el.the miko-第26部分

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　Gotaro　reared　up　once　as　the　thing　hit；　spinning　up　and　around；　half　out　of　the　water；　hurled　there　by　the　force　of　primitive　nature。
　Nangi's　vision　blurred　with　bitter　tears　and　he　struck　at　himself　over　and　over　as　his　head　bent；　the　wind　moaning　in　his　ears　like　the　voices　of　the　damned。
　After　a　long；　long　time　he　began　to　pray　to　a　God　he　did　not　know　or　understand　but　to　whom　he　now　turned　for　solace　and　the　continuation　of　life。
　
　BOOK　TWO
　CHUN　HSING
　＇The　shape　of　the　army＇
　
　WASHINGTON/NEW　YORK/TOKYO/KEY　WEST　SPRING；　PRESENT
　C。　Gordon　Minck；　head　of　Red　Station；　sat　a　dizzying　eight　feet　above　floor　level；　his　hydraulic　crane…lift　chair　set　at　maximum。　There　was　nothing　much　between　him　and　the　fall　straight　down　to　the　hardwood　floor；　and　that　was　the　way　Minck　liked　it；　he　thought　best　and　most　creatively　when　there　was　a　sense　of　danger。
　His　was　the　only　office　in　the　building…six　short　blocks　from　the　White　House…without　wall…to…wall　carpeting。　That　was　because　Minck　wanted　nothing　in　here　to　dampen　sound。　He　was　a　fanatic　on　the　keenness　of　the　six　senses…had　been　for　years；　ever　since　he　had　graduated　at　the　top　of　his　unit　from　the　elite　Fairchild　Academy　tucked　away　in　rural　Virginia。　Most　of　those　who　made　it　through　its　awesomely　grueling　curriculum　called　the　place　the　Bonebreaker。
　Minck　was　continually　asked　the　importance　of　the　sixth　sense　and　his　answer　was　always　the　same；　〃Intuition　is　everything。〃　While　many　of　his　fellow　station　leaders　spent　more　and　more　time　at　their　increasingly　sophisticated　puter　consoles；　Minck　spent　less　and　less。
　And　he　could　see　the　difference。　These　other　men　were　being　gray　worms；　their　lined；　worried　faces　lit　by　the　green　phosphor　light；　racked　by　increasingly　debilitating　headaches　until；　made　aware　of　the　insidiously　malignant　effects　of　the　consoles；　they　began　to　hire　assistants　to　relay　the　puter　information　to　them。　They　apparently　were　not　disturbed　overmuch　by　the　need　to　replace　these　assistants　every　six　months　or　so；　or　by　the　rising　budgetary　expense　of　the　maximum　security　sanatorium　housing　them　within　a　stone's　throw　of　the　National　Zoo；　an　enormous　sprawling　mansion　over　two　hundred　years　old　and　designated　a　National　Landmark。　Every　year　the　Smithsonian　attempted　to　get　it　opened　to　the　public；　being　ignorant　of　its　real　purpose；　and　every　year　they　were　denied。
　There　were　no　puter　terminals　anywhere　in　Minck's　offices；　they　were　strictly　verboten。　However；　there　were　a　number　of　printout　stations；　one　of　which　was　in　his　spacious　office。　Two　of　the　walls　below　the　sixteen…foot　ceiling　were　given　over　to　enormous　rectangular　panels　that　resembled　windows　more　than　anything　else。　This　was　deliberate。　In　fact；　they　were　giant　projection　screens　posed　of　a　particular　chemical　amalgam　able　to　〃take〃　the　rear…projected　holograms；　so　that　they　blossomed　to　life　with　an　astonishing　reality。　The　holograms；　of　course；　changed　from　time　to　time　but　mostly；　as　now；　they　were　of　two　views　of　Moscow：　of　Dzerzhinsky　Square；　to　be　more　accurate；　the　great；　open　plaza　dotted　with　bundled；　astrakhaned　pedestrians　and；　in　the　street　behind　them；　one　black　Zil　limousine　caught　as　it　entered　the　black；　blobby　hole　in　the　forbidding　facade　of　the　structure　known　with　fear　throughout　the　world　as　Lubyanka　Prison　and　headquarters　for　the　KGB。
　On　the　other　wall　was　the　second　view　of　the　square。　Minck　knew　for　a　fact　that　some　of　the　cells　within　Lubyanka　looked　out　on　this　other　building　across　the　square；　where　children　strolled　with　their　parents；　hand　in　hand；　too　young　yet　to　know　or　prehend　how　close　they　really　were　to　the　one　true　embodiment　of　evil　left　on　earth。
　Minck　was　gazing　meditatively　now　at　this　second　edifice。　Once　again　he　opened　up　his　mind；　his　memories；　trying　to　find　any　trace　of　the　hatred；　the　fear　he　had　once　experienced　upon　looking　out　at　this　same　view。　Oh；　not　so　expansive　of　course。　The　slitted　windows　in　the　outer　cells　in　Lubyanka　were　not　those　of　a　hotel。
　But　Minck　remembered。　It　had　been　winter　then；　the　sky　grayed　with　clouds　stretched　like　sinews。　Lights　were　always　on　in　the　vast　city　as　night　swept　in　off　the　frozen　steppes　to　the　north　for　its　eighteen…hour　stay。　And　everywhere　the　noise　of　the　city　was　muffled　by　the　ubiquitous　snow；　turning　even　the　most　normal　of　sounds　strange　and　unreal；　increasing　Minck's　sense　of　disasso…ciation。　How　he　had　e　to　hate　the　snow；　for　it　had　brought　him　to　Lubyanka；　his　wrists　manacled。　Snow　had　hidden　the　icy　patch　in　the　street　on　which　he　had　skidded。　He　would　have　eluded　them　otherwise　without　doubt；　for　they　were　mathematically　minded；　drilled　to　precision；　but；　as　with　all　KGB　underlings；　lacking　the　concept　of　intuition。
　Intuition　equaled　freedom　in　Minck's　mind。　And　his　intuition　would　have　saved　him　that　chill　night　in　Moscow。　Except　for　the　snow。　Snyeg；　the　Russians　called　it。　In　any　language　he　hated　it。
　He　continued　to　stare　at　the　building　that　had　been　his　last　look　at　Moscow　before　they　pulled　him　from　the　holding　cell　and　began　the　〃interviews。〃　From　then　on　his　home　was　a　windowless　space　of　not　more　than　fifteen　square　feet；　with　a　plywood　cot　bolted　to　the　wall　and　a　hole　down　which　to　wash　his　waste　products。　The　stench　was　appalling；　as　was　the　cold。　Heat　was　unheard　of　in　the　inner　cells。
　Sightless；　like　a　rat　in　the　dark；　Minck　fought　to　retain　his　senses　against　the　numbing　effects　his　interviewers　were　inducing　in　him。　And　to　that　end　he　conjured　up　in　his　mind　memories　of　the　view　from　his　holding　cell；　for　a　time　certain　that　it　was　the　last　sliver　of　the　world　he　would　ever　see。
　He　observed　the　young　Russian　couples　walking；　the　families　trudging　through　the　last　of　the　spring　snows…for　these　holograms　revolved　with　the　seasons…and　felt　the　clear　space　within　him；　the　embers　of　passionate　hate　and　terror　that　consumed　him；　that；　for　the　instant　before　he　crossed　over　the　border　into　neutral　territory；　had　caused　him　to　pause；　to　consider　wildly　returning　and　killing　them　all　singlehanded。
　And　like　a　careful　cowboy　on　a　dry　and　dusty　plain；　Minck　kicked　over　these　glowing　ashes；　nurturing　the　essence　of　that　hate：　Protorov。　He　gave　his　whole　attention　to　the　crenellated　building　in　the　hologram　that　had　e　to　mean　even　more　to　him　than　its　sinister　sister　structure　across　the　square：　the　Moscow　Children's　World　department　store。
　His　eyes　closed　in　easy　meditation。　His　finger　depressed　one　of　a　series　of　studs　recessed　into　the　left　arm　of　his　chair。
　〃Tanya；〃　he　said　softly　into　the　void　of　the　room；　〃two　directives。　One：　get　that　Doctor　Kidd…what's　his　Christian　name？　Timothy？…on　the　phone。　If　he's　not　at　the　Park　Avenue　office；　try　Mount　Sinai　Hospital。　Get　him　out　of　rounds。〃
　〃What　pseudonym　shall　we　use　as　imprimatur？〃　The　voice　that　emerged　from　the　hidden　speaker　system　was　husky；　with　just　a　trace　of　a　foreign　slur。
　〃Oh；　let's　be　ingenious　today；　shall　we？　Use　the　Department　of　International　Export　Tariffs。〃
　〃Very　good。〃
　〃Second；〃　Minck　said；　〃since　our　time　seems　to　be　rapidly　running　out；　invade　ARRTS　and　call　up　the　file　on　Linnear　NMN　Nicholas。〃
　It　was　Justine's　first　day　on　the　job　and　she　was　unfortable　as　a　cat　on　a　hot　tin　roof。　For　more　than　three　years　she　had　been　more　or　less　happily　ensconced　in　her　own　one…woman　pany；　delivering　free…lance　advertising　concepts　to　medium…range　accounts。　While　she　had　not　amassed　a　fortune；　her　talents　were　such　that　even　in　an　uncertain　economy　she　had　managed　to　do　quite　well。
　Of　course　from　time　to　time　she　had　received　offers　to　join　agencies；　but　the　fort　of　working　for　herself　had　always　outweighed　the　increased　security　that　working　for　someone　else　would　give　her。
　But　meeting　Rick　Millar　had　begun　to　change　all　that。　Just　over　six　weeks　ago　Mary　Kate　Sims　had　phoned　Justine　in　frantic　need　of　a　project　designer。　Mary　Kate　worked　for　Millar；　Soames　&　Robberts；　one　of　the　newer　agencies　with　a　high　profile　and　even　higher　net　yearly　bookings。　Two　of　their　best　designers　were　down　with　the　flu　and　would　Justine　be　a　dear　and　fill　in　on　the　American　Airlines　project？　It　was　a　rush　job；　but　Mary　Kate　said　she　could　guarantee　Justine　a　sizable　bonus　for　on…time　delivery。
　Justine　took　the　project；　working　on　it　eighteen　hours　a　day　for　almost　a　week。　But　ten　days　later；　into　three　or　four　of　her　own　projects…one　of　which　was　giving　her　fits…she　had　forgotten　all　about　Mary　Kate　and　her　American　Airlines　package。
　Until　the　call　from　Rick　Millar；　the　head　of　the　agency。　Apparently　American　had　loved　Justine's　idea　so　much　they　were　turning　what　had　been　a　New　York　regional　into　a　national　campaign。　The　firm　of　Millar；　Soames　&　Robberts　had　received　a　sizable　bonus　and　a　long…term　contract　with　American。
　Rick　said　that　he　had　loved　Justine's　idea　before　the　agency　had　submitted　it　to　American。　Justine　did　not　know　whether　or　not　to　believe　him。　He　made　a　lunch　date　with　her。
　The　following　week　they　met　at　La　C？te　Basque；　a　superb　French　restaurant　that　Justine　had　read　about　several　times　in　Gourmet　but　had　never　actually　been　to。
　Yet　the　delicious　food　was　the　least　memorable　aspect　of　those　several　hours　because；　as　it　turned　out；　Millar　had　more　on　his　mind　than　just　wanting　to　meet　her。
　〃Justine；〃　he　said；　over　drinks；　〃I'm　basically　a　people…oriented　person　in　business　as　well　as　in　my　private　life。　I　believe　in　creating　an　atmosphere　that　allows　my　employees　to　work　at　full　throttle。
　〃But　more　than　that；　I　allow　certain　individuals　to　cut　across　departmental　boundaries　when　their　talents　warrant　it。〃　He　took　a　sip　of　his　bourbon。　〃I　think　you're　such　a　person。　A　job　with　us　wouldn't　be　all　that　different　for　you　than　having　your　own　business。〃　He　grinned。　〃Except　of　course　that　you'd　make　a　ton　of　money　and　build　your　rep　among　the　high…level　accounts　that　much　quicker。〃
　Justine　put　her　drink　aside　for　the　moment；　her　heart　hammering。　〃Are　you　giving　me　a　direct　job　offer？〃
　Millar　nodded。
　〃Isn't　this　supposed　to　e　over　the　Grand　Marnier　soufflé　or　something？〃
　He　laughed。　〃I'm　a　maverick　in　every　way。〃
　She　watched　him　for　a　time。　He　was　fairly　young；　perhaps　just　forty。　His　hair　was　thick　and　long　enough　to　reac