tc.redrabbit-第51部分

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polygraph　was　a　particular　pain　in　the　ass；　and　the　Agency　even　had　psychiatrists　who　trained　people　in　how　to　defeat　them。　He'd　undergone　such　training；　and　so　had　his　wife…and　still　CIA　put　them　on　the　box　at　least　once　a　year；　whether　to　test　their　loyalty　or　to　see　if　they　still　remembered　their　training；　who　could　tell？
　　　But　did　KGB　do　that　as　well？　They'd　be　crazy　not　to；　but　he　wasn't　sure　if　they　had　polygraph　technology；　and　so。。。　maybe；　maybe　not。　There　was　so　much　about　KGB　that　he　and　CIA　didn't　know。　Langley　made　a　lot　of　SWAGs…stupid　wild…ass　guesses…mainly　from　people　who　said；　〃Well；　we　do　it　this　way；　and　therefore　they　must；　too；〃　which　was　total　horseshit。　No　two　people；　and　damned…sure　no　two　countries；　had　ever　done　anything　exactly　the　same　way；　and　that　was　why　Ed　Foley　deemed　himself　one　of　the　best　in　this　crazy　business。　He　knew　better。　He　never　stopped　looking。　He　never　did　anything　the　same　way　twice；　except　as　a　ruse；　to　give　a　false　impression　to　someone　else…especially　Russians；　who　probably　（almost　certainly；　he　figured）　suffered　from　the　same　bureaucratic　disease　that　circumscribed　minds　at　CIA。
　　　Wh＇at＇　if　this　g＇uy＇　wants　a　tick＇et＇　out？　Mary　Pat　asked。
　　　First　class　on　Pan　Am；　her　husband　answered；　as　fast　as　his　fingers　could　move；　and　he　gets　to　screw　the　stew。
　　　U　R　bad；　Mary　Patricia　responded；　with　the　gagging　sound　of　a　suppressed　laugh。　But　she　knew　he　was　right。　If　this　guy　wanted　to　play　spy；　it　might　be　smarter　just　to　yank　his　ass　out　of　the　USSR　and　fly　him　to　Washington；　and　toss　in　a　lifetime　pass　to　Disney　World　for　after　the　debrief。　A　Russian　would　go　into　sensory　overload　in　the　Magic　Kingdom；　not　to　mention　the　newly　opened　Epcot　Center。　ing　out　of　Space　Mountain；　Ed　had　joked　that　CIA　ought　to　rent　the　whole　place　for　one　day　and　take　the　Soviet　Politburo　around；　let　them　ride　every　ride　and　gobble　down　the　burgers　and　swill　the　Cokes；　and　then；　on　the　way　out；　tell　them；　〃This　is　what　Americans　do　for　fun。　Unfortunately；　we　can't　show　you　the　things　we　do　when　we're　serious。〃　And　if　that　didn't　scare　the　piss　out　of　them；　nothing　would。　But　it　would　scare　the　piss　out　of　them；　both　Foleys　were　sure。　They…even　the　important　ones　with　access　to　everything　KGB　got　out　of　the　Main　Enemy…even　they　were　the　most　insular　and　provincial　of　people。　For　the　most　part；　they　really　did　believe　the　propaganda　because　they　had　nothing　to　measure　it　against；　because　they　were　as　much　victims　of　their　system　as　the　poor　dumb　muzhiks…peasants…driving　the　dump　trucks。
　　　But　the　Foleys　didn't　live　in　a　fantasy　world。
　　　So；　w＇e＇　d＇o＇　what　he　says；　then　what？　she　asked　next。
　　　One　step　at　a　time；　he　replied；　and　she　nodded　in　the　darkness。　Like　having　a　baby；　this　couldn't　be　rushed　unless　you　wanted　a　funny…looking　kid。　It　told　Mary　Pat　that　her　husband　wasn't　a　total　curmudgeon；　though；　and　that　elicited　a　kiss　in　the　darkness。
　　　Zaitzev　wasn't　municating　with　his　wife。　For　him；　right　now；　even　a　half　liter　of　vodka　couldn't　help　him　sleep。　He'd　made　his　request。　Only　tomorrow　would　he　know　for　sure　if　he　was　dealing　with　someone　able　to　help　him。　What　he'd　asked　wasn't　entirely　reasonable；　but　he　didn't　have　the　time　or　the　security　to　be　reasonable。　He　was　secure　in　the　knowledge　that　even　KGB　couldn't　fake　what　he'd　specified。　Oh；　sure；　maybe　they　could　get　the　Poles　or　the　Romanians　or　some　other　socialist　country　to　do　it；　but　not　the　Americans。　Even　KGB　had　its　limits。
　　　So；　again；　he　got　to　wait；　but　sleep　didn't　e。　Tomorrow　he　would　not　be　a　very　happy　rade。　He　could　feel　the　hangover　ing　already；　like　an　earthquake　trapped　and　contained　inside　his　skull。。。
　　　〃How'd　it　go；　Simon？〃　Ryan　asked。
　　　〃It　could　have　been　worse。　The　PM　didn't　rip　my　head　off。　I　told　her　that　we　only　have　what　we　have；　and　Basil　backed　me　up。　She　wants　more。　She　said　that　in　my　presence。〃
　　　〃No　surprise。　Ever　hear　of　a　president　who　wanted　less　information；　buddy？〃
　　　〃Not　recently；〃　Harding　admitted。　Ryan　saw　the　stress　bleeding　off　his　workmate。　Damned　sure　he'd　have　a　beer　at　the　pub　before　heading　home。　The　Brit　analyst　loaded　his　pipe　and　lit　it；　taking　a　long　pull。
　　　〃If　it　makes　you　feel　any　better；　Langley　doesn't　have　any　more　than　you　guys　do。〃
　　　〃I　know。　She　asked；　and　that's　what　Basil　said。　Evidently；　he　talked　to　your　Judge　Moore　before　driving　over。〃
　　　〃So　we're　all　ignorant　together。〃
　　　〃Bloody　forting；〃　Simon　Harding　snorted。
　　　It　was　far　past　going…home　time。　Ryan　had　waited　to　see　what　Simon　would　say　about　the　meeting　at　10　Downing　Street；　because　Ryan　was　also　here　to　gather　intelligence　on　the　Brits。　They　would　understand；　because　that　was　the　game　they　all　played。　He　checked　his　watch。
　　　〃Well；　I've　got　to　boogie　on　home。　See　you　tomorrow。〃
　　　〃Sleep　well；〃　Harding　said；　as　Ryan　headed　out　the　door。　Jack　was　reasonably　sure　that　Simon　would　not。　He　knew　what　Harding　made；　as　a　mid…level　civil　servant；　and　it　wasn't　quite　enough　for　this　stressful　a　day。　But；　he　told　himself　out　on　the　street；　that's　Life　in　the　Big　City。
　　　〃What　did　you　tell　your　people；　Bob？〃　Judge　Moore　asked。
　　　〃Just　what　you　told　me；　Arthur。　The　President　wants　to　know。　No　feedback　yet。　Tell　the　Boss　he's　going　to　have　to　be　patient。〃
　　　〃I　said　that。　He　was　not　overly　pleased；〃　the　DCI　responded。
　　　〃Well；　Judge；　I　can't　stop　the　rain　from　falling。　We　don't　have　power　over　a　lot　of　things；　and　time　is　one　of　them。　He's　a　big　boy；　he　can　understand　that；　can't　he？〃
　　　〃Yes；　Robert；　but　he　likes　to　get　what　he　needs。　He's　worried　about　His　Holiness；　now　that　the　Pope　has　kicked　over　the　anthill…〃
　　　〃Well；　we　think　he　has。　The　Russians　might　be　smart　enough　to　work　through　diplomatic　channels　and　tell　him　to　cool　down　and　let　things　work　out；　and…〃
　　　〃Bob；　that　wouldn't　work；〃　Admiral　Greer　put　in。　〃He's　not　the　sort　of　guy　you　can　warn　off　with　lawyer　talk；　is　he？〃
　　　〃No；〃　Ritter　admitted。　This　Pope　was　not　a　man　to　promise　on　issues　of　great　importance。　He'd　seen　himself　through　all　manner　of　unpleasantness；　from　Hitler's　Nazis　to　Stalin's　NKVD；　and　he'd　kept　his　church　together　by　circling　the　wagons；　like　settlers　against　Indian　attacks　in　those　old　Western　movies。　He　hadn't　managed　to　keep　his　church　alive　in　Poland　by　giving　in　on　important　issues；　had　he？　And；　by　holding　his　ground；　he'd　maintained　enough　moral　and　political　strength　to　threaten　the　other　of　the　world's　superpowers。　No；　this　guy　wasn't　going　to　fold　under　pressure。
　　　Most　men　feared　death　and　ruin。　This　one　didn't。　The　Russians　would　never　understand　why；　but　they　would　understand　the　respect　it　earned　him。　It　was　being　clear　to　Bob　Ritter　and　the　other　senior　intelligence　officers　in　this　room　that　the　one　single　response　that　would　make　sense　to　the　Politburo　was　an　attack　on　the　Pope。　And　the　Politburo　had　met　today；　though　what　they　had　discussed　and　concluded　were　frustratingly　unknown。
　　　〃Bob；　do　we　have　any　assets　who　can　find　out　what　they　talked　about　in　the　Kremlin　today？〃
　　　〃We　have　a　few；　and　they　will　be　alerted　in　the　next　two　days…or；　if　they　e　up　with　something　important；　they　can　decide　to　get　the　information　on　their　own　hook。　If　they　bee　aware　of　something　this　hot；　you'd　expect　them　to　figure　it　out　on　their　own　and　get　a　packet　of　information　out　to　their　handlers；〃　Ritter　told　the　DCI。　〃Hey；　Arthur；　I　don't　like　waiting　and　not　knowing　any　more　than　you　do；　but　we　have　to　let　this　thing　take　its　course。　You　know　the　dangers　of　a　balls…to…the…wall　alert　to　our　agents　as　well　as　I　do。〃
　　　And　all　three　of　them　did。　That　sort　of　thing　had　gotten　Oleg　Penkovskiy　killed。　The　information　he'd　gotten　out　had　probably　averted　a　nuclear　war…and　had　assisted　in　the　recruitment　of　CIA's　longest…lived　agent…in…place；　CARDINAL…but　that　hadn't　done　Penkovskiy　much　good。　On　his　discovery；　no　less　a　figure　than　Khrushchev　himself　had　demanded　his　blood…and　gotten　it。
　　　〃Yeah；〃　Greer　agreed；　〃and　this　isn't　all　that　important　in　the　great　scheme　of　things；　is　it？〃
　　　〃No；〃　Judge　Moore　had　to　admit；　though　he　didn't　especially　look　forward　to　explaining　that　one　to　the　President。　But　the　new　Boss　did　understand　things　once　you　made　them　clear。　The　really　scary　part　was　what　the　President　might　do　if　the　Pope　were　to　die　unexpectedly。　The　Boss；　too；　was　a　man　of　principle；　but　also　a　man　of　emotions。　It　would　be　as　enraging　as　waving　the　Soviet　flag　in　front　of　a　fighting　bull。　You　couldn't　let　emotion　get　in　the　way　of　statecraft…it　only　called　out　more　emotion；　frequently　the　mourning　of　the　newly　dead。　And　the　miracle　of　modern　technology　only　served　to　make　the　number　of　such　people　all　the　larger。　The　DCI　reproached　himself　for　that　thought。　The　new　President　was　a　thoughtful　man。　His　emotions　were　the　servant　of　his　intellect；　and　his　intellect　was　far　larger　than　it　was　generally　believed；　especially　by　the　media；　who　only　saw　the　smile　and　the　theatrical　personality。　But　the　media；　like　a　lot　of　politicians；　was　a　lot　more　fortable　dealing　with　appearances　than　reality。　It　was　a　lot　less　intellectually　demanding；　after　all。　Judge　Moore　looked　at　his　principal　subordinates。　〃Okay；　but　let's　remember　that　it　can　be　lonely　facing　him　in　the　Oval　Office　when　you　don't　have　what　he　wants。〃
　　　〃I'm　sure　it　is；　Arthur；〃　Ritter　sympathized。
　　　He　could　still　turn　back；　Zaitzev　told　himself；　as　sleep　still　had　not　e。　Next　to　him；　Irina　was　breathing　placidly　in　sleep。　The　sleep　of　the　just；　it　was　called。　Not　the　sleeplessness　of　the　traitor。
　　　All　he　had　to　do　was　stop。　That　was　all。　He'd　taken　two　small　steps；　but　no　more。　The　American　might　know　his　face；　but　that　was　easily　fixed…take　a　different　metro；　walk　onto　a　different　carriage。　He'd　never　see　him　again；　their　contact　would　be　as　broken　as　a　water　glass　dropped　to　the　floor；　and　his　life　would　return　to　normal；　and　his　conscience。。。
　　　。。。　would　never　trouble　him　again？　He　snorted。　It　was　his　conscience　that　had　gotten　him　into　this　mess。　No；　that　wasn't　going　to　go　away。
　　　But　the　other　side　of　that　coin　was　perpetual　worry　and　sleeplessness；　and　fear。　He　hadn't　really　tasted　the　fear　yet。　That　would　e；　he　was　sure。
　　　Treason　had　only　one　punishment。　Death　for　the　traitor；　followed　by　ruin　for　his　survivors。　They'd　be　sent　of