璇玑之心刃·冷血悍将-第145部分

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e‘d　started　the　business　in　exactly　the　right　way；　taking　risks；　but　carefully　considered　ones；　building　his　organization　from　the　bottom　up；　doing　things　himself；　getting　his　hands　dirty。　Perhaps　Piaggi‘s　antecedents　had　started　the　same　way；　Tucker　thought。　Probably　Tony　had　forgotten　that；　and　forgotten　also　its　implications。　But　that　wasn‘t　Tucker‘s　problem。
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‘Look；　Colonel；　I　was　just　an　aide；　okay？　How　many　times　do　I　have　to　tell　you　that？　I　did　the　same　thing　your　generals‘　aides　do；　all　the　littler　dumb　stuff。‘
‘Then　why　take　such　a　job？‘　It　was　sad；　Colonel　Nikolay　Yevgeniyevich　Grishanov　thought；　that　a　man　had　to　go　through　this；　but　Colonel　Zacharias　wasn‘t　a　man。　He　was　an　enemy；　the　Russian　reminded　himself　with　some　reluctance；　and　he　wanted　to　get　the　man　talking　again。
‘Isn‘t　it　the　same　in　your　air　force？　You　get　noticed　by　a　general　and　you　get　promoted　a　lot　faster。‘　The　American　paused　for　a　moment。　‘I　wrote　speeches；　too。‘　That　couldn‘t　get　him　into　any　trouble；　could　it？　
‘That‘s　the　job　of　a　political　officer　in　my　air　force；‘　Grishanov　dismissed　that　frivolity　with　a　wave。
It　was　their　sixth　session。　Grishanov　was　the　only　Soviet　officer　allowed　to　interview　these　Americans；　the　Vietnamese　were　playing　their　cards　so　carefully。　Twenty　of　them；　all　the　same；　all　different。　Zacharias　was　as　much　an　intelligence　officer　as　fighter　pilot；　his　dossier　said。　He‘d　spent　his　twenty…odd…year　career　studying　air…defense　systems。　A　master‘s　degree　from　the　University　of　California；　Berkeley；　in　electrical　engineering。　The　dossier　even　included　a　recently　acquired　copy　of　his　master‘s　thesis；　‘Aspects　of　Microwave　Propagation　and　Diffusion　over　Angular　Terrain‘；　photocopied　from　the　university　archives　by　some　helpful　soul；　one　of　the　unknown　three　who　had　contributed　to　his　knowledge　of　the　Colonel。　The　thesis　ought　to　have　been　classified　immediately　upon　its　pletion　…　as　would　have　happened　in　the　Soviet　Union；　Grishanov　knew。　It　was　a　very　clever　examination　of　what　happened　to　low…frequency　search…radar　energy　…　and　how；　incidentally；　an　aircraft　could　use　mountains　and　hills　to　mask　itself　from　it。　Three　years　after　that；　following　a　tour　of　duty　in　a　fighter　squadron；　he‘d　been　assigned　to　a　tour　of　duty　at　Offutt　Air　Force　Base；　just　outside　Omaha；　Nebraska。　Part　of　the　Strategic　Air　mand‘s　war…plans　staff；　he‘d　worked　on　flight　profiles　which　might　allow　American　B…52　bombers　to　perate　Soviet　air　defenses；　applying　his　theoretical　knowledge　of　physics　to　the　practical　world　of　strategic…nuclear　war。
Grishanov　could　not　bring　himself　to　hate　this　man。　A　fighter　pilot　himself；　having　just　pleted　a　regimental　mand　in　PVO…Strany；　the　Soviet　air…defense　mand；　and　already　selected　for　another；　the　Russian　colonel　was　in　a　curious　way　Zacharias‘s　exact　counterpart。　His　job；　in　the　event　of　war；　was　to　stop　those　bombers　from　ravaging　his　country；　and　in　peace　to　plan　methods　of　making　their　peration　of　Soviet　air　space　as　difficult　as　possible。　That　identity　made　his　current　job　both　difficult　and　necessary。　Not　a　KGB　officer；　certainly　not　one　of　these　little　brown　savages；　he　took　no　pleasure　at　all　in　hurting　people　…　shooting　them　down　was　something　else　entirely　…　even　Americans　who　plotted　the　destruction　of　his　country。　But　those　who　knew　how　to　extract　information　did　not　know　how　to　analyze　what　he　was　looking　for；　nor　even　what　questions　to　ask　…　and　writing　the　questions　down　would　be　no　help；　you　had　to　see　the　man‘s　eyes　when　he　spoke。　A　man　clever　enough　to　formulate　such　plans　was　also　clever　enough　to　lie　with　enough　conviction　and　authority　to　fool　almost　anyone。　
Grishanov　didn‘t　like　what　he　saw　now。　This　was　a　skillful　man；　and　a　courageous　one；　who　had　fought　to　establish　missile…hunting　specialists　the　Americans　called　Wild　Weasels。　It　was　a　term　a　Russian　might　have　used　for　the　mission；　named　for　vicious　little　predators　who　chased　their　prey　into　their　very　dens。　This　prisoner　had　flown　eighty…nine　such　missions；　if　the　Vietnamese　had　recovered　the　right　pieces　from　the　right　aircraft　…　like　Russians；　Americans　kept　a　record　of　their　acplishments　on　their　aircraft　…　this　was　exactly　the　man　he　needed　to　talk　to。　Perhaps　that　was　a　lesson　he　would　write　about；　Grishanov　thought。　Such　pride　told　your　enemies　whom　they　had　captured；　and　much　of　what　he　knew。　But　that　was　the　way　of　fighter　pilots；　and　Grishanov　would　himself　have　balked　at　the　concealment　of　his　deeds　against　his　country‘s　enemies。　The　Russian　also　tried　to　tell　himself　that　he　was　sparing　harm　to　the　man　across　the　table。　Probably　Zacharias　had　lulled　many　Vietnamese　…　and　not　simple　peasants；　but　skilled；　Russian…trained　missile　technicians　…　and　this　country‘s　government　would　want　to　punish　him　for　that。　But　that　was　not　his　concern；　and　he　didn‘t　want　to　allow　political　feelings　to　get　in　the　way　of　his　professional　obligations。　His　was　one　of　the　most　scientific　and　certainly　the　most　plex　aspects　of　national　defense。　It　was　his　duty　to　plan　for　an　attack　of　hundreds　of　aircraft；　each　of　which　had　a　crew　of　highly　trained　specialists。　The　way　they　thought；　their　tactical　doctrine；　was　as　important　as　their　plans。　And　as　far　as　he　was　concerned；　the　Americans　could　kill　all　of　the　bastards　they　wanted。　The　nasty　little　fascists　had　as　much　to　do　with　his　country‘s　political　philosophy　as　cannibals　did　with　gourmet　cooking。
‘Colonel；　I　do　know　better　than　that；‘　Grishanov　said　patiently。　He　laid　the　most　recently　arrived　document　on　the　table。　‘I　read　this　last　night。　It‘s　excellent　work。‘
The　Russian‘s　eyes　never　left　Colonel　Zacharias。　The　American‘s　physical　reaction　was　remarkable。　Though　something　of　an　intelligence　officer　himself；　he　had　never　dreamed　that　someone　in　Vietnam　could　get　word　to　Moscow；　then　to　have　Americans　under　their　control　find　something　like　this。　His　face　proclaimed　what　he　was　thinking：　How　could　they　know　so　much　about　me？　How　could　they　have　reached　that　far　back　into　his　past？　Who　possibly　could　have　done　it？　Was　anyone　that　good；　that　professional？　The　Vietnamese　were　such　fools！　Like　many　Russian　officers；　Grishanov　was　a　serious　and　thorough　student　of　military　history。　He‘d　read　all　manner　of　arcane　documents　while　sitting　in　regimental　ready　rooms。　From　one　he‘d　never　forget；　he　learned　how　the　Luftwaffe　had　interrogated　captured　airmen；　and　that　lesson　was　one　he　would　try　to　apply　here。　While　physical　abuse　had　only　hardened　this　man‘s　resolve；　he　had　just　been　shaken　to　his　soul　by　a　mere　sheaf　of　paper。　Every　man　had　strengths　and　every　man　had　weaknesses。　It　took　a　person　of　intelligence　to　recognize　the　differences。
‘How　is　it　that　this　was　never　classified？‘　Grishanov　asked；　lighting　a　cigarette。
‘It‘s　just　theoretical　physics；‘　Zacharias　said；　shrugging　his　thin　shoulders；　recovering　enough　that　he　tried　to　conceal　his　despair。　‘The　telephone　pany　was　more　interested　than　anybody　else。‘
Grishanov　tapped　the　thesis　with　his　finger。　‘Well；　I　tell　you；　I　learned　several　things　from　that　last　night。　Predicting　false　echoes　from　topographical　maps；　modeling　the　blind　spots　mathematically！　You　can　plan　an　approach　route　that　way；　plot　maneuvers　from　one　such　point　to　another。　Brilliant！　Tell　me；　what　sort　of　place　is　Berkeley？‘
‘Just　a　school；　California　style；‘　Zacharias　replied　before　catching　himself。　He　was　talking。　He　wasn‘t　supposed　to　talk。　He　was　trained　not　to　talk。　He　was　trained　on　what　to　expect；　and　what　he　could　safely　do；　how　to　evade　and　disguise。　But　that　training　never　quite　anticipated　this。　And；　dear　God；　was　he　tired；　and　scared；　and　sick　of　living　up　to　a　code　of　conduct　that　didn‘t　count　for　beans　to　anyone　else。
‘I　know　little　of　your　country　…　except　professional　matters；　of　course。　Are　there　great　regional　differences？　You　e　from　Utah。　What　sort　of　place　is　it？‘
‘Zacharias；　Robin　G。　Colonel　…‘
Grishanov　raised　his　hands。　‘Please；　Colonel　I　know　all　that。　I　also　know　your　place　of　birth　in　addition　to　the　date。　There　is　no　base　of　your　air　force　near　Salt　Lake　City。　All　I　know　is　from　maps。　I　will　probably　never　visit　this　part　…　any　part　of　your　country。　In　this　Berkeley　part　of　California；　it　is　green；　yes？　I　was　told　once　they　grow　wine　grapes　there。　But　I　know　nothing　of　Utah。　There　is　a　large　lake　there；　but　it‘s　called　Salt　Lake；　yes？　It‘s　salty？‘
‘Yes；　that‘s　why　…‘
‘How　can　it　be　salty？　The　ocean　is　a　thousand　kilometers　away；　with　mountains　in　between；　yes？‘　He　didn‘t　give　the　American　time　to　reply。　‘I　know　the　Caspian　Sea　quite　well。　I　was　stationed　at　a　base　there　once。　It　isn‘t　salty。　But　this　place　is？　How　strange。‘　He　stubbed　out　his　cigarette。
The　man‘s　head　jerked　up　a　little。　‘Not　sure；　I‘m　not　a　geologist。　Something　left　over　from　another　time；　I　suppose。‘
‘Perhaps　so。　There　are　mountains　there；　too；　yes？‘
‘Wasatch　Mountains；‘　Zacharias　confirmed　somewhat　drunkenly。
One　clever　thing　about　the　Vietnamese；　Grishanov　thought；　the　way　they　fed　their　prisoners；　food　a　hog　would　eat　only　from　necessity。　He　wondered　if　it　were　a　deliberate　and　thought…out　diet　or　something　fortuitously　resulting　from　mere　barbarity。　Political　prisoners　in　the　Gula