tc.redrabbit-第77部分

按键盘上方向键 ← 或 → 可快速上下翻页，按键盘上的 Enter 键可回到本书目录页，按键盘上方向键 ↑ 可回到本页顶部！
————未阅读完？加入书签已便下次继续阅读！


ddie　conspicuously　eating　another　hot　dog　on　the　way　out　to　the　car；　and　a　facsimile　copy　of　the　New　York　Daily　News　in　his　hand。　It　was　the　best　sports　page　of　the　New　York　papers；　he'd　long　thought；　if　a　little　lurid　in　its　headlines。　Mike　Lupica　knew　his　baseball　better　than　the　rest　of　the　wannabe　ballplayers；　and　Ed　Foley　had　always　respected　his　analysis。　He　might　have　made　a　good　spook　if　he'd　chosen　a　useful　line　of　work。　So　now　he　could　see　why　the　Yankees　had　fallen　on　their　asses　this　season。　It　looked　as　though　the　goddamned　Orioles　were　going　to　take　the　pennant；　and　that；　to　his　New　York　sensibilities；　was　a　crime　worse　than　how　the　Rangers　looked　this　year。
　　　〃So；　Eddie；　you　looking　forward　to　skating？〃　he　asked　his　son；　belted　in　the　back　seat。
　　　〃Yeah！〃　the　little　guy　answered　at　once。　Eddie　Junior　was　his　son；　all　right；　and　maybe　here　he'd　really　learn　how　to　play　ice　hockey　the　right　way。
　　　Waiting　in　his　father's　closet　was　the　best　pair　of　junior　hockey　skates　that　money　could　buy；　and　another　pair　for　when　his　feet　got　bigger。　Mary　Pat　had　already　checked　out　the　local　junior　leagues；　and　those；　her　husband　thought；　were　about　the　best　this　side　of　Canada；　and　maybe　better。
　　　On　the　whole；　it　was　a　shame　he　couldn't　have　an　STU　in　his　house；　but　the　Rabbit　had　told　him　that　they　might　not　be　entirely　secure；　and　besides；　it　would　have　told　the　Russians　that　he　wasn't　just　the　embassy　officer　who　baby…sat　the　local　reporters。
　　　Weekends　were　the　dullest　time　for　the　Foley　family。　Neither　minded　the　time　with　the　little　guy；　of　course；　but　they　could　have　done　that　at　their　now…rented　Virginia　home。　They　were　in　Moscow　for　their　work；　which　was　a　passion　for　both　of　them；　and　something　their　son；　they　hoped；　would　understand　someday。　So　for　now　his　father　read　some　books　with　him。　The　little　guy　was　picking　up　on　the　alphabet；　and　seemed　to　read　words；　though　as　calligraphic　symbols　rather　than　letter　constructs。　It　was　enough　for　his　father　to　be　pleased　about；　though　Mary　Pat　had　a　few　minor　doubts。　After　thirty　minutes　of　that；　Little　Eddie　talked　his　dad　through　a　half　hour　of　Transformers　tapes；　to　the　great　satisfaction　of　the　former　and　the　bemusement　of　the　latter。
　　　The　Station　Chief's　mind；　of　course；　was　on　the　Rabbit；　and　now　it　returned　to　his　wife's　suggestion　of　getting　the　package　out　without　KGB's　knowing　they　were　gone。　It　was　during　the　Transformers　tape　that　it　came　back　to　him。　You　couldn't　have　a　murder　without　a　body；　but　with　a　body　you　damned　sure　had　a　murder。　But　what　if　the　body　wasn't　the　right　one？
　　　The　essence　of　magic；　he'd　once　heard　Doug　Henning　say；　was　controlling　the　perception　of　the　audience。　If　you　could　determine　what　they　saw；　then　you　could　also　dictate　what　they　thought　they　saw；　and　from　that　precisely　what　they　would　remember　seeing；　and　what　they　would　then　tell　others。　The　key　to　that　was　in　giving　them　something　that　they　expected　to　see；　even　if　it　was　unbelievable。　People…even　intelligent　people…believed　all　manner　of　impossible　things。　It　was　sure　as　hell　true　in　Moscow；　where　the　rulers　of　this　vast　and　powerful　country　believed　in　a　political　philosophy　as　out　of　tune　with　contemporary　reality　as　the　Divine　Right　of　Kings。　More　to　the　point；　they　knew　it　was　a　false　philosophy；　and　yet　they　manded　themselves　to　believe　it　as　though　it　were　Holy　Scripture　written　in　gold　ink　by　God's　own　hand。　So　these　people　could　be　fooled。　They　worked　pretty　hard　to　fool　themselves；　after　all。
　　　Okay；　how　to　fool　them？　Foley　asked　himself。　Give　the　other　guy　something　he　expected　to　see；　and　he'd　see　it；　whether　it　was　really　there　or　not。　They　wanted　the　Sovs　to　believe　that　the　Rabbit　and　his　family　had。。。　not　skipped　town；　but　had。。。　died？
　　　Dead　people；　so　Captain　Kidd　had　supposedly　said；　tell　no　tales。　And　neither　did　the　wrong　dead　people。
　　　The　Brits　did　this　once　in　World　War　II；　didn't　they？　Foley　wondered。　Yes；　he'd　read　the　book　in　high　school；　and　even　then；　at　Fordham　Prep；　the　operational　concept　had　impressed　him。　Operation　MINCEMEAT；　it　had　been　called。　That　concept　had　been　very　elegant　indeed；　as　it　had　involved　making　the　opposition　feel　smart；　and　people　everywhere　loved　to　feel　smart。。。
　　　Especially　the　dumb　ones；　Foley　reminded　himself。　And　the　German　intelligence　services　in　World　War　II　hadn't　been　worth　the　powder　to　blow　them　to　hell。　They　were　so　inept　that　the　Germans　would　have　been　better　advised　to　do　without　them　entirely…Hitler's　astrologer　would　have　been　just　as　good；　and　probably　a　lot　cheaper　in　the　long　run。
　　　But　the　Russians；　on　the　other　hand；　were　pretty　damned　smart…smart　enough　that　you　wanted　to　be　very　careful　playing　head　games　with　them；　but　not　so　smart　that　if　they　found　something　they　expected　to　find；　they　would　toss　it　in　the　trash　can　and　go　looking　for　what　they　didn't　expect。　No；　that　was　just　human　nature；　and　even　the　New　Soviet　Man　they　kept　trying　to　build　was　subject　to　human　nature；　much　as　the　Soviet　government　tried　to　breed　it　out　of　him。
　　　So；　how　would　we　go　about　that？　he　wondered　quietly；　as　on　the　television　a　diesel　truck…tractor　changed　into　a　two…legged　robot；　the　better　to　fight　off　the　forces　of　evil…whoever　they　were。。。
　　　Oh。　Yeah。　It　was　pretty　obvious；　wasn't　it？　You　just　had　to　give　them　what　they　needed　to　see　to　prove　that　the　Rabbit　and　his　little　hutch…mates　were　dead；　to　give　them　what　dead　people　always　left　behind。　That　would　be　a　major　plication；　but　not　so　vast　of　one　as　to　be　impossible　to　arrange。　But　they'd　need　assistance。　That　thought　did　not　make　Ed　Foley　feel　secure。　In　his　line　of　work；　you　trusted　yourself　more　than　you　trusted　anyone　or　anything　else…and　after　that；　maybe；　others　of　your　own　organization；　but　as　few　of　them　as　possible。　After　that；　when　it　became　necessary　to　trust　people　in　some　other　organization；　you　really　gritted　your　teeth。　Okay；　sure；　on　his　pre…mission　brief　at　Langley；　he'd　been　told　that　Nigel　Haydock　could　be　relied　upon　as　a　very　tame…and　very　able…Brit；　and　a　pretty　good　field　spook　working　for　a　closely　allied　service；　and；　okay；　sure；　he　liked　the　look　of　the　guy；　and；　okay；　sure；　they'd　hit　it　off　fairly　well。　But；　God　damn　it；　he　wasn't　Agency。　But　Ritter　had　told　him　that；　in　a　pinch；　Haydock　could　be　relied　upon　for　a　helping　hand；　and　the　Rabbit　himself　had　told　him　that　Brit　ms　hadn't　been　cracked　yet；　and　he　had　to　trust　the　Rabbit　to　be　an　honest　player。　Foley's　life　wasn't　riding　on　that；　but　damned　sure　his　career　was。
　　　Okay；　but　what…no；　how…to　work　this　one。　Nigel　was　the　mercial　Attache　at　the　Brit　Embassy；　right　across　the　river　from　the　Kremlin　itself；　a　station　that　went　back　to　the　czars；　and　one　that　had　supposedly　pissed　Stalin　off　royally；　to　see　the　Union　Jack　every　morning　from　his　office　window。　And　the　Brits　had　helped　recruit；　and　had　later　run　GRU　Colonel　Oleg　Penkovskiy；　the　agent　who'd　prevented　World　War　III　and；　along　the　way；　recruited　CARDINAL；　the　brightest　jewel　in　CIA's　crown。　So　if　he　had　to　trust　anyone；　it　would　have　to　be　Nigel。　Necessity　was　the　mother　of　many　things；　and　if　the　Rabbit　came　to　grief；　well；　they'd　know　that　SIS　was　penetrated。　Again。　He　realized　he'd　have　to　apologize　to　Nigel　just　for　thinking　this　way；　but　this　was　business；　not　personal。
　　　Paranoia；　Eddie；　the　COS　told　himself。　You　can't　suspect　everybody。
　　　The　hell　I　can't！
　　　But；　probably；　he　knew；　Nigel　Haydock　thought　the　same　thing　about　him。　That　was　just　how　the　game　was　played。
　　　And　if　they　got　the　Rabbit　out；　it　was　proof　positive　that　Haydock　was　straight。　No　way　in　hell　that　Ivan　would　let　this　bunny　skip　town　alive。　He　just　knew　too　much。
　　　Did　Zaitzev　have　any　idea　at　all　of　the　danger　he　was　walking　into？　He　trusted　CIA　to　get　him　and　his　family　out　of　Dodge　City　alive。。。
　　　But　with　all　the　information　to　which　he　had　access；　wasn't　he　making　an　informed　judgment？
　　　Jesus；　there　were　enough　interlocking　wheels　in　this　to　make　a　bicycle　factory；　weren't　there？
　　　The　tape　ended；　and　Master　Truck　Robot…or　whatever　the　hell　his　name　was…transformed　himself　back　into　a　truck　and　motored　off　to　the　sound　of　〃Transformers；　more　than　meets　the　eye。。。〃　It　was　sufficient　to　the　moment　that　Eddie　liked　it。　So；　he'd　arranged　some　quality　time　with　his　son　and　some　good　think　time　for　himself…not　a　bad　Sunday　evening　on　the　whole。
　　　〃So；　what's　the　plan；　Arthur？〃　Greer　asked。
　　　〃Good　question；　James；〃　the　DCI　answered。　They　were　watching　TV　in　his　den；　the　Orioles　and　the　White　Sox　playing　in　Baltimore。　Mike　Flanagan　was　pitching；　and　looked　to　be　on　his　way　to　another　Cy　Young　Award；　and　the　rookie　shortstop　the　Orioles　had　just　brought　up　was　playing　particularly　well；　and　looked　to　have　a　big…league　future。　Both　men　were　drinking　beer　and　eating　pretzels；　as　though　they　were　real　people　enjoying　a　Sunday　afternoon　of　America's　pastime。　That　was　partly　true。
　　　〃Basil　will　help。　We　can　trust　him；〃　Admiral　Greer　opined。
　　　〃Agreed。　Whatever　problems　he　had　are　a　thing　of　the　past；　and　he'll　partmentalize　it　as　tight　as　the　Queen's　jewel　box。　But　we'll　want　one　of　our　people　involved　at　his　end。〃
　　　〃Who；　do　you　suppose？〃
　　　〃Not　the　COS　London。　Everybody　knows　who　he　is；　even　the　cabd