　had　lit　up　his　star　at　Langley　and　made　him　one　of　Bob　Ritter's　varsity。
　　　And　he　was　going　to　take　this　one　deep；　too。
　　　At　Langley；　MERCURY　was　the　one　place　that　everyone　was　afraid　of…everybody　knew　that　an　employee　there　under　foreign　control　could　damned　near　bring　the　whole　building　down。　That　was　why　they　all　went　〃on　the　box〃　twice　a　year；　polygraphed　by　the　best　examiners　FBI　had…they　didn't　even　trust　CIA's　own　polygraph　experts　for　that　tasking。　A　bad　field　officer　or　a　bad　senior　analyst　could　burn　agents　and　missions；　and　that　was　bad　for　everyone　involved…but　a　leaker　in　MERCURY　would　be　like　turning　a　female　KGB　officer　loose　on　Fifth　Avenue　with　an　American　Express　Gold　Card。　She'd　be　able　to　get　anything　her　heart　desired。　Hell；　the　KGB　might　even　pay　a　million　bucks　for　such　a　source。　It　would　bust　the　Russian　exchequer；　but　they　would　cash　in　one　of　Nikolay　II's　Faberge　eggs；　and　be　glad　for　it。　Everyone　knew　there　had　to　be　a　KGB　counterpart　office　to　MERCURY；　but　nobody　in　any　intelligence　service　had　ever　bagged　a　Russian　national　from　there。
　　　Foley　found　himself　wondering　what　it　was　like；　how　the　room　looked。　At　Langley　it　was　immense；　the　size　of　a　parking　garage；　with　no　internal　walls　or　dividers；　so　that　everyone　could　see　everyone　else。　There　were　seven　drum…shaped　cassette　storage　structures；　named　for　Disney's　Seven　Dwarfs；　they　even　had　TV　cameras　on　the　inside；　should　some　lunatic　try　to　get　in　there；　though　he'd　almost　certainly　be　killed　by　such　an　adventure；　since　the　motorized　retrievers　turned　powerfully　and　without　warning。　Besides；　only　the　big　mainframe　puters…including　the　fastest　and　most　powerful　one；　made　by　Cray　Research…knew　which　cassette　had　which　data　and　lay　in　which　storage　slot。　The　security　there　was　unreal；　multilayered；　and　checked　on　a　daily…maybe　an　hourly…basis。　The　people　who　worked　there　were　occasionally　and　randomly　followed　home　from　work；　probably　by　the　FBI；　which　was　pretty　good　at　such　stuff；　for　a　bunch　of　gumshoed　cops。　It　must　have　been　oppressive　for　the　people　who　worked　there；　but　if　anyone　had　ever　plained　about　it；　those　reports　hadn't　e　to　Ed　Foley。　Marines　had　to　run　their　three　miles　per　day　and　undergo　formal　inspections；　and　CIA　employees　had　to　put　up　with　the　overpowering　institutional　paranoia；　and　that　was　just　how　things　were。　The　polygraph　was　a　particular　pain　in　the　ass；　and　the　Agency　even　had　psychiatrists　who　trained　people