tc.patriotgames-第12部分

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s　crews　had　made　the　patois　of　his　native　Belfast　recognizable　the　world　over。　He　read　the　London　Times　on　the　flight；　and　the　topic　of　discussion　in　his　seat　row；　as　with　the　rest　of　the　aircraft；　was　the　story　which　covered　the　front　page。
　　　　〃A　terrible　thing；　it　is；〃　he'd　agreed　with　the　man　in　23…E；　a　Belgian　dealer　in　machine　tools　who　could　not　have　known　how　an　event　might　be　terrible　in　more　than　one　way。
　　　　All　the　months　of　planning；　the　painstakingly　gathered　intelligence；　the　rehearsals　carried　out　right　under　the　Brit　noses；　the　three　escape　routes；　the　radiomen　　all　for　nothing　because　of　this　bloody　meddler。　He　examined　the　photo　on　the　front　page。
　　　　Who　are　you；　Yank？　he　wondered。　John　Patrick　Ryan。　Historian　　a　bloody　academic！　Ex…Marine　　trust　a　damned　bootneck　to　stick　his　nose　where　it　doesn't　belong！　John　Patrick　Ryan。　You're　a　bloody　Catholic；　aren't　you？　Well；　Johnny　nearly　put　paid　on　your　account　。　。　。　too　bad　about　Johnny。　Good　man　Johnny　was；　dependable；　loved　his　guns；　and　true　to　the　Cause。
　　　　The　plane　finally　came　to　a　stop　at　the　Jetway。　Forward；　the　stewardess　opened　the　door；　and　the　passengers　rose　to　get　their　bags　from　the　overhead　stowage。　He　got　his；　and　joined　the　slow　movement　forward。　He　tried　to　be　philosophical　about　it。　In　his　years　as　a　〃player；〃　he'd　seen　iterations　go　awry　for　the　most　ridiculous　of　reasons。　But　this　op　was　so　important。　So　much　planning。　He　shook　his　head　as　he　tucked　the　paper　under　his　arm。　We'll　just　have　to　try　again；　that's　all。　We　can　afford　to　be　patient。　One　failure；　he　told　himself；　didn't　matter　in　the　great　scheme　of　things。　The　other　side　had　been　lucky　this　time。　We　only　have　to　be　lucky　once。　The　men　in　the　H…blocks　weren't　going　anywhere。
　　　　What　about　Sean？　A　mistake　to　have　taken　him　along。　He'd　helped　plan　the　operation　from　the　beginning。　Sean　knows　a　great　deal　about　the　Organization。　He　set　that　worry　aside　as　he　stepped　off　the　aircraft。　Sean　would　never　talk。　Not　Sean；　not　with　his　girl　in　her　grave　these　past　five　years；　from　a　para's　stray　bullet。
　　　　He　wasn't　met；　of　course。　The　other　men　who　had　been　part　of　the　operation　were　already　back；　their　equipment　left　behind　in　rubbish　bins；　wiped　clean　of　fingerprints。　Only　he　had　the　risk　of　exposure；　but　he　was　sure　that　this　Ryan　fellow　hadn't　got　a　good　look　at　his　face。　He　thought　back　again　to　be　sure。　No。　The　look　of　surprise　on　his　face；　the　look　of　pain　he'd　seen　there。　The　American　couldn't　have　gotten　much　of　a　look　　if　he　had；　an　identikit　posite　picture　would　be　in　the　press　already；　plete　with　the　moppy　wig　and　fake　glasses。
　　　　He　walked　out　of　the　terminal　building　to　the　parking　lot；　his　travel　bag　slung　over　his　shoulder；　searching　in　his　pocket　for　the　keys　that　had　set　off　the　airport　metal　detector　in　Brussels　　what　a　laugh　that　was！　He　smiled　for　the　first　time　in　nearly　a　day。　It　was　a　clear；　sunny　day；　another　glorious　Irish　fall　it　was。　He　drove　his　year…old　BMW　　a　man　with　a　business　cover　had　to　have　a　full　disguise；　after　all　　down　the　road　to　the　safehouse。　He　was　already　planning　two　more　operations。　Both　would　require　a　lot　of　time；　but　time　was　the　one　thing　he　had　in　unlimited　quantity。

　　　　It　was　easy　enough　to　tell　when　it　was　time　for　another　pain　medication。　Ryan　was　unconsciously　flexing　his　left　hand　at　the　far　end　of　the　cast。　It　didn't　reduce　the　pain；　but　did　seem　to　move　it　about　somewhat　as　the　muscles　and　tendons　changed　place　slightly。　It　bothered　his　concentration　however　much　he　tried　to　shut　it　out。　Jack　remembered　all　the　TV　shows　in　which　the　detective　or　otherwise　employed　hero　took　a　round　in　the　shoulder　but　recovered　fully　in　time　for　the　last　mercial。　The　human　shoulder　　his；　at　any　rate　　was　a　solid　collection　of　bones　that　bullets　　one　bullet　　all　too　easily　broke。　As　the　time　for　another　medication　approached　it　seemed　that　he　could　feel　every　jagged　edge　of　every　broken　bone　grating　against　its　neighbor　as　he　breathed；　and　even　the　gentle　tapping　of　his　right…hand　fingers　on　the　keyboard　seemed　to　ripple　across　his　body　to　the　focus　of　his　pain　until　he　had　to　stop　and　watch　the　wall　clock　　for　the　first　time　he　wanted　Kittiwake　to　appear　with　his　next　installment　of　chemical　bliss。
　　　　Until　he　remembered　his　fear。　The　pain　of　his　back　injury　had　made　his　first　week　at　Bethesda　a　living　hell。　He　knew　that　his　present　injury　paled　by　parison；　but　the　body　does　not　remember　pain；　and　the　shoulder　was　here　and　now。　He　forced　himself　to　remember　that　pain　medications　had　made　his　back　problem　almost　tolerable　。　。　。　except　that　the　doctors　had　gotten　just　a　little　too　generous　with　his　dosages。　More　than　the　pain；　Ryan　dreaded　withdrawal　from　morphine　sulphate。　That　had　lasted　a　week；　the　wanting　that　seemed　to　draw　his　entire　body　into　some　vast　empty　place；　someplace　where　his　innermost　self　found　itself　entirely　alone　and　needing　。　。　。　Ryan　shook　his　head。　The　pain　rippled　through　his　left　arm　and　shoulder　and　he　forced　himself　to　wele　it。　I'm　not　going　to　go　through　that　again。　Never　again。
　　　　The　door　opened。　It　wasn't　Kittiwake　　the　med　was　still　fourteen　minutes　away。　Ryan　had　noticed　a　uniform　outside　the　door　when　it　had　opened　before。　Now　he　was　sure。　A　thirtyish　uniformed　officer　came　in　with　a　floral　arrangement　and　he　was　followed　by　another　who　was　similarly　loaded。　A　scarlet　and　gold　ribbon　decorated　the　first；　a　gift　from　the　Marine　Corps；　followed　by　another　from　the　American　Embassy。
　　　　〃Quite　a　few　more；　sir；〃　one　uniformed　officer　said。
　　　　〃The　room　isn't　all　that　big。　Can　you　give　me　the　cards　and　spread　these　around　some？　I'm　sure　there's　people　around　who'd　like　them。〃　And　who　wants　to　live　in　a　jungle？　Within　ten　minutes　Ryan　had　a　pile　of　cards；　notes；　and　telegrams。　He　found　that　reading　the　words　of　others　was　better　than　reading　his　own　when　it　came　to　blocking　out　the　ache　of　his　damaged　shoulder。
　　　　Kittiwake　arrived。　She　gave　the　flowers　only　a　fleeting　glance　before　administering　Ryan's　medication；　and　hustled　out　with　scarcely　a　word。　Ryan　learned　why　five　minutes　later。
　　　　His　next　visitor　was　the　Prince　of　Wales。　Wilson　snapped　to　his　feet　again；　and　Jack　wondered　if　the　kid's　knees　were　tiring　of　this。　The　med　was　already　working。　His　shoulder　was　drifting　farther　away；　but　along　with　this　came　a　slight　feeling　of　lightheadedness　as　from　a　couple　of　stiff　drinks。　Maybe　that　was　part　of　the　reason　for　what　happened　next。
　　　　〃Howdy。〃　Jack　smiled。　〃How　are　you　feeling；　sir？〃　
　　　　〃Quite　well；　thank　you。〃　The　answering　smile　contained　no　enthusiasm。　The　Prince　looked　very　tired；　his　thin　face　stretched　an　extra　inch　or　so；　with　a　lingering　sadness　around　the　eyes。　His　shoulders　drooped　within　the　conservative　gray　suit。
　　　　〃Why　don't　you　sit　down；　sir？〃　Ryan　invited。　〃You　look　as　though　you　had　a　tougher　night　than　I　did。〃
　　　　〃Yes；　thank　you；　Doctor　Ryan。〃　He　made　another　attempt　to　smile。　It　failed。　〃And　how　are　you　feeling？〃
　　　　〃Reasonably　well；　Your　Highness。　And　how　is　your　wife　　excuse　me；　how　is　the　Princess　doing？〃
　　　　The　Prince's　words　did　not　e　easily；　and　he　had　trouble　looking　up　to　Ryan　from　his　chair。　〃We　both　regret　that　she　could　not　e　with　me。　She's　still　somewhat　disturbed　　in　shock；　I　believe。　She　had　a　very　。　。　。　bad　experience。〃
　　　　Brains　splattered　over　her　face。　I　suppose　you　might　call　that　a　bad　experience。　〃I　saw。　I　understand　that　neither　of　you　was　physically　injured；　thank　God。　I　presume　your　child　also？〃　
　　　　〃Yes；　all　thanks　to　you。　Doctor。〃
　　　　Jack　tried　another　one…armed　shrug。　The　gesture　didn't　hurt　so　much　this　time。　〃Glad　to　help；　sir　　I　just　wish　I　hadn't　got　myself　shot　in　the　process。〃　His　attempt　at　levity　died　on　his　lips。　He'd　said　the　wrong　thing　in　the　wrong　way。　The　Prince　looked　at　Jack　very　curiously　for　a　moment；　but　then　his　eyes　went　flat　again。
　　　　〃We　would　all　have　been　killed　except　for　you；　you　know　　and　on　behalf　of　my　family　and　myself　　well；　thank　you。　It's　not　enough　just　to　say　that　〃　His　Highness　went　on；　then　halted　again　and　struggled　to　find　a　few　more　words。　〃But　it's　the　best　I　can　manage。　I　wasn't　able　to　manage　very　much　yesterday；　e　to　that；〃　he　concluded；　staring　quietly　at　the　foot　of　the　bed。
　　　　Aha！　Ryan　thought。　The　Prince　stood　and　turned　to　leave。　What　do　I　do　now？
　　　　〃Sir；　why　don't　you　sit　down　and　let's　talk　this　one　over　for　a　minute；　okay？〃
　　　　His　Highness　turned　back。　For　a　moment　he　looked　as　though　he　would　say　something；　but　the　drawn　face　changed　again　and　turned　away。
　　　　〃Your　Highness；　I　really　think　。　。　。〃　No　effect。　I　can't　let　him　go　out　of　here　like　this。　Well；　if　good　manners　won't　work　　Jack's　voice　became　sharp。
　　　　〃Hold　it！〃　The　Prince　turned　with　a　look　of　great　surprise。　〃Sit　down；　goddatnmit！〃　Ryan　pointed　to　the　chair。　At　least　I　have　his　attention　now。　I　wonder　if　they　can　take　a　knighthood　back　。　。　。　
　　　　By　this　time　the　Prince　flushed　a　bit。　The　color　gave　his　face　life　that　it　had　lacked。　He　wavered　for　a　moment；　then　sat　with　reluctance　and　resignation。
　　　　〃Now；〃　Ryan　said　heatedly；　〃I　think　I　know　what's　eating　at　you；　sir。　You　feel　bad　because　you　didn't　do　a　John　Wayne　number　yesterday　and　handle　those　gunmen　all　by　yourself；　right？〃　The　Prince　didn't