tc.patriotgames-第75部分

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een　done　in　by　their　own　amateurism。
　　　　America　didn't　have　any　ideologically　motivated　terrorist　groups；　at　least　not　in　the　European　sense。　There　were　the　Armenian　groups　whose　main　objective　was　murdering　Turkish　diplomats；　and　the　white…supremacist　people　in　the　Northwest；　but　in　both　cases　the　only　ideology　was　hatred　　of　Turks；　blacks；　Jews；　or　whatever。　These　were　vicious　but　not　really　dangerous　to　society；　since　they　lacked　a　shared　vision　of　their　political　objective。　To　be　really　effective；　the　members　of　such　a　group　had　to　believe　in　something　more　than　the　negativity　of　hate。　The　most　dangerous　terrorists　were　the　idealists；　of　course；　but　America　was　a　hard　place　to　see　the　benefits　of　Marxism　or　Nazism。　When　even　welfare　families　had　color　televisions；　how　much　attraction　could　there　be　to　collectivism？　When　the　country　lacked　a　system　of　class　distinctions；　what　group　could　one　hate　with　conviction？　And　so　most　of　the　small　groups　found　that　they　were　guerrilla　fish　swimming　not　in　a　sea　of　peasants；　but　rather　a　sea　of　apathy。　Not　a　single　group　had　been　able　to　overe　that　fact　before　being　penetrated　and　destroyed　by　the　Bureau　　then　to　learn　that　their　destruction　was　granted　but　a　few　column　inches　on　page　eleven；　their　defiant　manifesto　not　printed　at　all。　They　were　judged　by　faceless　editors　not　to　be　newsworthy。　In　so　many　ways　this　was　the　perfect　conclusion　to　a　terrorist　trial。
　　　　In　that　sense　the　FBI　was　a　victim　of　its　own　success。　So　well　had　the　job　been　done　that　the　possibility　of　terrorist　activity　in　America　was　not　a　matter　of　general　public　concern。　Even　the　Ryan　base；　as　it　was　now　being　called；　was　regarded　as　nothing　more　than　a　nasty　crime；　not　a　harbinger　of　something　new　in　America。　To　Shaw　it　was　both。　As　a　matter　of　institutional　policy；　the　FBI　regarded　terrorism　as　a　crime　without　any　sort　of　political　dimension　that　might　lend　a　perverted　respectability　to　the　perpetrators。　The　importance　of　this　distinction　was　not　merely　semantic。　Since　by　their　nature；　terrorists　struck　at　the　foundations　of　civilized　society；　to　grant　them　the　thinnest　shred　of　respectability　was　the　equivalent　of　a　suicide　note　for　the　targeted　society。　The　Bureau　recognized；　however；　that　these　were　not　mere　criminals　chasing　after　money。　Their　objective　was　far　more　dangerous　than　that。　For　this　reason；　crimes　that　otherwise　would　have　been　in　the　domain　of　local　police　departments　were　immediately　taken　under　charge　by　the　federal　government。
　　　　Shaw　returned　to　the　photo　of　〃Constantine　Duppens〃　one　more　time。　It　was　expecting　too　much　for　a　convenience…store　clerk　to　remember　one　face　from　the　hundred　she　saw　every　day；　or　at　least　to　remember　it　well　enough　to　pick　out　a　photo　that　might　be　years　old。　She'd　certainly　tried　to　help；　and　had　agreed　to　tell　no　one　of　what　she'd　done。　They　had　a　description　of　the　suspect's　clothing　　almost　certainly　burned　　and　the　van；　which　they　had。　It　was　being　dismantled　piece　by　piece　not　far　from　Shaw's　office。　The　forensic　experts　had　identified　the　type　of　gun　used。　For　the　moment；　that　was　all　they　had。　All　Inspector　Bill　Shaw　could　do　was　wait　for　his　agents　in　the　field　to　e　up　with　something　new。　A　paid　informant　might　overhear　something；　or　a　new　witness　might　turn　up；　or　maybe　the　forensics　team　would　discover　something　unexpected　in　the　van。　Shaw　told　himself　to　be　patient。　Despite　twenty…two　years　in　the　FBI；　patience　was　something　he　still　had　to　force　on　himself。

　　　　〃Aw；　I　was　starting　to　like　the　beard；〃　a　co…worker　said。
　　　　〃Damned　thing　itched　too　much。〃　Alexander　Constantine　Dobbens　was　back　at　his　job。　〃I　was　spending　half　my　time　just　scratching　my　face。〃
　　　　〃Yeah；　same　thing　when　I　was　on　subs；〃　his　roommate　agreed。　〃Different　when　you're　young。〃
　　　　〃Speak　for　yourself；　grandpop！〃　Dobbens　laughed。　〃You　old　married　turkey。　Just　because　you're　chained　doesn't　mean　I　have　to　be。〃　
　　　　〃You　oughta　settle　down；　Alex。〃
　　　　〃The　world　is　full　of　interesting　things　to　do；　and　I　haven't　done　them　all　yet。〃　Not　hardly。　He　was　a　field　engineer　for　Baltimore　Gas　and　Electric　pany　and　usually　worked　nights。　The　job　forced　him　to　spend　much　of　his　time　on　the　road；　checking　equipment　and　supervising　line　crews。　Alex　was　a　popular　fellow　who　didn't　mind　getting　his　hands　dirty；　who　actually　enjoyed　the　physical　work　that　many　engineers　were　too　proud　to　do。　A　man　of　the　people；　he　called　himself。　His　pro…union　stance　was　a　source　of　irritation　to　management；　but　he　was　a　good　engineer；　and　being　black　didn't　hurt　either。　A　man　who　was　a　good　engineer；　popular　with　his　people；　and　black　was　fireproof。　He'd　done　a　good　deal　of　minority　recruiting；　moreover；　having　brought　a　dozen　good　workers　into　the　pany。　A　few　of　them　had　shaky　backgrounds；　but　Alex　had　brought　them　around。
　　　　It　was　often　quiet　working　nights；　and　as　was　usually　the　case；　Alex　got　the　first　edition　of　the　Baltimore　Sun。　The　case　was　already　off　the　front　page；　now　back　in　the　local　news　section。　The　FBI　and　State　Police；　he　read；　were　continuing　to　investigate　the　case。　He　was　still　amazed　that　the　woman　and　kid　had　survived　　testimony；　his　training　told　him；　to　the　efficacy　of　seat　belts；　not　to　mention　the　work　of　the　Porsche　engineers。　Well；　he　decided；　that's　okay。　Killing　a　little　kid　and　a　pregnant　woman　wasn't　exactly　something　to　brag　about。　They　had　wasted　the　state　trooper；　and　that　was　enough　for　him。　Losing　that　Clark　boy　to　the　cops　continued　to　rankle　Dobbens；　though。　I　told　the　dumb　fuck　that　the　man　was　too　exposed　there；　but　no；　he　wanted　to　waste　the　whole　family　at　once。　Alex　knew　why　that　was　so；　but　saw　it　as　a　case　of　zeal　overing　realism。　Damned　political…science　majors；　they　think　you　can　make　something　happen　if　you　wish　hard　enough。　Engineers　knew　different。
　　　　Dobbens　took　fort　from　the　fact　that　all　the　known　suspects　were　white。　Waving　to　the　helicopter　had　been　his　mistake。　Bravado　had　no　place　in　revolutionary　activity。　It　was　his　own　lesson　to　be　learned；　but　this　one　hadn't　hurt　anyone。　The　gloves　and　hat　had　denied　the　pigs　a　description。　The　really　funny　thing　was　that　despite　all　the　screwups；　the　operation　had　been　a　success。　That　IRA　punk；　O…something；　had　been　booted　out　of　Boston　with　his　honky　tail　between　his　legs。　At　least　the　operation　had　been　politically　sound。　And　that；　he　told　himself；　was　the　real　measure　of　success。
　　　　From　his　point　of　view；　success　meant　earning　his　spurs。　He　and　his　people　had　provided　expert　assistance　to　an　established　revolutionary　group。　He　could　now　look　to　his　African　friends　for　funding。　They　really　weren't　African　to　his　way　of　thinking；　but　they　liked　to　call　themselves　that。　There　were　ways　to　hurt　America；　to　get　attention　in　a　way　that　no　revolutionary　group　ever　had。　What；　for　example；　if　he　could　turn　out　the　lights　in　fifteen　states　at　once？　Alex　Dobbens　knew　how。　The　revolutionary　had　to　know　a　way　of　hitting　people　where　they　lived；　and　what　better　way；　he　thought；　than　to　make　unreliable　something　that　they　took　for　granted？　If　he　could　demonstrate　that　the　corrupt　government　could　not　even　keep　their　lights　on　reliably；　what　doubts　might　he　put　in　people's　heads　next？　America　was　a　society　of　things；　he　thought。　What　if　those　things　stopped　working？　What　then　would　people　think？　He　didn't　know　the　answer　to　that；　but　he　knew　that　something　would　change；　and　change　was　what　he　was　after。

Chapter　19　Tests　and　Passing　Grades

　　　　〃He　is　an　odd　duck；〃　Owens　observed。　The　dossier　was　the　result　of　three　weeks　of　work。　It　could　have　gone　faster；　of　course；　but　when　you　don't　want　the　news　of　an　inquiry　to　reach　its　subject；　you　had　to　be　more　circumspect。
　　　　Dennis　Cooley　was　a　Belfast　native；　born　to　a　middle…class　Catholic　family；　although　neither　of　his　deceased　parents　had　been　churchgoers；　something　decidedly　odd　in　a　region　where　religion　defines　both　life　and　death。　Dennis　had　attended　church　　a　necessity　for　one　who'd　been　educated　at　the　parish　school　　until　university；　then　stopped　at　once　and　never　gone　back。　No　criminal　record　at　all。　None。　Not　even　a　place　in　a　suspected　associates　file。　As　a　university　student　he'd　hung　around　the　fringes　of　a　few　activist　groups；　but　never　joined；　evidently　preferring　his　studies　in　literature。　He'd　graduated　with　the　highest　honors。　A　few　courses　in　Marxism；　a　few　more　in　economics；　always　with　a　teacher　whose　leanings　were　decidedly　left　of　center；　Owens　saw。　The　police　mander　snorted　to　himself。　There　were　enough　of　those　at　the　London　School　of　Economics；　weren't　there？
　　　　For　two　years　all　they　had　were　tax　records。　He'd　worked　in　his　father's　bookshop；　and　so　far　as　the　police　were　concerned；　simply　did　not　exist。　That　was　a　problem　with　police　work　　you　noticed　only　the　criminals。　A　few　very　discreet　inquiries　made　in　Belfast　hadn't　turned　up　anything。　All　sorts　of　people　had　visited　the　shop；　even　soldiers　of　the　British　Army；　who'd　arrived　there　about　the　time　Cooley　had　graduated　university。　The　shop's　window　had　been　smashed　once　or　twice　by　marauding　bands　of　Protestants　　the　reason　the　Army　had　been　called　in　in　the　first　place　　but　nothing　more　serious　than　that。　Young　Dennis　hadn't　frequented　the　local　pubs　enough　that　anyone　had　noticed；　hadn't　belonged　to　any　church　organization；　nor　any　political　club；　nor　any　sports　association。　〃He　was　always　reading　something；〃　someone　had　told　one　of　the　detectives。　There's　a　bloody　revelation；　Owens　told　himself。　A　bookshop　owner　who　reads　。　。　。　
　　　　Then　his　parents　had　died　in　an　auto　accident。
　　　　Owens　was　struck　by　the　fact　that　they'd　died　in　a　pletely　ordinary　way。　A　lorry's　brakes　had　failed　and　smashed　into　their　Mini　one　Saturday　afternoon。　It　was　hard　to　remember　that　some　people　in　Ulster　actually　died　〃normally；〃　and　were　just　as　dead　as　those　blown　up　or　shot　by　the　terrorists　who　prowled　the　night。　Dennis　Cooley　had　taken　the　insurance　settlement　and　continued　to　operate　the　store　as　before　after　the　quiet；　ill…attended　funeral　ceremony　at　the　local　church。　Some　years　later　he'd　sold　out　and　moved　to　London；　first　setting　up　a　shop　in　Knightsbridge　and　soon　thereafter　taking　over　a　shop　in　the　arcade　where　he　continued　to　do　business。
　　　　Tax　records　showed　that　he　made　a