tc.redrabbit-第101部分

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Jack　thought；　but　he　probably　wasn't　married　to　a　Hopkins　surgeon。
　　　He　didn't　often　get　to　talk　to　his　customers；　either。　〃You　like　living　here；　sir？〃
　　　〃Yes；　I　do。　The　people　here　are　very　friendly。〃
　　　〃We　try　to　be；　sir。　Have　a　good　day；　then。〃
　　　〃Thanks；　buddy。　You；　too；〃　Ryan　said；　as　the　man　walked　back　to　his　truck。　Milkmen　had　mostly　gone　extinct　in　America；　victims　of　supermarkets　and　7…Eleven　stores。　A　pity；　Jack　thought。　He　remembered　Peter　Wheat　bread　and　honey…dipped　donuts　when　he'd　been　a　little　kid。　Somehow　it　had　all　gone　away　without　his　noticing　it　around　the　seventh　grade　or　so。　But　the　smoke　and　the　quiet　air　wasn't　at　all　a　bad　way　to　wake　up。　There　was　no　sound　at　all。　Even　the　birds　were　still　asleep。　He　looked　up　to　see　the　lights　of　aircraft　high　in　the　sky。　People　traveling　to　Europe；　probably　Scandinavia；　by　the　apparent　courses　they　were　flying…out　of　Heathrow；　probably。　What　poor　bastard　has　to　get　up　this　early　to　make　a　meeting？　he　wondered。　Well。。。　he　finished　the　cigarette　and　flicked　it　out　on　the　lawn；　wondering　if　Cathy　might　spot　it。　Well；　he　could　always　blame　it　on　somebody　else。　A　pity　the　paperboy　hadn't　e　yet。　So　Jack　went　inside　and　turned　on　the　kitchen　TV　to　get　CNN。　He　caught　the　sports。　The　Orioles　had　won　again　and　would　be　going　to　the　World　Series　against　the　Phillies。　That　was　good　news；　or　nearly　so。　Had　he　been　home；　he　would　have　gotten　tickets　to　catch　a　game　or　two　at　Memorial　Stadium　and　seen　the　rest　on　TV。　Not　this　year。　His　cable　system　didn't　have　a　single　channel　to　catch　baseball　games；　though　the　Brits　were　starting　to　watch
　　　NFL　football。　They　didn't　really　get　it；　but　for　some　reason　they　enjoyed　watching　it。　Better　than　their　regular　TV；　Ryan　thought　with　a　snort。　Cathy　liked　their　edy；　but　for　some　reason　it　just　didn't　click　with　him。　But　their　news　programming　was　pretty　good。　It　was　just　taste；　he　assumed。　Non　est　disputandum；　as　the　Romans　had　said。　Then　he　saw　dawn　ing；　the　first　hint　of　light　on　the　eastern　horizon。　It'd　be　more　than　an　hour　before　morning　actually　began；　but　ing　it　was；　and　even　the　desire　for　more　sleep　would　not　hold　it　back。
　　　Jack　decided　to　get　the　coffee　going…just　a　matter　of　flipping　the　switch　on　the　drip　machine　he'd　gotten　Cathy　for　her　birthday。　Then　he　heard　the　flop　of　the　paper　on　the　front　step；　and　he　went　to　get　it。
　　　〃Up　early？〃　Cathy　said；　when　he　got　back。
　　　〃Yeah。　Didn't　see　any　sense　in　rolling　back　over。〃　Jack　kissed　his　wife。　She　got　a　funny　look　on　her　face　after　the　kiss　but　shook　it　off。　Her　tobacco…sniffing　nose　had　delivered　a　faint　message；　but　her　intellect　had　erroneously　dismissed　it　as　too　unlikely。
　　　〃Got　the　coffee　going？〃
　　　〃Flipped　the　button；〃　Jack　confirmed。　〃I'll　let　you　do　the　rest。〃
　　　〃What　do　you　want　for　breakfast？〃
　　　〃I　get　a　choice？〃　Ryan　asked；　somewhat　incredulously。　She　was　on　another　health　kick　of　late。　No　donuts。
　　　〃Good　morning；zaichik！〃　Oleg　said　to　his　daughter。
　　　〃Papa！〃　She　reached　both　her　arms　out　with　that　smile　kids　have　when　they　awaken。　It　was　something　they　lost　long　before　adulthood；　and　something　universally　astonishing　to　parents　while　it　lasted。　Oleg　lifted　her　from　the　bed　and　gave　her　a　hug。　Her　little　bare　feet　went　down　on　the　carpeted　floor；　and　then　she　took　two　steps　to　her　private　toilet。　Irina　came　in　to　lay　her　clothes　out；　and　both　withdrew　to　the　adult　side　of　the　acmodations。　Within　ten　minutes；　they　were　on　their　way　to　the　dining　car。　Oleg　looked　over　his　shoulder　to　see　the　attendant　hustling　forward　to　make　up　their　partments　first。　Yes；　there　were　advantages　to　being　KGB；　even　if　it　was　just　for　another　day。
　　　Somewhere　during　the　night；　the　train　had　stopped　at　a　state　farm　and　taken　on　fresh　milk；　which　Svetlana　loved　for　her　morning　meal。　The　adults　in　the　party　had　mediocre　（at　best）　coffee　and　buttered　bread。　（The　kitchen　was　out　of　eggs。）　At　least　the　bread　and　butter　were　fresh　and　tasty。　There　was　a　stack　of　newspapers　at　the　back　end　of　the　car。　Oleg　picked　up　a　Pravda　and　sat　down　to　read　it…the　usual　lies。　One　other　thing　about　being　KGB　was　that　you　knew　better　than　to　believe　what　was　in　the　papers。　Izvestia　at　least　had　stories　about　real　people；　some　of　which　were　even　true；　he　thought。　But　a　Soviet　train　would；　of　course；　carry　only　the　most　politically　correct　newspapers；　and　〃Truth〃　was　it；　Zaitzev　snorted。
　　　Ryan　maintained　two　plete　sets　of　shaving　and　grooming　things　for　the　occasional　exigencies　of　travel。　His　Bean　bag　was　hanging　by　its　large　brass　hook　in　his　closet；　ready　for　whenever　Sir　Basil　dispatched　him　to　Budapest。　He　looked　at　it　while　knotting　his　tie；　wondering　when　he'd　be　going。　Then　Cathy　reentered　the　bedroom　and　got　herself　dressed。　Her　white　lab　coat　doubtless　hung　on　a　hook　on　her　office　door…both　of　them；　probably；　Hammersmith　and　Moorefields；　with　the　appropriate　name　tags。
　　　〃Cath？〃
　　　〃Yeah？〃
　　　〃Your　office　coat…did　you　keep　your　Hopkins　name　tag；　or　did　you　get　new　ones？〃　He'd　never　bothered　to　ask。
　　　〃Local　ones。　Too　hard　to　explain　it　to　every　new　patient　who　might　notice。〃　But　some　asked　about　her　accent　anyway；　or　would　ask　why　the　name　tag　proclaimed　her　to　be　Lady　Caroline　Ryan；　M。D。；　FACS。　The　〃Lady〃　part　appealed　to　her　woman's　vanity。　Jack　watched　her　brush　her　hair　out；　something　that　always　gave　him　pleasure。　She　would　have　been　an　absolute　knockout　with　somewhat　longer　hair；　but　she　never　let　it　grow；　saying　that　the　surgical　caps　ruined　whatever　set　she　might　have　gotten。　That　would　change　the　next　time　they　got　invited　to　a　formal　dinner。　They　were　due　for　one。　The　Queen　liked　both　of　them；　and　so　did　the　Prince　of　Wales；　and　they　were　on　the　local　version　of　the　A…list。　You　had　to　accept　such　invitations；　though　Cathy　had　an　excuse　if　she　was　doing　surgery　the　next　day。　Spooks；　on　the　other　hand；　were　expected　to　be　delighted　at　the　honor；　even　if　it　meant　three　short　hours　of　sleep　before　the　next　day　at　work。
　　　〃What's　on　the　agenda　for　today？〃
　　　〃Giving　a　lecture　on　the　xenon…arc　laser。　They're　going　to　be　buying　one　soon；　and　I'm　the　only　person　in　London　who　knows　how　to　use　it　right。〃
　　　〃My　wife；　the　laser　jockey。〃
　　　〃Well；　at　least　I　can　talk　about　what　I　do；〃　she　responded；　〃secret…agent　man。〃
　　　〃Yes；　dear；〃　Ryan　sighed。　Maybe　I　should　pack　my　Browning　today　just　to　piss　her　off。　But　if　anyone　on　the　train　noticed；　he'd　at　best　be　regarded　as　unclean；　and　at　worst　would　be　asked　by　a　police　constable　what　he　was　doing　with　such　a　thing　on　his　person。　And　even　his　diplomatic　status　would　not　entirely　protect　him　from　the　resulting　hassle。
　　　Fifteen　minutes　later；　Jack　and　Cathy　were　in　their　partment；　heading　northwest　to　London；　she　again　reading　her　medical　journals；　and　he　going　through　the　Telegraph。　John　Keegan　had　a　column　on　the　inside　and　he　was　a　historian　for　whom　Ryan　had　considerable　respect　as　an　analyst　of　plex　information。　Why　Basil　hadn't　recruited　him　for　Century　House　was　a　mystery　to　Jack。　Maybe　Keegan　was　just　doing　too　well　as　an　historian；　able　to　spread　his　ideas　to　the　masses…well；　at　least　the　smart　civilians　out　there。　That　made　sense。　Nobody　ever　got　rich　as　a　British　civil　servant；　and　the　anonymity…well；　it　was　nice　once　in　a　while　to　get　a　Pat　on　the　head　for　doing　something　especially　well。　Bureaucrats　were　denied　that　all　over　the　world。
　　　About　the　time　their　express　train　passed　by　the　Elephant　and　Castle　station；　Flight　214　rolled　to　an　early　stop　at　Heathrow's　Terminal　Four。　It　didn't　e　to　a　jetway。　Instead　it　came　to　a　halt　where　the　shuttle　buses　waited　to　take　people　to　Immigration　and　Customs。　No　sooner　had　the　wheels　been　chocked　than　the　cargo　hatch　came　open。　The　last　two　items　loaded　at　Logan　had　been　the　two　coffins；　and　they　became　the　first　items　of　baggage　to　be　manhandled　off。　The　tags　on　one　corner　of　each　told　the　handlers　where　to　send　them；　and　two　anonymous　men　from　Century　House　were　there　to　watch　the　process　anyway。　Placed　on　a　four…wheel　cart…called　a　trolley　in　England…they　were　pulled　off　to　an　area　for　parked　cars　and　small　trucks；　where　the　boxes　were　quickly　loaded　on　a　small　four…wheeled　truck　with　no　marking　on　its　sides　at　all。　The　two　men　from　SIS　hopped　aboard　and　drove　off；　easterly　for　London；　entirely　without　a　clue　what　this　job　was　all　about。　It　was　often　that　way。
　　　The　truck　arrived　at　100　Westminster　Bridge　Road　forty　minutes　later。　There　the　boxes　were　removed　and　placed　on　another　trolley　for　a　ride　to　the　freight　elevator　and　a　trip　down　to　the　second…level　basement。
　　　Two　more　men　were　waiting　there。　The　boxes　were　duly　opened；　and　both　men　thanked　fate　that　there　was　a　goodly　supply　of　dry　ice　inside　and　the　bodies　were　not　yet　venting　the　particularly　foul　smell　of　dead　and　mortifying　human　tissue。　Wearing　rubber　gloves；　they　lifted　the　bodies…neither　was　especially　heavy…and　transferred　them　to　stainless…steel　tables。　Neither　body　was　clothed　and；　in　the　case　of　the　little　girl；　their　job　was　particularly　sad。
　　　It　would　get　more　so。　paring　the　bodies　with　the　Times…generated　photograph；　it　was　determined；　unsurprisingly；　that　the　child's　face　didn't　match　the　picture。　The　same　was　true　of　the　grown　woman；　though　her　body　mass　and　configuration　were　abo