tc.redrabbit-第57部分

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　at　the　pub　before　heading　home。　The　Brit　analyst　loaded　his　pipe　and　lit　it；　taking　a　long　pull。
　　　〃If　it　makes　you　feel　any　better；　Langley　doesn't　have　any　more　than　you　guys　do。〃
　　　〃I　know。　She　asked；　and　that's　what　Basil　said。　Evidently；　he　talked　to　your　Judge　Moore　before　driving　over。〃
　　　〃So　we're　all　ignorant　together。〃
　　　〃Bloody　forting；〃　Simon　Harding　snorted。
　　　It　was　far　past　going…home　time。　Ryan　had　waited　to　see　what　Simon　would　say　about　the　meeting　at　10　Downing　Street；　because　Ryan　was　also　here　to　gather　intelligence　on　the　Brits。　They　would　understand；　because　that　was　the　game　they　all　played。　He　checked　his　watch。
　　　〃Well；　I've　got　to　boogie　on　home。　See　you　tomorrow。〃
　　　〃Sleep　well；〃　Harding　said；　as　Ryan　headed　out　the　door。　Jack　was　reasonably　sure　that　Simon　would　not。　He　knew　what　Harding　made；　as　a　mid…level　civil　servant；　and　it　wasn't　quite　enough　for　this　stressful　a　day。　But；　he　told　himself　out　on　the　street；　that's　Life　in　the　Big　City。
　　　〃What　did　you　tell　your　people；　Bob？〃　Judge　Moore　asked。
　　　〃Just　what　you　told　me；　Arthur。　The　President　wants　to　know。　No　feedback　yet。　Tell　the　Boss　he's　going　to　have　to　be　patient。〃
　　　〃I　said　that。　He　was　not　overly　pleased；〃　the　DCI　responded。
　　　〃Well；　Judge；　I　can't　stop　the　rain　from　falling。　We　don't　have　power　over　a　lot　of　things；　and　time　is　one　of　them。　He's　a　big　boy；　he　can　understand　that；　can't　he？〃
　　　〃Yes；　Robert；　but　he　likes　to　get　what　he　needs。　He's　worried　about　His　Holiness；　now　that　the　Pope　has　kicked　over　the　anthill…〃
　　　〃Well；　we　think　he　has。　The　Russians　might　be　smart　enough　to　work　through　diplomatic　channels　and　tell　him　to　cool　down　and　let　things　work　out；　and…〃
　　　〃Bob；　that　wouldn't　work；〃　Admiral　Greer　put　in。　〃He's　not　the　sort　of　guy　you　can　warn　off　with　lawyer　talk；　is　he？〃
　　　〃No；〃　Ritter　admitted。　This　Pope　was　not　a　man　to　promise　on　issues　of　great　importance。　He'd　seen　himself　through　all　manner　of　unpleasantness；　from　Hitler's　Nazis　to　Stalin's　NKVD；　and　he'd　kept　his　church　together　by　circling　the　wagons；　like　settlers　against　Indian　attacks　in　those　old　Western　movies。　He　hadn't　managed　to　keep　his　church　alive　in　Poland　by　giving　in　on　important　issues；　had　he？　And；　by　holding　his　ground；　he'd　maintained　enough　moral　and　political　strength　to　threaten　the　other　of　the　world's　superpowers。　No；　this　guy　wasn't　going　to　fold　under　pressure。
　　　Most　men　feared　death　and　ruin。　This　one　didn't。　The　Russians　would　never　understand　why；　but　they　would　understand　the　respect　it　earned　him。　It　was　being　clear　to　Bob　Ritter　and　the　other　senior　intelligence　officers　in　this　room　that　the　one　single　response　that　would　make　sense　to　the　Politburo　was　an　attack　on　the　Pope。　And　the　Politburo　had　met　today；　though　what　they　had　discussed　and　concluded　were　frustratingly　unknown。
　　　〃Bob；　do　we　have　any　assets　who　can　find　out　what　they　talked　about　in　the　Kremlin　today？〃
　　　〃We　have　a　few；　and　they　will　be　alerted　in　the　next　two　days…or；　if　they　e　up　with　something　important；　they　can　decide　to　get　the　information　on　their　own　hook。　If　they　bee　aware　of　something　this　hot；　you'd　expect　them　to　figure　it　out　on　their　own　and　get　a　packet　of　information　out　to　their　handlers；〃　Ritter　told　the　DCI。　〃Hey；　Arthur；　I　don't　like　waiting　and　not　knowing　any　more　than　you　do；　but　we　have　to　let　this　thing　take　its　course。　You　know　the　dangers　of　a　balls…to…the…wall　alert　to　our　agents　as　well　as　I　do。〃
　　　And　all　three　of　them　did。　That　sort　of　thing　had　gotten　Oleg　Penkovskiy　killed。　The　information　he'd　gotten　out　had　probably　averted　a　nuclear　war…and　had　assisted　in　the　recruitment　of　CIA's　longest…lived　agent…in…place；　CARDINAL…but　that　hadn't　done　Penkovskiy　much　good。　On　his　discovery；　no　less　a　figure　than　Khrushchev　himself　had　demanded　his　blood…and　gotten　it。
　　　〃Yeah；〃　Greer　agreed；　〃and　this　isn't　all　that　important　in　the　great　scheme　of　things；　is　it？〃
　　　〃No；〃　Judge　Moore　had　to　admit；　though　he　didn't　especially　look　forward　to　explaining　that　one　to　the　President。　But　the　new　Boss　did　understand　things　once　you　made　them　clear。　The　really　scary　part　was　what　the　President　might　do　if　the　Pope　were　to　die　unexpectedly。　The　Boss；　too；　was　a　man　of　principle；　but　also　a　man　of　emotions。　It　would　be　as　enraging　as　waving　the　Soviet　flag　in　front　of　a　fighting　bull。　You　couldn't　let　emotion　get　in　the　way　of　statecraft…it　only　called　out　more　emotion；　frequently　the　mourning　of　the　newly　dead。　And　the　miracle　of　modern　technology　only　served　to　make　the　number　of　such　people　all　the　larger。　The　DCI　reproached　himself　for　that　thought。　The　new　President　was　a　thoughtful　man。　His　emotions　were　the　servant　of　his　intellect；　and　his　intellect　was　far　larger　than　it　was　generally　believed；　especially　by　the　media；　who　only　saw　the　smile　and　the　theatrical　personality。　But　the　media；　like　a　lot　of　politicians；　was　a　lot　more　fortable　dealing　with　appearances　than　reality。　It　was　a　lot　less　intellectually　demanding；　after　all。　Judge　Moore　looked　at　his　principal　subordinates。　〃Okay；　but　let's　remember　that　it　can　be　lonely　facing　him　in　the　Oval　Office　when　you　don't　have　what　he　wants。〃
　　　〃I'm　sure　it　is；　Arthur；〃　Ritter　sympathized。
　　　He　could　still　turn　back；　Zaitzev　told　himself；　as　sleep　still　had　not　e。　Next　to　him；　Irina　was　breathing　placidly　in　sleep。　The　sleep　of　the　just；　it　was　called。　Not　the　sleeplessness　of　the　traitor。
　　　All　he　had　to　do　was　stop。　That　was　all。　He'd　taken　two　small　steps；　but　no　more。　The　American　might　know　his　face；　but　that　was　easily　fixed…take　a　different　metro；　walk　onto　a　different　carriage。　He'd　never　see　him　again；　their　contact　would　be　as　broken　as　a　water　glass　dropped　to　the　floor；　and　his　life　would　return　to　normal；　and　his　conscience。。。
　　　。。。　would　never　trouble　him　again？　He　snorted。　It　was　his　conscience　that　had　gotten　him　into　this　mess。　No；　that　wasn't　going　to　go　away。
　　　But　the　other　side　of　that　coin　was　perpetual　worry　and　sleeplessness；　and　fear。　He　hadn't　really　tasted　the　fear　yet。　That　would　e；　he　was　sure。
　　　Treason　had　only　one　punishment。　Death　for　the　traitor；　followed　by　ruin　for　his　survivors。　They'd　be　sent　off　to　Siberia…to　count　trees；　as　the　euphemism　went。　It　was　the　Soviet　hell；　a　place　of　eternal　damnation；　from　which　death　was　the　only　escape。
　　　In　fact；　it　was　exactly　what　his　conscience　would　do　to　him　if　he　didn't　follow　through　on　his　action；　Zaitzev　realized；　finally　losing　his　battle　and　sliding　off　into　sleep。
　　　A　second　later；　so　it　seemed　to　him；　the　alarm　clock　went　off。　At　least；　he　hadn't　been　tormented　with　dreams。　That　was　the　only　good　news　this　morning。　His　head　pounded；　threatening　to　push　his　eyeballs　out　of　their　sockets。　He　staggered　into　the　bathroom；　where　he　splashed　water　onto　his　face　and　took　three　aspirin；　which；　he　forlornly　hoped；　might　ease　his　hangover　in　a　few　hours。
　　　He　couldn't　face　sausages　for　breakfast；　since　his　stomach　was　also　irritated；　and　so　he　settled　for　cereal　and　milk　with　some　buttered　bread　on　the　side。　He　thought　about　coffee；　but　decided　a　glass　of　milk　would　be　easier　on　his　stomach。
　　　〃You　drank　too　much　last　night；〃　Irina　told　him。
　　　〃Yes；　darling；　I　know　that　now；〃　he　managed　to　say；　not　unpleasantly。　His　condition　wasn't　her　fault；　and　she　was　a　good　wife　to　him；　and　a　good　mother　for　Svetlana；　his　little　zaichik。　He　knew　that　he'd　survive　this　day。　He　just　wouldn't　like　it　much。　Worst　of　all；　he　had　to　get　going　early；　and　this　he　did；　shaving　very　badly　along　the　way；　but　being　presentable　with　a　clean　shirt　and　tie。　He　tucked　four　more　aspirin　into　his　coat　pocket　before　walking　out　the　door；　and；　to　get　his　blood　moving；　he　took　the　stairs　down　instead　of　the　elevator。　There　was　a　mild　chill　in　the　morning　air；　which　helped　somewhat　on　the　way　to　the　metro。　He　bought　a　copy　of　Izvestia　and　smoked　a　Trud；　and　that　helped　move　him　along；　too。
　　　If　anyone　recognized　him…well；　few　would。　He　was　not　in　the　usual　carriage；　and　he　was　not　on　the　usual　train。　He　was　usually　fifteen　minutes　later。　He　was　just　one　more　anonymous　face　on　a　subway　train　filled　with　anonymous　people。
　　　And　so　no　one　would　note　that　he　was　getting　off　at　the　wrong　station。
　　　The　American　Embassy　was　just　a　couple　of　blocks　away；　and　he　headed　that　way；　checking　his　watch。
　　　He　knew　the　proper　timing　because　he'd　been　here　once　before；　as　a　cadet　in　the　KGB　Academy；　brought　here　early　one　morning　in　a　bus　along　with　forty…five　other　members　of　his　class。　They'd　even　worn　their　official　uniforms　for　the　trip；　probably　to　remind　them　of　their　professional　identity。　Even　then；　it　had　seemed　a　foolish　waste　of　time；　but　the　academy　mandant　back　then　had　been　a　hard…liner；　and　now　the　trip　served　a　purpose　that　would　have　outraged　the　man。　Zaitzev　lit　another　cigarette　as　the　building　came　into　view。
　　　He　checked　his　watch。　At　precisely　0730　hours　every　day；　they　raised　their　flag。　The　academy　mandant；　ten　years　before；　had　pointed　and　said；　〃See　there；　rades；　that　is　the　enemy！　That　is　where　he　lives　in　our　fine　city　of　Moscow。　In　that　building　live　spies　which　those　of　you　who　enter　the　Second　Chief　Directorate　will　endeavor　to　identify　and　expel　from　our　fair　land。　The