tc.redrabbit-第134部分

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conceal　it。　The　bad　thing　about　carrying　a　pistol　was　that　they　were　heavy　damned　things　to　port　around　with　you；　and　without　a　proper　holster　he'd　have　to　keep　adjusting　it　in　his　belt　to　make　sure　it　didn't　fall　out　or　slide　down　his　pants。　That　just　wouldn't　do。　It　would　also　make　sitting　down　a　pain　in　the　gut；　but　there　wouldn't　be　much　of　that　today。　The　spare　magazine　went　into　his　coat　pocket。　He　pulled　the　slide　back；　locked　it　in　place；　and　slid　the　loaded　one　into　the　butt；　then　dropped　the　locking　lever　to　release　the　slide。　The　weapon　was　now　loaded　and　〃in　battery；〃　meaning　ready　to　fire。　On　reflection；　Ryan　carefully　dropped　the　hammer。　A　safety　might　have　sufficed；　but　Ryan　had　been　trained　not　to　trust　safeties。　To　fire　the　weapon；　he'd　have　to　remember　to　cock　the　hammer；　something　he'd　fortunately　forgotten　to　do　with　Sean　Miller。　But　this　time；　if　the　worst　happened；　he　would　not。
　　　〃Time　to　boogie？〃　Jack　asked　Sharp。
　　　〃Does　that　mean　go？〃　the　Chief　of　Station　Rome　asked。　〃I　meant　to　ask　the　other　time　you　said　that。〃
　　　〃Yeah；　like；　boogie　on　down　the　road。　It's　an　Americanism。　'Boogie'　used　to　be　a　kind　of　dance；　I　think。〃
　　　〃And　your　radio。〃　Sharp　pointed。　〃It　clips　on　the　belt　over　your　wallet　pocket。　On/off　switch〃…he　demonstrated…〃earpiece　fastens　to　your　collar；　and　the　microphone　onto　your　collar。　Clever　bit　of　kit；　this。〃
　　　〃Okay。〃　Ryan　got　everything　arranged　properly；　but　left　the　radio　off。　The　spare　batteries　went　into　his　left…side　coat　pocket。　He　didn't　expect　to　need　them；　but　safe　was　always　better　than　sorry。　He　reached　behind　to　find　the　on/off　switch　and　flipped　it　off　and　on。　〃What's　the　range　on　the　radios？〃
　　　〃Three　miles…five　kilometers…the　manual　says。　More　than　we　need。　Ready？〃
　　　〃Yeah。〃　Jack　stood；　set　his　pistol　snugly　on　the　left　side　of　his　belt；　and　followed　Sharp　out　to　the　car。
　　　Traffic　was　agreeably　light　this　morning。　Italian　drivers　were　not；　from　what　he'd　seen　so　far；　the　raving　maniacs　he'd　heard　them　to　be。　But　the　people　out　now　would　be　people　heading　soberly　to　work；　whether　it　was　selling　real　estate　or　working　in　a　warehouse。　One　of　the　difficult　things　for　a　tourist　to　remember　was　that　a　city　was　just　another　city；　not　a　theme　park　set　in　place　for　his　personal　amusement。
　　　And　damned　sure　this　morning　Rome　wasn't　here　for　anything　approaching　that；　was　it？　Jack　asked　himself　coldly。
　　　Sharp　parked　his　official　Bentley　about　where　they　expected　Strokov　to　park。　There　were　other　cars　there；　people　who　worked　in　the　handful　of　shops；　or　perhaps　early　shoppers　hoping　to　get　their　buying　done　before　Wednesday's　regularly　scheduled　chaos。
　　　In　any　case；　this　most　expensive　of　British　motorcars　had　diplomatic　tags；　and　nobody　would　fool　with　it。　Getting　out；　he　followed　Sharp　into　the　piazza　and　reached　back　with　his　right　hand　to　flip　his　radio　on　without　exposing　his　pistol。
　　　〃Okay；〃　he　said　into　his　lapel。　〃Ryan　is　here。　Who　else　is　on　the　net？〃
　　　〃Sparrow　in　place　on　the　colonnade；〃　a　voice　answered　immediately。
　　　〃King；　in　place。〃
　　　〃Ray　Stones；　in　place。〃
　　　〃Parker；　in　place；〃　Phil　Parker；　the　last　of　the　arrivals　from　London；　reported　from　his　spot　on　the　side　street。
　　　〃Tom　Sharp　here　with　Ryan。　We'll　do　a　radio　check　every　fifteen　minutes。　Report　immediately　if　you　see　the　least　thing　of　interest。　Out。〃　He　turned　to　Ryan。　〃So；　that's　done。〃
　　　〃Yeah。〃　He　checked　his　watch。　They　had　hours　to　go　before　the　Pope　appeared。　What　would　he　be　doing　now？　He　was　supposed　to　be　a　very　early　riser。　Doubtless　the　first　important　thing　he　did　every　day　was　to　say　Mass；　like　every　Catholic　priest　in　the　world；　and　it　was　probably　the　most　important　part　of　his　morning　routine；　something　to　remind　himself　exactly　what　he　was…a　priest　sworn　to　God's　service…a　reality　he'd　known　and　probably　celebrated　within　his　own　mind　through　Nazi　and　munist　oppression　for　forty…odd　years；　serving　his　flock。　But　now　his　flock；　his　parish；　straddled　the　entire　world；　as　did　his　responsibility　to　them；　didn't　it？
　　　Jack　reminded　himself　of　his　time　in　the　Marine　Corps。　Crossing　the　Atlantic　on　his　helicopter…landing　ship…unknowingly　on　his　way　to　a　life…threatening　helicopter　crash…on　Sunday　they'd　held　church　services；　and　at　that　moment　the　church　pennant　had　been　run　up　to　the　truck。　It　flew　over　the　national　ensign。　It　was　the　U。S。　Navy's　way　of　acknowledging　that　there　was　one　higher　loyalty　than　the　one　a　man　had　for　his　country。　That　loyalty　was　to　God　Himself…the　one　power　higher　than　that　of　the　United　States　of　America；　and　his　country　acknowledged　that。　Jack　could　feel　it；　here　and　now；　carrying　a　gun。　He　could　feel　that　fact　like　a　physical　weight　on　his　shoulders。　There　were　people　who　wanted　the　Pope…the　Vicar　of　Christ　on　earth…dead。　And　that；　suddenly；　was　massively　offensive　to　him。　The　worst　street　criminal　gave　a　priest；　minister；　or　rabbi　a　free　pass；　because　there　might　really　be　a　god　up　there；　and　it　wouldn't　do　to　harm　His　personal　representative　among　the　people。　How　much　more　would　God　be　annoyed　by　the　murder　of　His　#1　Representative　on　Planet　Earth。　The　Pope　was　a　man　who'd　probably　never　hurt　a　single　human　being　in　his　life。　The　Catholic　Church　was　not　a　perfect　institution…nothing　with　mere　people　in　it　was　or　ever　could　be。　But　it　was　founded　on　faith　in　Almighty　God；　and　its　policies　rarely；　if　ever；　strayed　from　love　and　charity。
　　　But　those　doctrines　were　seen　as　a　threat　by　the　Soviet　Union。　What　better　proof　of　who　the　Bad　Guys　were　in　the　world？　Ryan　had　sworn　as　a　Marine　to　fight　his　country's　enemies。　But　here　and　now　he　swore　to　himself　to　fight　against　God's　own　enemies。　The　KGB　recognized　no　power　higher　than　the　Party　it　served。　And；　in　proclaiming　that；　they　defined　themselves　as　the　enemy　of　all　mankind…for　wasn't　mankind　made　in　God's　own　image？　Not　Lenin's。　Not　Stalin's。　God's。
　　　Well；　he　had　a　pistol　designed　by　John　Moses　Browning；　an　American；　perhaps　a　Mormon…Browning　had　e　from　Utah；　but　Jack　didn't　know　what　faith　he'd　adhered　to…to　help　him　see　about　that。
　　　Time　passed　slowly　for　Ryan。　Constant　reference　to　his　watch　didn't　help。　People　were　arriving　steadily。　Not　in　large　numbers；　but　rather　like　a　baseball　crowd；　arriving　single；　or　in　pairs；　or　in　small　family　groups。　Lots　of　children；　infants　carried　by　their　mothers；　some　escorted　by　nuns…school　trips；　almost　certainly…to　see　the　Pontifex　Maximus。　That　term；　too；　came　from　the　Romans；　who　with　remarkably　clarity　likened　a　priest　to　a　pontifex…bridge　builder…between　men　and　what　was　greater　than　men。
　　　Vicar　of　Christ　on　earth　was　what　kept　repeating　in　Jack's　mind。　This　Strokov　bastard…hell；　he　would　have　killed　Jesus　Himself。　A　new　Pontius　Pilate…if　not　an　oppressor　himself；　then　certainly　the　representative　of　the　oppressors；　here　to　spit　in　God's　face。　It　wasn't　that　he　could　harm　God；　of　course。　Nobody　was　that　big；　but　in　attacking　one　of　God's　institutions　and　God's　personal　representative…well；　that　was　plenty　bad　enough。　God　was　supposed　to　punish　such　people　in　His　own　good　time。。。　and　maybe　the　Lord　chose　His　instruments　to　handle　that　for　Him。。。　maybe　even　ex…Marines　from　the　United　States　of　America。。。
　　　Noon。　It　would　be　a　warm　day。　What　had　it　been　like　to　live　here　in　Roman　times　without　air…conditioning？　Well；　they　hadn't　known　the　difference；　and　the　body　adapted　itself　to　the　environment…something　in　the　medulla；　Cathy　had　told　him　once。　It　would　have　been　more　fortable　to　take　his　jacket　off；　but　not　with　a　pistol　stuck　in　his　belt。。。　There　were　street　vendors　about；　selling　cold　drinks　and　ice　cream。　Like　money　changers　in　the　Temple？　Jack　wondered。　Probably　not。　The　priests　in　evidence　didn't　chase　them　away。　Hmm；　a　good　way　for　the　bad　guy　to　get　close　with　his　weapon？　he　suddenly　wondered。　But　they　were　a　good　way　off；　and　it　was　too　late　to　worry　about　that；　and　none　of　them　matched　the　photos　he　had。　Jack　had　a　small　print　of　Strokov's　face　in　his　left　hand；　and　looked　down　at　it　every　minute　or　so。　The　bastard　might　be　wearing　a　disguise；　of　course。　He'd　be　stupid　not　to；　and　Strokov　probably　wasn't　stupid。　Not　in　his　business。　Disguises　didn't　cover　everything。　Hair　length　and　color；　sure。　But　not　height。　It　took　major　surgery　to　do　that。　You　could　make　a　guy　look　heavier；　but　not　lighter。　Facial　hair？　Okay；　look　for　a　guy　with　a　beard　or　mustache。　Ryan　turned　and　scanned　the　area。　Nope。　Nothing　obvious；　anyway。
　　　Half　an　hour　to　go。　The　crowd　was　buzzing　now；　people　speaking　a　dozen　or　more　languages。　He　could　see　tourists　and　the　faithful　from　many　lands。　Blond　heads　from　Scandinavia；　African　blacks；　Asians。　Some　obvious　Americans。。。　but　no　obvious　Bulgarians。　What　did　Bulgarians　look　like？　This　new　problem　was　that　the　Catholic　Church　was　supposed　to　be　universal；　and　that　meant　people　of　every　physical　description。　Lots　of　possible　disguises。
　　　〃Sparrow；　Ryan。　See　anything　likely？〃　Jack　asked　his　lapel。
　　　〃Negative；〃　the　voice　in　his　ear　answered。　〃I'm　scanning　the　crowd　around　you。　Nothing　to　report。〃
　　　〃Roger；〃　Jack　acknowledged。
　　　〃If　he's　here；　he's　bloody　invisible；〃　Sharp　said；　standing　next　to　Ryan。　They　were　eight　or　ten　yards　from　the　interlocking　steel　barriers　brought　in　for　the　Pope's　weekly