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第79部分

tc.redrabbit-第79部分

小说: tc.redrabbit 字数: 每页4000字

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e 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。
   ing in the door; he dropped the Telegraph on Simon's desk before doffing his raincoat。
   〃I saw it; Jack;〃 Harding said at once。
   〃Who's talking?〃
   〃Not sure。 Foreign Office; probably。 They've been briefed in on this。 Or perhaps someone from the PM's office。 Sir Basil is not pleased;〃 Harding assured him。
   〃Nobody called the paper?〃
   〃No。 We didn't know about this until it was published this morning。〃
   〃I thought the local papers had a more cordial relationship with the government over here。〃
   〃Generally; they do; which leads me to believe it was the PM's office that did the leak。〃 Harding's face was innocent enough; but Jack found himself trying to read it。 That was something his wife was far better at。 He had the feeling that Harding was not being entirely truthful; but he had no real reason to plain about that; did he?
   〃Anything new from the overnights?〃
   Harding shook his head。 〃Nothing of great interest。 Nothing on this BEATRIX operation; either。 Tell your wife about your impending trip?〃
   〃Yeah; and I didn't tell you that she's pretty good at reading my mind。〃
   〃Most wives can; Jack。〃 Harding had a good laugh at that。
   Zaitzev had the same desk and the same pile of message traffic; always different in exact details; but always the same really: reports from field officers transmitting data from foreign nationals on all manner of subjects。 He had hundreds of operation names memorized; and untold thousands of details resident between his ears; including the actual names of some of the agents and the code names of many; many others。
   As on the previous workdays; he took his time; reading over all the morning traffic before sending it upstairs; trusting his trained memory to record and file away all of the important details。
   Some; of course; contained information that was hidden in multiple ways。 There was probably a penetration agent within CIA; for example; but his code name…TRUMPET…was all Zaitzev knew。 Even the data he transmitted were concealed by the use of layered super…encryption; including a one…time pad。 But the data went to a colonel on the sixth floor who specialized in CIA investigations and worked closely with the Second Chief Directorate…so; by implication; TRUMPET was giving KGB something in which the Second Directorate was interested; and that meant agents operating for CIA right here in Moscow。 Which was enough to give him chills; but the Americans he'd talked to…he'd warned them about munications security; and that would flag any dispatch about him to a very limited number of people。 And he knew that TRUMPET was being paid huge amounts of money; and so; probably he was not a senior CIA official; who; Zaitzev judged; were probably very well paid。 An ideological agent would have given him cause to worry; but there were none of them in America whom he knew bout…and he would know; wouldn't he?
   In a week; perhaps less; the municator told himself; he'd be in the West and safe。 He hoped his wife would not go totally amok when he told her his plans; but probably she would not。 She had no immediate family。 Her mother had died the previous year; to Irina's great sorrow; and she had neither brothers nor sisters to hold her back; and she was not happy working at GUM because of all the petty corruption there。 And he would promise to get her the piano she longed to have; but which even his KGB post couldn't get for her; so meager was the supply。
   So he shuffled his papers; perhaps more slowly than usual; but not greatly so; he thought。 There were few really hard workers; even in KGB。 The cynical adage in the Soviet Union was 〃As long as they pretend to pay us; we will pretend to work;〃 and the principle applied here as well。 If you exceeded your quota; they'd just increase it the following year without any improvement in your working conditions…and so; few worked hard enough to be noticed as Heroes of Socialist Labor。
   Just after 11:00; Colonel Rozhdestvenskiy appeared in the ms room。 Zaitzev caught his eye and waved him over。
   〃Yes; rade Major?〃 the colonel asked。
   〃rade Colonel;〃 he said quietly; 〃there have been no recent munications about six…six…six。 Is there anything I need to know?〃
   The question took Rozhdestvenskiy aback。 〃Why do you ask?〃
   〃rade Colonel;〃 Zaitzev went on humbly; 〃it was my understand ing that this operation is important and that I am the only municator cleared for it。 Have I acted improperly in any way?〃
   〃Ah。〃 Rozhdestvenskiy relaxed。 〃No; rade Colonel; we have no plaints with your activities。 The operation no longer requires munications of this type。〃
   〃I see。 Thank you; rade Colonel。〃
   〃You look tired; Major Zaitzev。 Is anything the matter?〃
   〃No; rade。 I suppose I could use a vacation。 I didn't get to go anywhere during the summer。 A week or two off duty would be a blessing; before the winter hits。〃
   〃Very well。 If you have any difficulties; let me know; and I'll try to smooth things out for you。〃
   Zaitzev managed a grateful smile。 〃Why; thank you; rade Colonel。〃
   〃You do good work down here; Zaitzev。 We're all entitled to some time off; even State Security people。〃
   〃Thank you again; rade Colonel。 I serve the Soviet Union。〃 Rozhdestvenskiy nodded and took his leave。 As he walked out the door; Zaitzev took a long breath and went back to work memorizing dispatches。。。 but not for the Soviet Union。 So; he thought; …666 was being handled by courier now。 He'd learn no more about it; but he'd just learned that it was going forward on a high…priority basis。 They were really going to do it。 He wondered if the Americans would get him out quickly enough to forestall it。 The information was in his hands; but the ability to do anything about it was not。 It was like being Cassandra of old; daughter of King Priam of Troy; knowing what was going to happen; but unable to get anyone to do anything about it。 Cassandra had angered the gods somehow or other and received that curse as a result; but what had he done to deserve it? Zaitzev wondered; suddenly angry at CIA's inefficiency。 But he couldn't just board a Pan American flight out of Sheremetyevo International Airp

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