tc.patriotgames-第74部分

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　　　　〃Hey；　Doc；〃　the　photojournalist　said。　〃My　wife's　pregnant　with　our　first。　If　it'll　help　this　guy；　I'm　for　it。　This　one　doesn't　make　the　papers。　You　got　my　word。　Doc。〃　
　　　　〃I　think　it'll　help；〃　the　FBI　agent　said。　〃I　really　do。〃　
　　　　Ten　minutes　later　Donoho　and　the　photographer　stripped　off　their　scrub　clothing。　The　FBI　agent　took　the　film　cassette　and　tucked　it　in　his　pocket。　Before　he　took　O'Neil　back　to　the　airport；　he　made　a　call　to　headquarters　in　Washington；　and　two　agents　drove　out　to　Ryan's　home　on　Peregrine　Cliff。　They　didn't　have　any　problem　with　the　alarm　system。

　　　　Jack　had　been　awake　for　more　than　twenty…four　hours　now。　If　he'd　been　able　to　think　about　it；　he　would　have　marveled　at　the　fact　that　he　was　awake　and　functional；　though　the　latter　observation　would　have　been　a　matter　of　dispute　to　anyone　who　saw　him　walking。　He　was　alone　now。　Robby　was　off　attending　to　something　that　he　couldn't　remember。
　　　　He　would　have　been　alone　in　any　case。　Twenty　minutes　earlier；　Cathy　had　been　moved　into　the　main　University　Hospital　plex；　and　Jack　had　to　go　see　her。　He　walked　like　a　man　facing　execution　down　a　drab　corridor　of　glazed　institutional　brick。　He　turned　a　corner　and　saw　what　room　it　had　to　be。　A　pair　of　state　troopers　was　standing　there。　They　watched　him　approach；　and　Jack　watched　their　eyes　for　a　sign　that　they　knew　all　of　this　was　his　fault；　that　his　wife　and　daughter　had　nearly　died　because　he'd　decided　that　there　was　nothing　to　worry　about。　Not　once　in　his　life　had　Jack　experienced　failure；　and　its　bitter　taste　made　him　think　that　the　whole　world　would　hold　him　in　the　same　contempt　he　felt　for　himself。
　　　　You're　so　fucking　smart。
　　　　It　seemed　to　his　senses　that　he　did　not　so　much　approach　the　door　　it　approached　him；　looming　ever　larger　in　his　sight。　Behind　the　door　was　the　woman　he　loved。　The　woman　who　had　nearly　died　because　of　his　confidence　in　himself。　What　would　she　say　to　him？　Did　he　dare　to　find　out？　Jack　stood　at　the　door　for　a　moment。　The　troopers　tried　not　to　stare　at　him。　Perhaps　they　felt　sympathy；　Jack　thought；　knowing　that　he　didn't　deserve　it。　The　doorknob　was　cold；　accusing　metal　in　his　hand　as　he　entered　the　room。
　　　　Cathy　was　lying　in　her　single…bed　room。　Her　arm　was　in　a　cast。　An　enormous　purple　bruise　covered　the　right　side　of　her　face　and　there　was　a　bandage　over　half　her　forehead。　Her　eyes　were　open　but　almost　lifeless；　staring　at　a　television　that　wasn't　on。　Jack　moved　toward　her　as　though　asleep。　A　nurse　had　set　a　chair　alongside　the　bed。　He　sat　in　it；　and　took　his　wife's　hand　while　he　tried　to　think　of　something　he　could　say　to　the　wife　he　had　failed。　Her　face　turned　toward　his。　Her　eyes　were　blackened　and　full　of　tears。
　　　　〃I'm　sorry。　Jack；〃　she　whispered。　
　　　　〃What？〃
　　　　〃I　knew　she　was　fooling　with　the　seat　belt；　but　I　didn't　do　anything　because　I　was　in　a　hurry　　and　then　that　truck　came；　and　I　didn't　have　time　to　　if　I　had　made　sure　she　was　strapped　in；　Sally　would　be　fine　。　。　。　but　I　was　in　a　hurry；〃　she　finished；　and　looked　away。　〃Jack；　I'm　so　sorry。〃　
　　　　My　God；　she　thinks　it's　her　fault　。　。　。　what　do　I　say　now？
　　　　〃She's　going　to　be　okay；　babe；〃　Ryan　managed　to　say；　stunned　at　what　he'd　just　heard。　He　held　Cathy's　hand　to　his　face　and　kissed　it。　〃And　so　are　you。　That's　the　only　thing　that　matters　now。〃　
　　　　〃But　〃　She　stared　at　the　far　wall。　
　　　　〃No　'buts。'　〃
　　　　Her　face　turned　back。　Cathy　tried　to　smile　but　tears　were　rolling　from　her　eyes。　〃I　talked　to　Doctor　Ellingstone　at　Hopkins　　he　came　over　and　saw　Sally。　He　says　　he　says　she'll　be　okay。　He　says　that　Shapiro　saved　her　life。〃　
　　　　〃I　know。〃
　　　　〃I　haven't　even　seen　her　　I　remember　seeing　the　bridge　and　then　I　woke　up　two　hours　ago；　and　　oh；　Jack！〃　Her　hand　closed　on　his　like　a　claw。　He　leaned　forward　to　kiss　her；　but　before　their　lips　touched；　both　started　weeping。
　　　　〃It's　okay；　Cathy；〃　Jack　said；　and　he　started　to　believe　that　it　really　was；　or　at　least　that　it　would　be　so　again。　His　world　had　not　ended；　not　quite。
　　　　But　someone　else's　will；　Ryan　told　himself。　The　thought　was　a　quiet；　distant　one；　voiced　in　a　part　of　his　mind　that　was　already　looking　at　the　future　while　the　present　occupied　his　sight。　Seeing　his　wife　weeping　tears　caused　by　someone　else　started　a　cold　rage　in　him　which　only　that　someone's　death　could　ever　warm。
　　　　The　time　for　grief　was　already　ending；　carried　away　by　his　own　tears。　Though　it　had　not　yet　happened；　Ryan's　intellect　was　already　beginning　to　think　of　the　time　when　his　emotions　would　be　at　rest　　most　of　them。　One　would　remain。　He　would　control　it；　but　it　would　also　control　him。　He　would　not　feel　like　a　whole　man　again　until　he　was　purged　of　it。
　　　　One　can　only　weep　for　so　long；　it　is　as　though　each　tear　carries　a　finite　amount　of　emotion　away　with　it。　Cathy　stopped　first。　She　used　her　hand　to　wipe　her　husband's　face。　She　managed　a　real　smile　now。　Jack　hadn't　shaved。　It　was　like　rubbing　sandpaper。　
　　　　〃What　time　is　it？〃　
　　　　〃Ten…thirty。〃　Jack　didn't　have　to　check　his　watch。
　　　　〃You　need　sleep；　Jack；〃　she　said。　〃You　have　to　stay　healthy；　too。〃　
　　　　〃Yeah。〃　Jack　rubbed　his　eyes。
　　　　〃Hi；　Cathy；〃　Robby　said　as　he　came　through　the　door。　〃I've　e　to　take　him　away　from　you。〃　
　　　　〃Good。〃
　　　　〃We're　checked　into　the　Holiday　Inn　over　on　Lombard　Street。〃　
　　　　〃We？　Robby；　you　don't　〃　
　　　　〃Stuff　it；　Jack；〃　Robby　said。　〃How　are　you；　Cathy？〃
　　　　〃I　have　a　headache　you　wouldn't　believe。〃
　　　　〃Good　to　see　you　smile；〃　Robby　said　softly。　〃Sissy'll　be　up　after　lunch。　Is　there　anything　she　can　get　for　you？〃　
　　　　〃Not　right　now。　Thanks；　Rob。〃
　　　　〃Hang　in　there；　Doc。〃　Robby　took　Jack's　arm　and　hauled　him　to　his　feet。　〃I'll　have　him　back　to　you　later　today。〃　
　　　　Twenty　minutes　later　Robby　led　Jack　into　their　motel　room。　He　pulled　a　pill　container　from　his　pocket。　〃The　doc　said　you　should　take　one　of　these。〃　
　　　　〃I　don't　take　pills。〃
　　　　〃You're　taking　one　of　these；　sport。　It's　a　nice　yellow　one。　That's　not　a　request；　Jack；　it's　an　order。　You　need　sleep。　Here。〃　Robby　tossed　them　over　and　stared　until　Jack　swallowed　one。　Ryan　was　asleep　in　ten　minutes。　Jackson　made　certain　that　the　door　was　secured　before　settling　down　on　the　other　bed。　The　pilot　dreamed　of　seeing　the　people　who　had　done　all　this。　They　were　in　an　airplane。　Four　times　he　fired　a　missile　into　their　bird　and　watched　their　bodies　spill　out　of　the　hole　it　made　so　that　he　could　blast　them　with　his　cannon　before　they　fell　into　the　sea。

　　　　The　Patriots　Club　was　a　bar　across　the　street　from　Broadway　Station　in　one　of　South　Boston's　Irish　enclaves。　Its　name　harkened　not　back　to　the　revolutionaries　of　the　1770s；　but　rather　to　the　owner's　image　of　himself。　John　Donoho　had　served　in　the　First　Marine　Division　on　the　bitter　retreat　from　the　Chosin　Reservoir。　Wounded　twice；　he'd　never　left　his　squad　on　the　long；　cold　march　to　the　port　of　Hungnam。　He　still　walked　with　a　slight　limp　from　the　four　toes　that　frostbite　had　taken　from　his　right　foot。　He　was　prouder　of　this　than　of　his　several　decorations；　framed　under　a　Marine　Corps　standard　behind　the　bar。　Anyone　who　entered　the　bar　in　a　Marine　uniform　always　got　his　first　drink　free；　along　with　a　story　or　two　about　the　Old　Corps；　which　Corporal　John　Donoho；　USMC　（ret。）；　had　served　at　the　ripe　age　of　eighteen。
　　　　He　was　also　a　professional　Irishman。　Every　year　he　took　an　Aer　Lingus　flight　from　Boston's　Logan　International　Airport　to　the　old　sod；　to　brush　up　on　his　roots　and　his　accent；　and　sample　the　better　varieties　of　whiskey　that　somehow　were　never　exported　to　America　in　quantity。　Donoho　also　tried　to　keep　current　on　the　happenings　in　the　North；　〃the　Six　Counties；〃　as　he　called　them；　to　maintain　his　spiritual　connection　with　the　rebels　who　labored　courageously　to　free　their　people　from　the　British　yoke。　Many　a　dollar　had　been　raised　in　his　bar；　to　aid　those　in　the　North；　many　a　glass　raised　to　their　health　and　to　the　Cause。
　　　　〃Hello；　Johnny！〃　Paddy　O'Neil　called　from　the　door。
　　　　〃And　good　evening　to　you；　Paddy！〃　Donoho　was　already　drawing　a　beer　when　he　saw　his　nephew　follow　O'Neil　through　the　door。　Eddie　was　his　dead　brother's　only　son；　a　good　boy；　educated　at　Notre　Dame；　where　he'd　played　second　string　on　the　football　team　before　joining　up　with　the　FBI。　It　wasn't　quite　as　good　as　being　a　Marine；　but　Uncle　John　knew　that　it　paid　a　lot　better。　He'd　heard　that　Eddie　was　following　O'Neil　around；　but　was　vaguely　sad　to　see　that　it　was　true。　Perhaps　it　was　to　protect　Paddy　from　a　Brit　assassin；　the　owner　rationalized。
　　　　John　and　Paddy　had　a　beer　together　before　the　latter　joined　a　small　group　waiting　for　him　in　the　back　room。　His　nephew　stayed　alone　at　the　end　of　the　bar；　where　he　drank　a　cup　of　coffee　and　kept　an　eye　on　things。　After　ten　minutes　O'Neil　went　back　to　give　his　talk。　Donoho　went　to　say　hello　to　his　nephew。　
　　　　〃Hi；　Uncle　John；〃　Eddie　greeted　him。
　　　　〃Have　you　set　the　date　yet；　now？〃　John　asked；　affecting　an　Irish　accent；　as　he　usually　did　when　O'Neil　was　around。　
　　　　〃Maybe　next　September；〃　the　younger　man　allowed。
　　　　〃And　what　would　your　father　say；　you　living　with　the　girl　for　almost　a　year？　And　the　good　fathers　at　Notre　Dame？〃　
　　　　〃Probably　the　same　thing　they'd　say　to　you　for　raising　money　for　terrorists；〃　the　young　agent　replied