tc.redrabbit-第78部分

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s　end。〃
　　　〃Who；　do　you　suppose？〃
　　　〃Not　the　COS　London。　Everybody　knows　who　he　is；　even　the　cabdrivers。〃　There　was　no　disputing　that。　The　London　Station　Chief　had　been　in　the　spook　business　for　a　very　long　time；　and　was　more　an　administrator　now　than　an　active　field　officer。　The　same　could　be　said　of　most　of　his　people；　for　whom　London　was　a　sinecure　job；　and　mainly　a　sunset　posting　for　people　looking　forward　to　retirement。　They　were　good　men　all；　of　course；　just　ready　to　hang　up　the　spikes。　〃Whoever　it　is；　he'll　have　to　go　to　Budapest；　and　he'll　have　to　be　invisible。〃
　　　〃So；　somebody　they　don't　know。〃
　　　〃Yep。〃　Moore　nodded　as　he　took　a　bite　of　his　sandwich　and　reached　for　some　chips。　〃He　won't　have　to　do　very　much；　just　let　the　Brits　know　he's　there。　Keep　'em　honest；　like。〃
　　　〃Basil's　going　to　want　to　interview　this　guy。〃
　　　〃No　avoiding　that；〃　Moore　agreed。　〃And　he's　entitled　to　dip　his　beak；　too。〃　That　was　a　line　he　had　picked　up　as　a　judge　on　a　rare　organized…crime　appeals　case。　He　and　his　fellow　jurists　in　Austin；　Texas；　had　laughed　about　it　for　weeks；　after　rejecting　the　appeal；　5…0。
　　　〃We'll　want　one　of　our　people　in　for　that；　too。〃
　　　〃Bet　your　bippy；　James；〃　Moore　agreed　again。
　　　〃And　better　that　our　guy　is　based　over　there。　Timing　might　get　a　little　tough。〃
　　　〃You　bet。〃
　　　〃How　about　Ryan？〃　Greer　asked。　〃He's　way　the　hell　under　the　radar。　Nobody　knows　who　he　is…he's　one　of　mine；　right？　He　doesn't　even　look　like　a　field　officer。〃
　　　〃His　face　has　been　in　the　papers；〃　Moore　objected。
　　　〃You　think　KGB　reads　the　society　page？　At　most　they　might　have　noticed　him　as　a　rich　wannabe　writer；　and　if　he　has　a　file；　it's　in　some　sub…basement　at　The　Centre。　That　ought　not　to　be　a　problem。〃
　　　〃You　think　so？〃　Moore　wondered。　For　sure；　this　would　give　Bob　Ritter　a　bellyache。　But　that　wasn't　entirely　a　bad　thing。　Bob　had　visions　of　taking　over　all　CIA　operations；　and；　good　man　that　he　was；　he　would　never　be　DCI；　for　any　number　of　reasons；　not　the　least　of　which　was　that　Congress　didn't　much　like　spooks　with　Napoleonic　plexes。　〃Is　he　up　to　it？〃
　　　〃The　boy's　an　ex…Marine　and　he　knows　how　to　think　on　his　feet；　remember？〃
　　　〃He　has　paid　his　dues；　James。　He　doesn't　take　a　leak　sitting　down；〃　the　DCI　conceded。
　　　〃And　all　he　has　to　do　is　keep　an　eye　on　our　friends；　not　play　spook　on　enemy　soil。〃
　　　〃Bob　will　have　a　conniption　fit。〃
　　　〃It　won't　hurt　our　purposes　to　keep　Bob　in　his　place；　Arthur。〃　Especially；　he　didn't　add；　if　this　works　out。　And　work　out　it　should。　Once　out　of　Moscow；　it　ought　to　be　a　fairly　routine　operation。　Tense；　of　course；　but　routine。
　　　〃What　if　he　screws　things　up？〃
　　　〃Arthur；　Jimmy　Szell　dropped　the　ball　in　Budapest；　and　he's　an　experienced　field　officer。　I　know；　probably　not　even　his　fault；　probably　just　bad　luck；　but　it　proves　the　point。　A　lot　of　this　racket　is　just　luck。　The　Brits　will　be　doing　all　the　real　work；　and　I'm　sure　Basil　will　pick　a　good　team。〃
　　　Moore　weighed　the　thought　quietly。　Ryan　was　very　new　at　CIA；　but　he　was　a　rising　star。　What　helped　was　his　adventure；　not　yet　a　year　old；　where　twice　he'd　faced　loaded　guns　and　gotten　it　done　anyway。　One　nice　thing　about　the　Marine　Corps；　they　didn't　turn　out　many　pussies。　Ryan　could　think　and　act　on　his　feet；　and　that　was　a　nice　thing　to　have　in　your　pocket。　Better　yet；　the　Brits　liked　him。　He'd　seen　the　ments　from　Sir　Basil　Charleston　on　Ryan's　tenure　at　Century　House…he　was　taking　quite　a　liking　to　the　young　American　analyst。　So　this　was　a　chance　to　bring　a　new　talent　along；　and　though　he　wasn't　a　graduate　of　The　Farm；　that　didn't　mean　he　was　a　babe　in　the　woods。　Ryan　had　been　through　the　woods；　and　he'd　killed　himself　a　couple　of　wolves　along　the　way；　hadn't　he？
　　　〃James；　it's　a　little　outside　the　box；　but　I　won't　say　no　for　that　reason。　Okay；　cut　him　loose。　I　hope　your　boy　doesn't　wet　his　pants。〃
　　　〃What　did　Foley　call　this　operation？〃
　　　〃BEATRIX；　he　said。　You　know；　like　Peter　Rabbit。〃
　　　〃Foley；　that　boy　is　going　places；　Arthur；　and　his　wife；　Mary　Patricia；　she　is　a　real　piece　of　work。〃
　　　〃There　we　surely　agree；　James。　She'd　make　a　great　rodeo　rider；　and　he'd　be　a　pretty　good　town　marshal　west　of　the　Pecos；〃　the　DCI　said。　He　liked　to　see　some　of　the　young　talent　the　Agency　was　producing。　Where　they　all　came　from…well；　they　came　from　a　lot　of　different　places；　but　they　all　seemed　to　have　the　same　fire　in　the　belly　that　he'd　had　thirty　years　before；　working　with　Hans　Tofte。　They　weren't　terribly　different　from　the　Texas　Rangers　he'd　learned　to　admire　as　a　little　boy…the　smart；　tough　people　who　did　what　had　to　be　done。
　　　〃How　do　we　get　the　word　to　Basil？〃
　　　〃I　called　Chip　Bennett　last　night；　told　him　to　have　his　people　gin　up　some　one…timers。　Ought　to　be　at　Langley　this　evening。　We'll　fly　them　to　London　on　the　747　tonight；　and　shoot　some　on　from　there　to　Moscow。　So　we'll　be　able　to　municate　securely；　if　not　conveniently。〃
　　　That；　in　fact；　was　just　about　done。　A　puter　system　used　for　taking　down　the　dot…dash　signals　of　International　Morse　Code　was　connected　to　a　highly　sensitive　radio　tuned　to　a　frequency　used　by　no　human　agency；　transforming　the　garbage　noise　into　Roman　letters。　One　of　the　technicians　at　Fort　Meade　remarked　along　the　way　that　the　intergalactic　noise　they　were　copying　down　was　the　residual　static　produced　by　the　Big　Bang；　for　which　Penzias　and　Miller　had　collected　a　Nobel　Prize　a　few　years　before；　and　that　was　as　random　as　things　got…unless　you　could　decode　it　to　learn　what　God　thought；　which　was　beyond　the　skills　even　of　NSA's　Z…division。　A　dot…matrix　printer　put　the　letters　to　carbon…paper　sets…three　copies　of　each；　the　original　to　the　originators；　and　a　copy　each　for　CIA　and　NSA。　They　all　contained　enough　letters　to　transcribe　the　first　third　of　the　Bible；　and　each　page　and　each　line　were　alphanumerically　identified　to　make　decryption　possible。　Three　people　separated　the　pages；　made　sure　that　the　sets　were　properly　arranged；　and　then　slipped　them　into　ring　binders　for　some　semblance　of　ease　of　use。　Then　two　were　handed　off　to　an　Air　Force　NCO；　who　drove　the　CIA　copies　off　to　Langley。　The　lead　technician　wondered　what　was　so　goddamned　important　to　require　such　massive　one…time　pads；　which　NSA　had　long　before　gotten　past　with　its　institutional　worship　of　electronic　technology；　but　his　was　not…ever…to　reason　why；　was　it？　Not　at　Fort　Meade；　Maryland；　it　wasn't。
　　　Ryan　was　watching　TV；　trying　to　get　used　to　the　British　sits。　He'd　grown　to　like　British　humor…they'd　invented　Benny　Hill；　after　all。　That　guy　had　to　be　mentally　disabled　to　do　some　of　the　things　he　did…but　the　regular　series　TV　took　a　little　getting　used　to。　The　signals　were　just　different；　and　though　he　spoke　English　as　well　as　any　American；　the　nuances　here…exaggerated；　of　course；　on　TV…had　a　subtle　dimension　that　occasionally　slipped　by　him。　But　not　his　wife；　Jack　observed。　His　wife　was　laughing　hard　enough　to　gag；　and　at　things　he　barely　prehended。　Then　came　the　trilling　note　of　his　STU　in　his　upstairs　den。　He　trotted　upstairs　to　get　it。　It　wouldn't　be　a　wrong　number。　Whoever　had　set　his　number　up…British　Tele；　a　semiprivate　corporation　that　did　exactly　what　the　government　told　it　to　do…would　have　chosen　a　number　so　far　off　the　numerical　trail　that　only　an　infant　could　dial　his　secure　phone　by　mistake。
　　　〃Ryan；〃　he　said；　after　his　phone　mated　up　with　the　one　at　the　other　end。
　　　〃Jack；　Greer　here。　How's　Sunday　evening　in　Jolly　Old　England？〃
　　　〃It　rained　today。　I　didn't　get　to　cut　the　grass；〃　Ryan　reported。　He　didn't　mind　much。　He　hated　cutting　grass；　having　learned　as　a　child　that　however　much　you　sliced　it　down；　the　goddamned　stuff　just　grew　back　in　a　few　days　to　look　scraggly　again。
　　　〃Well；　here　the　Orioles　are　leading　the　White　Sox　five…two　after　six　innings。　I　think　your　team　looks　good　for　the　pennant。〃
　　　〃Who　in　the　National　League？〃
　　　〃If　I　had　to　bet；　I'd　say　the　Phillies　all　the　way；　my　boy。〃
　　　〃I　got　a　buck　says　you're　wrong；　sir。　My　O's　look　good　from　here。〃　Which　isn't　there；　damn　it。　Since　losing　the　Colts；　he'd　transferred　his　loyalty　to　baseball。　The　game　was　more　interesting；　tactically　speaking；　though　lacking　the　manly　bat　of　NFL　football。　〃So；　what's　happening　in　Washington　on　a　Sunday　afternoon；　sir？〃
　　　〃Just　wanted　to　give　you　a　heads…up。　There's　a　signal　on　its　way　to　London　that's　going　to　involve　you。　New　tasking。　It'll　take　maybe　three　or　four　days。〃
　　　〃Okay。〃　It　perked　his　interest；　but　he'd　have　to　see　what　it　was　before　he　got　overly　excited　about　it。　Probably　some　new　analysis　that　they　wanted　him　for。　Those　were　usually　economics；　because　the　Admiral　liked　his　way　of　working　through　the　numbers　games。　〃Important？〃
　　　〃Well；　we're　interested　in　what　you　can　do　with　it〃　was　all　the　DDI　wanted　to　say。
　　　This　guy　must　teach　foxes　how　to　outsmart　dogs　and　horses。　Good　thing　he　wasn't　a　Brit。　The　local　aristocracy　would　shoot　him　for　ruining　their　steeplechases；　Ryan　told　himself。　〃Okay；　sir；　I'll　be　looking　for　it。　I　don't　suppose　you　can　give　me　a　play…by…play？〃　he　asked　with　a　little　hope　in　his　voice。
　　　〃That　new　shortstop…Ripken；　is　it？…just　doubled　down　the　left…field　line；　drove　in　run　number　six；　one　out；　bottom　of　the　seventh。〃
　　　〃Thank　you　for　that；　sir。　It　beats　Fawlty　Towers。〃