tc.redrabbit-第61部分

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at　home；　for　Mr。　Smithson；　I　wouldn't　even　think　of　going　in　without　a　good　set　of　shots　of　the　tumor。　〃
　　　〃She's　right；　you　know；〃　Hood　thought；　after　a　moment's　reflection。　〃Our　bricklayer　chum　could　have　waited　several　months　more　if　we'd　had　a　better　idea　of　the　extent　of　the　growth。〃
　　　〃You　wait　that　long　for　a　hemangioma？〃　Cathy　blurted　out。　〃At　home；　we　take　them　out　immediately。〃　She　didn't　have　to　add　that　these　things　hurt　to　have　inside　your　skull。　It　caused　a　frontal　protrusion　of　the　eyeball　itself；　sometimes　with　blurring　of　vision…which　was　why　Mr。　Smithson　had　gone　to　this　local　doctor　to　begin　with。　He'd　also　reported　god…awful　headaches　that　must　have　driven　him　mad　until　they'd　given　him　a　codeine…based　analgesic。
　　　〃Well；　here　things　operate　a　little　differently。〃
　　　Uh…huh。　That　must　be　a　good　way　to　practice　medicine；　by　the　hour　instead　of　by　the　patient。　Lunch　arrived。　The　sandwich　was　okay…better　than　the　hospital　food　she　was　accustomed　to…but　she　still　couldn't　get　over　these　guys　drinking　beer！　The　local　beer　was　about　double　the　potency　of　American　stuff；　and　they　were　drinking　a　full　pint　of　it…sixteen　ounces！　What　the　hell　was　this？
　　　〃Ketchup　for　your　chips；　Cathy？〃　Ellis　slid　the　bottle　over。　〃Or　should　I　say　Lady　Caroline？　I　hear　that　His　Highness　is　your　son's　godfather？〃
　　　〃Well；　sort　of。　He　agreed　to　it…Jack　asked　him　on　the　spur　of　the　moment　in　the　hospital　at　the　Naval　Academy。　The　real　godparents　are　Robby　and　Sissy　Jackson。　Robby's　a　Navy　fighter　pilot。　Sissy　plays　concert　piano。〃
　　　〃Was　that　the　black　chap　in　the　papers？〃
　　　〃That's　right。　Jack　met　him　when　they　were　both　teachers　at　the　Naval　Academy；　and　they're　very　close　friends。〃
　　　〃Quite　so。　So　the　news　reports　were　correct？　I　mean…〃
　　　〃I　try　not　to　think　about　it。　The　only　good　thing　that　happened　that　night　was　that　Little　Jack　arrived。〃
　　　〃I　quite　understand　that；　Cathy；〃　Ellis　responded　around　his　sandwich。　〃If　the　news　accounts　were　accurate；　it　must　have　been　a　horrid　evening。〃
　　　〃It　wasn't　fun。〃　She　managed　a　smile。　〃The　labor　and　delivery　was　the　good　part。〃
　　　The　three　Brits　had　a　good　laugh　at　that　remark。　All　had　kids；　and　all　had　been　there　for　the　deliveries；　which　were　no　more　fun　for　British　women　than　for　American　women。　Half　an　hour　later；　they　headed　back　to　Moorefields。　Hood　smoked　another　cigarette　along　the　way；　though　he　had　the　good　manners　do　stay　downwind　of　his　American　colleague。　Ten　more　minutes；　and　they　were　back　in　the　OR。　The　pinch…hitting　gas…passer　reported　that　nothing　untoward　had　taken　place；　and　surgery　resumed。
　　　〃Want　me　to　assist　now？〃　Cathy　asked　hopefully。
　　　〃No；　thank　you；　Cathy；〃　Hood　replied。　〃I　have　it；〃　he　added；　bending　over　his　patient；　who；　being　soundly　asleep；　wouldn't　smell　the　beer　on　his　breath。
　　　Caroline　Ryan；　M。D。；　FACS；　thought　to　congratulate　herself　for　not　screaming　her　head　off；　but　mostly　she　leaned　in　as　closely　as　she　could　to　make　sure　these　two　Englishmen　didn't　screw　up　and　remove　the　patient's　ear　by　mistake。　Maybe　the　alcohol　would　help　steady　their　hands；　she　told　herself。　But　she　had　to　concentrate　to　keep　her　own　hands　from　trembling。
　　　The　crown　and　cushion　was　a　delightful；　if　typical；　London　pub。　The　sandwich　was　just　fine；　and　Ryan　enjoyed　a　pint　of　John　Smith　Ale　while　talking　shop　with　Simon。　He　thought　vaguely　about　serving　beer　at　the　CIA　cafeteria；　but　that　would　never　fly。　Someone　in　Congress　would　find　out　and　raise　hell　in　front　of　the　C…Span　cameras；　while　enjoying　a　glass　of　Chardonnay　with　his　lunch　in　the　Capitol　Building；　of　course；　or　something　a　little　stronger　in　his　office。　The　culture　was　just　different　here；　and　vive　la　difference；　he　thought；　walking　across　Westminster　Bridge　Road　toward　Big　Ben…the　bell；　not　the　bell　tower；　which　was；　in　fact；　St。　Mary's　Bell　Tower；　tourist　errors　to　the　contrary。　The　Parliamentarians　there　had　three　or　four　pubs　right　there　in　the　building；　Ryan　was　sure。　And　they　probably　didn't　get　any　drunker　than　their　American　colleagues。
　　　〃You　know；　Simon；　I　think　everyone's　worried　about　this。〃
　　　〃It's　a　pity　he　had　to　send　that　letter　to　Warsaw；　isn't　it？〃
　　　〃Could　you　expect　him　not　to？〃　Ryan　countered。　〃They　are　his　people。　It　is　his　homeland；　after　all；　isn't　it？　It's　his　parish　the　Russians　are　trying　to　stomp　on。〃
　　　〃That　is　the　problem；〃　Harding　agreed。　〃But　the　Russians　will　not　change。　Impasse。〃
　　　Ryan　nodded。　〃Yeah。　What's　the　chance　that　the　Russians　will　back　off？〃
　　　〃Absent　a　solid　reason　to；　not　a　very　great　chance。　Will　your　President　try　to　warn　them　off？〃
　　　〃Even　if　he　could；　he　wouldn't。　Not　on　something　like　this；　buddy。〃
　　　〃So　we　have　two　sides。　One　is　driven　by　what　it　deems　to　be　the　proper　moral　course　of　action…and　the　other　by　political　necessity；　by　fear　of　not　acting。　As　I　said；　Jack；　it's　a　bloody　impasse。〃
　　　〃Father　Tim　at　Georgetown　liked　to　say　that　wars　are　begun　by　frightened　men。　They're　afraid　of　the　consequences　of　war；　but　they　are　more　afraid　of　not　fighting。　Hell　of　a　way　to　run　a　world；〃　Ryan　thought　out　loud；　opening　the　door　for　his　friend。
　　　〃August　1914　as　the　model；　I　expect。〃
　　　〃Right；　but　at　least　those　guys　all　believed　in　God。　The　second　go　round　was　a　little　different　in　that　respect。　The　players　in　that　one…the　Bad　Guys；　anyway…didn't　live　under　that　particular　constraint。　Neither　do　the　guys　in　Moscow。　You　know；　there　have　to　be　some　limits　on　our　actions；　or　we　can　turn　into　monsters。〃
　　　〃Tell　that　to　the　Politburo；　Jack；〃　Harding　suggested　lightly。
　　　〃Yeah；　Simon；　sure。〃　Ryan　headed　off　to　the　men's　room　to　dump　some　of　his　liquid　lunch。
　　　The　evening　didn't　e　quickly　enough　for　either　of　the　players。　Ed　Foley　wondered　what　was　ing　next。　There　was　no　guarantee　that　this　guy　would　follow　up　on　what　he'd　started。　He　could　always　get　cold　feet…actually；　it'd　be　rather　a　sensible　thing　for　him　to　do。　Treason　was　dangerous　outside　the　U。S。　Embassy。　He　was　still　wearing　a　green　tie…the　other　one；　he　had　only　two…for　luck；　because　he'd　gotten　to　the　point　where　luck　counted。　Whoever　the　guy　was；　just　so　he　didn't　get　cold　feet。
　　　e　on；　Ivan；　keep　ing　and　we'll　give　you　the　joint；　Foley　thought；　trying　to　reach　out　with　his　mind。　Lifetime　ticket　to　Disney　World；　all　the　football　games　you　can　handle。　Oleg　Penkovskiy　wanted　to　meet　Kennedy　and；　yeah；　we　can　probably　swing　that　with　the　new　President。　Hell；　we'll　even　throw　in　a　movie　in　the　White　House　theater。
　　　And　across　town；　Mary　Pat　was　thinking　exactly　the　same　thing。　If　this　went　one　more　step；　she'd　play　a　part　in　the　opening　drama。　If　this　guy　worked　in　the　Russian　MERCURY；　and　if　he　wanted　a　ticket　out　of　Mother　Russia；　then　she　and　Ed　would　have　to　figure　a　way　to　make　that　happen。　There　were　ways；　and　they'd　been　used　before；　but　they　weren't　what　you'd　call　〃routine。〃　Soviet　border　security　wasn't　exactly　perfect；　but　it　was　pretty　tight…tight　enough　to　make　you　sweat　playing　with　it；　and　though　she　had　the　sort　of　demeanor　that　often　worked　well　while　playing　serious　games；　it　didn't　make　you　feel　fortable。　And　so　she　started　kicking　some　ideas　around；　just　in　her　head；　as　she　worked　around　the　apartment　and　little　Eddie　took　his　afternoon　nap；　and　the　hours　crept　by；　one　lengthy　second　at　a　time。
　　　Ed　foley　hadn't　sent　any　messages　off　to　Langley　yet。　It　wasn't　time。　He　had　nothing　substantive　to　report；　and　there　was　no　sense　getting　Bob　Ritter　all　excited　over　something　that　hadn't　developed　yet。　It　happened　often　enough：　People　made　approaches　to　CIA　and　then　felt　a　chill　inside　their　shoes　and　backed　away。　You　couldn't　chase　after　them。　More　often　than　not；　you　didn't　even　know　who　they　were　and；　if　you　did；　and　if　they　decided　not　to　play；　the　sensible　thing　for　the　other　guy　was　to　report　you　to　KGB。　That　fingered　you　as　a　spook…rendering　your　value　to　your　country　as　approximately　zero…and　covered　his　ass　nicely　as　a　loyal　and　vigilant　Soviet　citizen；　doing　his　duty　to　the　Motherland。
　　　People　didn't　realize　that　CIA　almost　never　recruited　its　agents。　No；　those　people　came　to　you…sometimes　cleverly；　sometimes　not。　That　left　you　open　to　be　fooled　by　a　false…flag　operation。　The　American　FBI　was　particularly　good　at　that　sort　of　play；　and　KGB's　Second　Chief　Directorate　was　known　to　use　the　gambit；　too；　just　to　identify　spooks　on　the　embassy　staff；　which　was　always　something　worth　doing。　If　you　knew　who　they　were；　you　could　follow　them　and　watch　them　service　their　dead…drops；　and　then　camp　out　on　the　drop　site　to　see　who　else　stopped　off　there。　Then　you　had　your　traitor；　who　could　lead　you　to　other　traitors；　and　with　luck　you　could　roll　up　a　whole　spy　ring；　which　earned　you　a　gold　star…well；　a　nice　red　star…in　your　copybook。　Counterespionage　officers　could　make　their　whole　careers　on　one　such　case；　both　in　Russia　and　in　America；　and　so　they　worked　pretty　hard　at　it。　The　Second　Directorate　people　were　numerous…supposedly；　half　of　KGB's　personnel　were　in　there…and　they　were　smart；　professional　spooks　with　all　sorts　of　resources；　and　the　patience　of　a　vulture　circling　over　the　Arizona　desert；　sniffing　the　air　for　the　smell　of　a　dead　jackrabbit；　then　homing　in　to　feast　on　the　carcass。
　　　But　KGB　was　more　dangerous　than　a　vulture。　A　vulture