tc.redrabbit-第108部分

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eople；　they　inevitably　overplayed　their　hand　sooner　or　later…and　the　later　they　did　it；　the　worse　they　overplayed　it。　They　understood　the　West　and　how　its　people　really　thought　things　through。　No；　Ivan　wasn't　ten　feet　tall；　and　neither　was　he　a　genius　at　everything；　despite　what　the　frightmongers　in　Washington…and　even　some　at　Langley…thought。
　　　Everyone　had　the　capacity　for　making　mistakes。　He'd　learned　that　from　his　father；　who'd　made　a　living　catching　murderers；　some　of　whom　thought　themselves　very　clever　indeed。　No；　the　only　difference　between　a　wise　man　and　a　fool　was　in　the　magnitude　of　his　mistakes。　To　err　was　human；　and　the　smarter　and　more　powerful　you　were；　the　greater　the　scope　of　your　screwup。　Like　LBJ　and　Vietnam；　the　war　Jack　had　barely　avoided　due　to　his　age…a　colossal　screwup　foisted　on　the　American　people　by　the　most　adroit　political　tactician　of　his　age；　a　man　who'd　thought　his　political　abilities　would　translate　to　international　power　politics；　only　to　learn　that　an　Asian　munist　didn't　think　the　same　way　that　a　senator　from　Texas　did。　All　men　had　their　limitations。　It　was　just　that　some　were　more　dangerous　than　others。　And　while　genius　knew　it　had　limits；　idiocy　was　always　unbounded。
　　　He　lay　in　his　bed；　smoking　a　cigarette　and　looking　at　the　ceiling；　wondering　what　would　e　tomorrow。　Another　manifestation　of　Sean　Miller　and　his　terrorists？
　　　Hopefully　not；　Jack　thought；　still　wondering　why　Hudson　wouldn't　have　a　gun　close　by　for　the　ing　adventures。　Had　to　be　some　European　thing；　he　decided。　Americans　on　hostile　soil　liked　to　have　at　least　one　friend　around。
　　　
　　　CHAPTER　27　…　RABBIT　RUN
　　　One　more　day　in　a　strange　city；　Zaitzev　thought；　as　the　sun　began　to　rise　in　the　east；　two　hours　earlier　than　in　Moscow。　At　home　he'd　still　be　sleeping；　Oleg　Ivan'ch　told　himself。　In　due　course；　he　hoped；　he'd　be　waking　up　somewhere　else；　in　an　altogether　different　time　zone　yet　again。　But　for　now　he　just　lay　still；　savoring　the　moment。　There　was　virtually　no　sound　outside；　perhaps　a　few　delivery　trucks　on　the　streets。　The　sun　was　not　quite　yet　above　the　horizon。　It　was　dark；　but　no　longer　night；　brightening　up；　but　not　yet　morning；　the　middle　part　of　the　early　day。　It　could　be　a　pleasant　moment。　It　was　a　time　children　could　like；　a　magical　time　when　the　world　belonged　only　to　those　few　who　were　awake；　and　all　others　were　still　unseen　in　their　beds；　and　the　kids　could　walk　around　like　little　kings；　until　their　mothers　caught　them　and　dragged　them　back　into　their　beds。
　　　But　Zaitzev　just　lay　there；　hearing　the　slow　breathing　of　his　wife　and　daughter；　while　he　was　now　fully　awake；　free　to　think　entirely　alone。
　　　When　would　they　contact　him？　What　would　they　say？　Would　they　change　their　minds？　Would　they　betray　his　trust？
　　　Why　was　he　so　goddamned　uneasy　about　everything？　Wasn't　it　time　to　trust　the　CIA　just　a　little　bit？　Wasn't　he　going　to　be　a　huge　asset　to　them？
　　　Would　he　not　be　valuable　to　them？　Even　KGB；　as　stingy　as　a　child　with　the　best　toys；　gave　fort　and　prestige　to　its　defectors。　All　the　alcohol　Kim　Philby　could　drink。　All　the　zhopniki　Burgess　could　ass…fuck；　or　so　the　stories　went。　In　both　cases；　the　stories　went；　the　appetites　were　fairy　large。　But　such　stories　always　grew　with　the　telling；　and　they　depended　at　least　partly　on　the　Soviet　antipathy　for　homosexuals。
　　　He　wasn't　one　of　those。　He　was　a　man　of　principle；　wasn't　he？　Zaitzev　asked　himself。　Of　course　he　was。　For　principle　he　was　taking　his　own　life　in　his　hands　and　juggling　it。　Like　knives　in　the　circus。　And　like　that　juggler；　only　he　would　be　hurt　by　a　misjudgment。　Oleg　lit　his　first　smoke　of　the　day；　trying　to　think　things　through　for　the　hundredth　time；　looking　for　another　viable　course　of　action。
　　　He　could　just　go　to　the　concerts；　continue　his　shopping；　take　the　train　back　to　Kiev　Station；　and　be　a　hero　to　his　workmates　for　getting　them　their　tape　machines　and　pornographic　movies；　and　the　pantyhose　for　their　wives；　and　probably　a　few　things　for　himself。　And　KGB　would　never　be　the　wiser。
　　　But　then　the　Polish　priest　will　die；　at　Soviet　hands。。。　hands　you　have　the　power　to　forestall；　and　then　what　sort　of　man　will　you　see　in　the　mirror；　Oleg　Ivan'ch？
　　　It　always　came　back　to　the　same　thing；　didn't　it？
　　　But　there　was　little　point　in　going　back　to　sleep；　so　he　smoked　his　cigarette　and　lay　there；　watching　the　sky　brighten　outside　his　hotel　window。
　　　Cathy　Ryan　didn't　really　wake　up　until　her　hand　found　empty　bed　where　it　ought　to　have　found　her　husband。　That　automatically；　somehow；　caused　her　to　e　fully　awake　in　an　instant　and　just　as　quickly　to　remember　that　he　was　out　of　town　and　out　of　the　country…theirs　and　this　one…and　that　as　a　result　she　was　alone；　effectively　a　single　mother；　which　was　not　something　she'd　bargained　for　when　she'd　married　John　Patrick　Ryan；　Sr。　She　wasn't　the　only　woman　in　the　world　whose　husband　traveled　on　business…her　father　did　it　often　enough；　and　she'd　grown　up　with　that。　But　this　was　the　first　time　for　Jack；　and　she　didn't　like　it　at　all。
　　　It　wasn't　that　she　was　unable　to　cope。　She　had　to　cope　on　a　daily　basis　with　worse　tribulations　than　this　one。　Nor　was　she　concerned　that　Jack　might　be　getting　a　little　on　the　side　while　he　was　away。　She'd　often　enough　wondered　that　about　her　father　on　his　trips…her　parents'　marriage　had　occasionally　been　a　rocky　one…and　didn't　know　what　her　mother　（now　deceased）　had　wondered　about。　But　with　Jack；　no；　that　ought　not　to　be　a　problem。　But　she　loved　him；　and　she　knew　that　he　loved　her；　and　people　in　love　were　supposed　to　be　together。　Had　they　met　while　he　was　still　an　officer　in　the　Marine　Corps；　it　would　have　been　a　problem　with　which　she　would　have　had　to　deal…and　worse；　she　might　someday　have　had　to　deal　with　a　husband　who'd　gone　in　harm's　way；　and　that；　she　was　sure；　was　the　purest　form　of　hell　to　live　with。　But　no；　she'd　not　met　him　until　after　all　that。　Her　own　father　had　taken　her　to　dinner；　bringing　Jack　along　as　an　afterthought；　a　bright　young　broker　with　keen　instincts；　ready　to　move　from　the　Baltimore　office　up　to　New　York；　only　to　be　surprised…pleasantly　at　first…by　the　interest　they'd　instantly　found　in　each　other；　and　then　had　e　the　revelation　that　Jack　wanted　to　take　his　money　and　go　back　to　teaching　history；　of　all　things。　It　was　something　she　had　to　deal　with　more　than　Jack；　who　barely　tolerated　Joseph　Muller；　Senior　Vice　President　of　Merrill　Lynch　Pierce　Fenner　and　Smith；　plus　whatever　acquisitions　they'd　made　in　the　past　five　years。　Joe　was　still　〃Daddy〃　to　her　and　〃him〃　（which　translated　to　〃that　pain　in　the　ass〃）　to　Jack。
　　　What　the　hell　is　he　working　on？　she　wondered。　Bonn？　Germany？　NATO　stuff？　The　goddamned　intelligence　business；　looking　at　secret　stuff　and　making　equally　secret　observations　on　it　that　went　to　other　people　who　might　or　might　not　read　it　and　think　about　it。　She；　at　least；　was　in　an　honest　line　of　work；　making　sick　people　well；　or　at　least　helping　them　to　see　better。　But　not　Jack。
　　　It　wasn't　that　he　did　useless　things。　He'd　explained　it　to　her　earlier　in　the　year。　There　were　bad　people　out　there；　and　somebody　had　to　fight　against　them。　Fortunately；　he　didn't　do　that　with　a　loaded　gun…Cathy　hated　guns；　even　the　ones　that　had　prevented　her　kidnapping　and　murder　at　their　home　in　Maryland　on　the　night　that　had　ended　blessedly　with　Little　Jack's　birth。　She'd　treated　her　share　of　gunshot　wounds　in　the　emergency　room　during　her　internship；　enough　to　see　the　harm　they　inflicted；　though　not　the　harm　they　might　have　prevented　in　other　places。　Her　world　was　somewhat　circumscribed　in　that　respect；　a　fact　she　appreciated；　which　was　why　she　allowed　Jack　to　keep　a　few　of　the　damned　things　close　by；　where　the　kids　could　not　reach　them；　even　standing　on　a　chair。　He'd　once　tried　to　teach　her　how　to　use　them；　but　she'd　refused　even　to　touch　the　things。　Part　of　her　thought　that　she　was　overreacting；　but　she　was　a　woman；　and　that　was　that。。。　And　Jack　didn't　seem　to　mind　that　very　much。
　　　But　why　isn't　he　here？　Cathy　asked　herself　in　the　darkness。　What　could　be　so　damned　important　as　to　take　her　husband　away　from　his　wife　and　children？
　　　He　couldn't　tell　her。　And　that　really　made　her　angry。　But　there　was　no　fighting　it；　and　it　wasn't　as　if　she　were　dealing　with　a　terminal　cancer　patient。　And　it　wasn't　as　if　he　were　boffing　some　German　chippie　on　the　side。　But。。。　damn。　She　just　wanted　her　husband　back。
　　　Eight　hundred　miles　away；　Ryan　was　already　awake；　out　of　the　shower；　shaved；　brushed；　and　ready　to　face　the　day。　Something　about　travel　made　it　easy　for　him　to　wake　up　in　the　morning。　But　now　he　had　nothing　to　do　until　the　embassy　canteen　opened。　He　looked　at　the　phone　by　his　bed　and　thought　about　calling　home；　but　he　didn't　know　how　to　dial　out　on　this　phone　system；　and　he　probably　needed　Hudson's　permission…and　assistance…to　acplish　the　mission。　Damn。　He'd　awakened　at　three　in　the　morning；　thinking　to　roll　over　and　give　Cathy　a　kiss　on　the　cheek…it　was　something　Jack　liked　to　do；　even　though　she　never　had　any　memory　of　it。　The　good　news　was　that　she　always　kissed　back。　She　really　did　love　him。　Otherwise；　the　return　kiss　would　not　have　e。　People　can't　dissimulate　while　asleep。　It　was　an　important　fact　in　Ryan's　personal　universe。
　　　There　was