tc.redrabbit-第130节

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haps　two　hundred　yards　long。
　　　Okay；　he　thought；　time　to　do　some　analysis。　The　shooter　would　be　a　pro。　A　pro　would　have　two　considerations：　one；　getting　a　good　shot　off；　and　two；　getting　the　hell　out　of　here　alive。
　　　So　Ryan　turned　to　see　potential　exit　routes。　To　the　left；　closest　to　the　facade　of　the　church；　people　would　really　pile　up　there　in　their　desire　to　get　the　first　look　at　the　Pope　as　he　came　out。　Farther　down；　the　open　vehicle　path　widened　somewhat；　increasing　the　range　of　the　shot…something　to　be　avoided。　But　the　shooter　still　needed　to　get　his　ass　out　of　Dodge　City；　and　the　best　way　to　do　that　was　toward　the　side　street　where　Sharp　had　parked　the　day　before。　You　could　stash　a　car　there；　probably；　and　if　you　made　it　that　far；　you'd　go　pedal…to…the…metal　and　race　the　hell　off　to　wherever　you　had　a　backup　car　parked…a　backup；　because　the　cops　would　sure　as　hell　be　looking　for　the　first　one；　and　Rome　had　a　goodly　supply　of　police　officers　who'd　run　through　fire　to　catch　whoever　had　popped　a　cap　on　the　Pope。
　　　Back　to　the　shooting　place。　He　wouldn't　want　to　be　in　the　thickest　part　of　the　crowd；　so　he　wouldn't　want　to　be　too　close　to　the　church。　But　he'd　want　to　boogie　out　through　that　arch。　Maybe　sixty　or　seventy　yards。　Ten　seconds；　maybe？　With　a　clear　path；　yeah；　about　that。　Double　it；　just　to　be　sure。　He'd　probably　yell　something　like　〃There　he　goes！〃　as　a　distraction。　It　might　make　him　easier　to　identify　later；　but　Colonel　Strokov　will　be　figuring　to　sleep　Wednesday　night　in　Sofia。　Check　flight　times；　Jack　told　himself。　If　he　takes　the　shot　and　gets　away；　he　won't　be　swimming　home；　will　he？　No；　he'll　opt　for　the　fastest　way　out…unless　he　has　a　really　deep　hidey…hole　here　in　Rome。
　　　That　was　a　possibility。　The　problem　was　that　he　was　dealing　with　an　experienced　field　spook；　and　he　could　have　a　lot　of　things　planned。　But　this　was　reality；　not　a　movie；　and　professionals　kept　things　simple；　because　even　the　simplest　things　could　go　to　shit　in　the　real　world。
　　　He'll　have　at　least　one　backup　plan。　Maybe　more；　but　sure　as　hell　he'll　have　one。
　　　Dress　up　like　a　priest；　maybe？　There　were　a　lot　of　them　in　evidence。　Nuns；　too…more　than　Ryan　had　ever　seen。　How　tall　is　Strokov？　Anything　over　five…eight　and　he'd　be　too　tall　for　a　nun。　But　if　he　dressed　as　a　priest；　you　could　hide　a　fucking　RPG　in　a　cassock。　That　was　a　pleasant　thought。　But　how　fast　could　one　run　in　a　cassock？　That　was　a　possible　downside。
　　　You　have　to　assume　a　pistol；　probably　a　suppressed　pistol。　A　rifle…no；　its　dangers　lay　in　its　virtues。　It　was　so　long　that　the　guy　standing　next　to　him　could　bat　the　barrel　off　target；　and　he'd　never　get　a　good　round　off。　An　AK…47；　maybe；　able　to　go　rock…and…roll？　But；　no；　it　was　only　in　the　movies　that　people　fired　machine　guns　from　the　hip。　Ryan　had　tried　it　with　his　M…16　at　Quantico。　It　felt　real　John　Wayne；　but　you　just　couldn't　hit　shit　that　way。　The　sights；　the　gunnery　sergeants　had　all　told　his　class　at　the　Basic　School；　are　there　for　a　reason。　Like　Wyatt　Earp　shooting　on　TV…draw　and　fire　from　the　hip。　It　just　didn't　work　unless　your　other　hand　was　on　the　fucker's　shoulder。　The　sights　are　there　for　a　reason；　to　tell　you　where　the　weapon　is　pointed；　because　the　bullet　you're　shooting　is　about　a　third　of　an　inch　in　diameter；　and　you　are；　in　fact；　shooting　at　a　target　just　that　small；　and　a　hiccup　could　jerk　you　off　target；　and　under　stress　your　aim　just　gets　worse　。。。　unless　you're　used　to　the　idea　of　killing　people。　Like　Boris　Strokov；　colonel　of　the　Dirzhavna　Sugurnost。　What　if　he　was　one　of　those　who　just　didn't　rattle；　like　Audie　Murphy　of　the　Third　Infantry　Division　in　WWII？　But　how　many　people　like　that　were　around？　Murphy　had　been　one　in　eight　million　American　soldiers；　and　nobody　had　seen　that　deadly　quality　in　him　before　it　just　popped　out　on　the　battlefield；　probably　surprising　even　him。　Murphy　himself　probably　never　appreciated　how　different　he　was　from　everybody　else。
　　　Strokov　is　a　pro；　Jack　reminded　himself。　And　so　he'll　act　like　a　pro。　He'll　plan　every　detail；　especially　the　getaway。
　　　〃You　must　be　Ryan；〃　a　British　voice　said　quietly。　Jack　turned　to　see　a　pale　man　with　red　hair。
　　　〃Who　are　you？〃
　　　〃Mick　King；〃　the　man　replied。　〃Sir　Basil　sent　the　four　of　us　down。　Sussing　the　area　out？〃
　　　〃How　obvious　am　I？〃　Ryan　worried　suddenly。
　　　〃You　could　well　be　an　architecture　student。〃　King　blew　it　off。　〃What　do　you　think？〃
　　　〃I　think　the　shooter　would　stand　right　about　here；　and　try　to　boogie　on　out　that　way；〃　Jack　said；　pointing。　King　looked　around　before　speaking。
　　　〃It's　a　dicey　proposition；　however　one　plans　it；　with　all　the　people　sure　to　be　here；　but；　yes；　that　does　look　the　most　promising　option；〃　the　spook　agreed。
　　　〃If　I　were　planning　to　do　it　myself；　I'd　want　to　use　a　rifle　from　up　there。　We'll　need　to　have　somebody　topside　to　handle　that　possibility。〃
　　　〃Agreed。　I'll　have　John　Sparrow　go　up　there。　The　chap　with　short　hair　over　there。　He　brought　a　ton　of　cameras　with　him。〃
　　　〃One　more　man　to　camp　out　in　the　street　that　way。　Our　bird　will　probably　have　a　car　to　skip　town　with；　and　that's　where　I'd　park　it。〃
　　　〃A　little　too　convenient；　don't　you　think？〃
　　　〃Hey；　I'm　an　ex…Marine；　not　a　chess　master；〃　Ryan　replied。　But　it　was　good　to　have　somebody　second…guessing　him。　There　were　a　lot　of　tactical　possibilities　here；　and　everybody　read　a　map　a　little　differently；　and　Bulgarians　might　well　study　out　of　a　different　playbook　altogether。
　　　〃It's　a　pig　of　a　mission　they've　given　us。　Best　hope　is　that　this　Strokov　fellow　doesn't　show　up。　Oh；　here　he　is；〃　King　said；　handing　Ryan　an　envelope。
　　　It　was　full　of　eight…by…ten　prints；　actually　of　pretty　good　quality。
　　　〃Nick　Thompson　told　me　he　has　lifeless　eyes；〃　Ryan　said；　looking　at　one　of　them。
　　　〃Does　seem　rather　a　cold　chap；　doesn't　he？〃
　　　〃When　we　e　here　Wednesday；　we　going　to　be　carrying？〃
　　　〃I　certainly　shall　be；〃　King　said　positively。　〃Nine…millimeter　Browning。　There　ought　to　be　a　few　more　at　the　embassy。　I　know　you　can　shoot　accurately　under　pressure；　Sir　John；〃　he　added；　with　casual　respect。
　　　〃It　doesn't　mean　I　like　to；　pal。〃　And　the　best　engagement　range　for　any　pistol　was　contact　range；　holding　the　gun　right　against　the　other　bastard。　Kinda　hard　to　miss　that　way。　It　would　even　cut　the　noise　down；　too。　Plus；　it　was　a　hell　of　a　good　way　to　tell　someone　not　to　do　anything　untoward。
　　　For　the　next　two　hours；　the　five　men　walked　the　piazza；　but　they　kept　ing　back　to　the　same　place。
　　　〃We　can't　cover　it　all；　not　without　a　hundred　men；〃　Mick　King　finally　said。　〃And　if　you　can't　be　strong　everywhere；　you　might　as　well　pick　one　place　and　be　strong　there。〃
　　　Jack　nodded；　remembering　how　Napoleon　had　ordered　his　generals　to　e　up　with　a　plan　for　protecting　France　from　invasion；　and　when　a　senior　officer　had　spread　his　troops　evenly　along　the　borders；　he'd　heartlessly　inquired　if　the　guy　was　trying　to　protect　against　smuggling。　So；　yeah；　if　you　couldn't　be　strong　everywhere；　then　you　planned　to　be　strong　somewhere；　and　prayed　that　you'd　picked　the　right　spot。　The　key；　as　always；　was　to　put　yourself　into　the　other　guy's　head；　just　as　they'd　taught　him　to　do　as　an　intelligence　analyst。　Think　the　way　your　adversary　thinks；　and　stop　him　that　way。　It　sounded　so　good　and　so　easy　theoretically。　It　was　rather　different　in　the　field；　however。
　　　They　caught　Tom　Sharp　walking　into　the　basilica；　and　together　they　went　off　to　a　restaurant　for　lunch　and　a　talk。
　　　〃Sir　John　is　right；〃　King　said。　〃The　best　spot　is　over　on　the　left　side。　We　have　photos　of　the　bugger。　We　put　you；　John〃…he　said　to　Sparrow…〃atop　the　colonnade　with　your　cameras。　Your　job　will　be　to　sweep　the　crowd　and　try　to　spot　the　bastard；　and　radio　your　information　to　us。〃
　　　Sparrow　nodded；　but　his　face　showed　what　he　thought　of　the　job　as　the　beers　arrived。
　　　〃Mick；　you　had　it　right　from　the　beginning；〃　Sparrow　said。　〃It's　a　pig　of　a　job。　We　ought　to　have　the　whole　bloody　SAS　regiment　here；　and　even　that　would　not　be　enough。〃　The　22nd　Special　Air　Service　Regiment　was　actually　just　a　pany　or　two　in　size；　brilliant　troopers　that　they　were。
　　　〃Ours　is　not　to　reason　why；　lad；〃　Sharp　told　them　all。　〃So　good　to　know　that　Basil　knows　his　Tennyson。〃　The　resulting　snorts　around　the　lunch　table　told　the　tale。
　　　〃What　about　radios？〃　Jack　asked。
　　　〃On　the　way　by　courier；〃　Sharp　answered。　〃Small　ones；　they'll　fit　in　a　pocket；　and　they　have　ear　pieces；　but　not　small　microphones；　unfortunately。〃
　　　〃Shit；〃　Ryan　observed。　The　Secret　Service　would　have　exactly　what　they　needed　for　this　mission；　but　you　couldn't　just　call　them　up　and　have　them　delivered。　〃What　about　the　Queen's　protective　detail？　Who　does　that？〃
　　　〃The　Metropolitan　Police；　I　believe。　Why…〃
　　　〃Lapel　mikes；〃　Ryan　answered。　〃It's　what　the　Secret　Service　uses　at　home。〃
　　　〃I　can　ask；〃　Sharp　responded。　〃Good　idea；　Jack。　They　might　well　have　what　we　need。〃
　　　〃They　ought　to　cooperate　with　us；〃　Mick　King　thought　aloud。
　　　〃I'll　see　to　it　this　afternoon；〃　Sharp　promised。
　　　Yeah；　Ryan　thought；　we'll　be　the　best…equipped　guys　ever　to　blow　a　mission。
　　　〃They　call　this　beer？〃　Sparrow　asked　after　his　first　sip。
　　　〃Better　than　American　canned　piss；〃　another　of　the　new　arrivals　thought　aloud。
　　　Jack　didn't　r