tc.patriotgames-第50部分

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those　peaceful　people；　sleeping　in　their　homes；　safe　and　secure。　They　were　on　a　red…eye　flight；　and　the　plane　was　nearly　empty。　The　stewardess　dozed　a　few　rows　aft；　and　there　was　no　one　about　to　hear　what　they　were　saying。　The　whine　of　the　jet　engines　would　keep　any　electronic　listening　device　from　working；　and　they'd　been　very　careful　to　cover　their　tracks。　First　the　flight　to　Bucharest；　then　to　Prague；　then　to　Paris；　and　now　the　flight　home　to　Ireland；　with　only　French　entry　stamps　on　their　passports。　O'Donnell　was　a　careful　man；　to　the　point　of　carrying　notes　on　his　fictitious　business　meetings　in　France。　They'd　get　through　customs　easily　enough；　O'Donnell　was　sure。　It　was　late；　and　the　clerks　at　passport　control　were　scheduled　to　go　home　right　after　this　flight　arrived。
　　　　Sean　had　a　pletely　new　passport；　with　the　proper　stamps；　of　course。　His　eyes　were　now　brown；　courtesy　of　some　contact　lenses；　his　hair　changed　in　color　and　style；　a　neatly　trimmed　beard　changing　the　shape　of　his　face。　Sean　hated　the　beard　for　its　itching。　O'Donnell　smiled　at　the　darkness。　Well；　he'd　have　to　get　used　to　that。
　　　　Sean　didn't　say　anything　else。　He　sat　back　and　pretended　to　read　through　the　magazine　he'd　found　in　the　seat　pocket。　The　pretended　patience　was　gratifying　to　his　chief。　The　young　man　had　gone　through　his　refresher　training　（O'Donnell　thought　in　military　terms　for　this　sort　of　thing）　with　a　passion；　trimming　off　the　excess　weight；　reacquainting　himself　with　his　weapons；　conferring　with　the　intelligence　officers　from　other　fair…skinned　nations；　and　living　through　their　critique　of　the　failed　operation　in　London。　These　〃friends〃　had　not　acknowledged　the　luck　factor；　and　pointed　out　that　another　car　of　men　had　been　needed　to　ensure　success。　Through　all　of　it；　Sean　had　kept　his　peace　and　listened　politely。　And　now　he　waited　patiently　for　the　decision　on　his　proposed　operation。　Perhaps　the　young　man　had　learned　something　in　that　English　Jail。　
　　　　〃Yes。〃

　　　　Ryan　signed　the　form；　acknowledging　receipt　of　the　cartful　of　information。　He　was　back　in　the　same　cubbyhole　office　he'd　had　the　previous　summer；　a　windowless；　closet…sized　room　on　the　third　floor　of　CIA's　main　building。　His　desk　was　about　the　smallest　size　made　　in　federal　prison　workshops　　for　office　use；　and　the　swivel　chair　was　a　cheap　one。　CIA　chic。
　　　　The　messenger　stacked　the　documents　on　the　corner　of　Ryan's　desk　and　wheeled　the　cart　back　out　of　the　room。　Jack　went　to　work。　He　took　the　top　off　a　Styrofoam　cup　of　coffee　bought　at　the　kiosk　around　the　corner；　dumped　in　the　whole　container　of　creamer　and　two　envelopes　of　sugar；　and　stirred　it　with　a　pencil　as　he　often　did。　It　was　a　habit　his　wife　loathed。
　　　　The　pile　was　about　nine　inches　high。　The　files　were　in　oversized　envelopes；　each　of　which　had　an　alphanumeric　code　stamped　on　in　block　figures。　The　file　folders　he　removed　from　the　top　envelope　were　trimmed　with　red　tape　so　as　to　look　important　　the　visual　cues　were　designed　to　be　noticed；　to　stand　out　visually。　Such　files　had　to　be　locked　up　in　secure　cabinets　every　night；　never　left　on　a　desk　where　someone　might　take　an　unauthorized　look　at　them。　The　papers　inside　each　were　held　in　place　with　Acco　fasteners；　and　all　had　numbers。　The　cover　of　the　first　file　had　its　codeword　neatly　typed　on　a　paper　label：　FIDELITY。　Ryan　knew　that　the　code　names　were　assigned　at　random　by　a　puter；　and　he　wondered　how　many　such　files　and　names　there　were；　if　the　dictionary　of　the　English　language　that　resided　in　the　puter's　memory　had　been　seriously　depleted　by　the　elimination　of　words　for　the　thousands　of　secret　files　that　sat　in　cabinets　throughout　the　building。　He　hesitated　for　a　moment　before　opening　it；　as　though　doing　so　would　irrevocably　mit　him　to　employment　at　CIA；　as　though　the　first　step　on　that　path　had　not　already　been　taken　。　。　。　
　　　　Enough　of　that；　he　told　himself；　and　opened　the　file。　It　was　the　first　official　CIA　report　on　the　ULA；　barely　a　year　old。
　　　　〃Ulster　Liberation　Army；〃　the　title　of　the　report　read。　〃Genesis　of　an　Anomaly。〃
　　　　〃Anomaly。〃　That　was　the　word　Murray　had　used；　Ryan　remembered。　The　first　paragraph　of　the　report　stated　with　disarming　honesty　that　the　information　contained　in　the　following　thirty　single…spaced　pages　was　more　speculation　than　fact；　based　principally　on　data　gotten　from　convicted　PIRA　members　　specifically　on　denials　they'd　made。　That　wasn't　our　operation；　some　of　them　had　said　after　being　caught　for　another。　Ryan　frowned。　Not　exactly　the　most　reliable　of　evidence。　The　two　men　who'd　done　the　report；　however；　had　done　a　superb　job　of　cross…referencing。　The　most　unlikely　story；　heard　from　four　separate　sources；　changed　to　something　else。　It　was　particularly　true　since　the　PIRA　was；　technically　speaking；　a　professional　outfit。　Jack　knew　from　his　own　research　the　previous　year　that　the　Provisional　Wing　of　the　Irish　Republican　Army　was　superbly　organized；　along　the　classic　cellular　lines。　It　was　just　like　any　intelligence　agency。　With　the　exception　of　a　handful　of　top　people；　the　specifics　of　any　particular　operation　were　partmentalized：　known　only　to　those　who　really　needed　to　know。　〃Need…to…know〃　was　the　catch　phrase　in　any　intelligence　agency。
　　　　Therefore；　if　the　details　of　an　operation　are　widely　known；　the　report　argued；　it　can　only　be　because　it　was　not　a　PIRA　op。　Otherwise　they　would　not　have　known　or　talked　about　the　details；　even　among　themselves。　This　was　twisted　logic。　Jack　thought；　but　fairly　convincing　nonetheless。　The　theory　held　insofar　as　the　PIRA's　main　rival；　the　less　well　organized　Irish　National　Liberation　Army；　the　gang　that　had　killed　Lord　Louis　Mountbatten；　had　often　had　its　operations　identified　in　the　same　way。　The　rivalry　between　PIRA　and　INLA　had　turned　vicious　often　enough；　though　the　latter；　with　its　lack　of　internal　unity　and　generally　amateurish　organization；　was　not　nearly　as　effective。
　　　　It　was　barely　a　year　since　the　ULA　had　emerged　from　the　shadows　to　take　some　kind　of　shape。　For　the　first　year　they'd　operated；　it　was　thought　by　the　British　that　they　were　a　PIRA　Special　Action　Group；　a　Provo　hit　squad；　a　theory　broken　when　a　captured　PIRA　member　had　indignantly　denied　plicity　in　what　had　turned　out　to　be　a　ULA　assassination。　The　authors　of　the　report　then　examined　suspected　ULA　operations；　pointing　to　operational　patterns。　These；　Ryan　saw；　were　quite　real。　For　one　thing；　they　involved　more　people；　on　average；　than　PIRA　ops。
　　　　That's　interesting　。　。　。　Ryan　walked　out　of　the　room；　heading　down　the　corridor　to　the　kiosk；　where　he　bought　a　pack　of　cigarettes。　In　under　a　minute　he　was　back　to　his　office；　fumbling　with　the　cipher　lock　on　the　door。
　　　　More　people　per　operation。　Ryan　lit　one　of　the　low…tar　smokes。　That　was　a　violation　of　ordinary　security　procedures。　The　more　people　involved　in　an　operation；　the　greater　the　risk　of　its　being　blown。　What　did　this　mean？　Ryan　examined　three　separate　operations；　looking　for　his　own　patterns。
　　　　It　was　clear　after　ten　minutes　of　examination。　The　ULA　was　more　of　a　military　organization　than　PIRA。　Instead　of　the　small；　independent　groups　typical　of　urban　terrorists；　the　ULA　organized　itself　more　on　classic　military　lines。　The　PIRA　often　depended　on　a　single　〃cowboy〃　assassin；　less　often　on　the　special　action　groups。　There　were　many　cases　Ryan　knew　of；　where　the　one　〃designated　bitter〃　　a　term　popular　in　CIA　the　previous　year　　had　his　own　special　gun；　and　lay　in　wait　like　a　deer　hunter；　often　for　days；　to　kill　a　specific　target。　But　the　ULA　was　different。　For　one　thing　they　didn't　generally　go　for　individual　targets。　They　relied；　it　seemed；　on　a　reconnaissance　team　and　an　assault　team　that　worked　in　close　cooperation　　the　operative　word　here　was　〃seemed；〃　Ryan　read；　since　this；　again；　was　something　inferred　from　scanty　evidence。　When　they　did　something；　they　usually　got　away　cleanly。　Planning　and　resources。
　　　　Classic　military　lines。　That　implied　a　great　deal　of　confidence　by　the　ULA　in　its　people　　and　in　its　security。　Jack　started　making　notes。　The　actual　facts　in　the　report　were　thin　　he　counted　six　　but　the　analysis　was　interesting。　The　ULA　showed　a　very　high　degree　of　professionalism　in　its　planning　and　execution　of　operations；　more　so　than　the　PIRA；　which　was　itself　proficient　enough。　Instead　of　a　small　number　of　really　sharp　operatives；　it　appeared　that　weapons　expertise　was　uniform　throughout　the　small　organization。　The　uniformity　of　expertise　was　interesting。
　　　　Military　training？　Ryan　wrote　down。　How　good？　Where　done？　What　source？　He　looked　at　the　next　report。　It　was　dated　some　months　after　〃Genesis〃　and　showed　a　greater　degree　of　institutional　interest。　CIA　had　begun　to　take　a　closer　look　at　the　ULA；　starting　seven　months　previously。　Right　after　I　left　here；　Jack　noted。　Coincidence。
　　　　This　one　Concentrated　on　Kevin　O'Donnell；　the　suspected　leader　of　the　ULA。　The　first　thing　Ryan　saw　was　a　photograph　taken　from　a　British　intelligence…gathering　team。　The　man　was　fairly　tall；　but　otherwise　ordinary。　The　photo　was　dated　years　before；　and　the　next　thing　Jack　read　was　that　the　man　had　reportedly　had　plastic　surgery　to　change　his　face。　Jack　studied　the　photo　anyway。　He'd　been　at　a　funeral　for　a　PIRA　member　killed　by　the　Ulster　Defense　Regiment。　The　face　was　solemn　enough；　with　a　hardness　around　the　eyes。　He　wondered　how　much　he　could　draw　from　a　single　photo　of　a　man　at　a　funeral　for　a　rade；　and　set　the　picture　aside　to　read　the　biography　of　the　man。
　　　　A　working…class　background。　His　father　had　been　a　truck　driver。　His　mother　had　died　when　he　was　nine。　Catholic　schools；　of　course。　A　copy　of　his　college　transcript　showed　him　to　be　bright　enough。　O'Donnell　had　graduated　from　university　with　honors；　and　his　degree　was　in　political　science。　He'd　taken　every　course　on　Marxism　that　the　institution　had　offered；　and　been　involved　on　the　fringes　of　civil…rights　groups　in　the　late　sixties　and　early　seventies。　This　had　earned　him　attention　from　the　RUC　and　British　intelligence　agencies。　Then；　after　graduating；　he'd　dropped　out　of　sight　for　a　year；　reappearing　in　1972　after　the　Bloody　Sunday　fiasco　when　British　Army　paratroopers　had　gotten　out　of　control　and　fired　into　a　crowd　of　demonstrators；　killing　fourteen　people；　none　of　whom　had　been　proven　to　have　a　gun。