tc.redrabbit-第22节

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osed　action；　he'd　have　to　have　the　action　fully　plotted　out；　with　a　guarantee　of　success。　Well；　that　was　what　he　had　KGB　for；　wasn't　it？
　　　
　　　CHAPTER　5　…　GETTING　CLOSE
　　　An　Early　Riser；　Yuriy　Vladimirovich　was　showered；　shaved；　dressed；　and　eating　his　breakfast　before　seven　in　the　morning。　For　him　it　was　bacon；　three　scrambled　eggs；　and　thickly　cut　Russian　bread　with　Danish　butter。　The　coffee　was　German　in　origin；　just　like　the　kitchen　appliances　his　apartment　boasted。　He　had　the　morning　Pravda；　plus　selected　cuttings　from　Western　newspapers；　translated　by　KGB　linguists；　and　some　briefing　material　prepared　in　the　early　hours　of　the　morning　at　The　Centre　and　hand…delivered　to　his　flat　every　morning　at　six。　There　was　nothing　really　important　today；　he　saw；　lighting　his　third　cigarette　and　drinking　his　second　cup　of　coffee。　All　routine。　The　American　President　hadn't　rattled　his　sabre　the　night　before；　which　was　an　agreeable　surprise。　Perhaps　he'd　dozed　off　in　front　of　the　TV；　as　Brezhnev　often　did。
　　　How　much　longer　would　Leonid　continue　to　head　the　Politburo？　Andropov　wondered。　Clearly　the　man　would　not　retire。　If　he　did；　his　children　would　suffer；　and　they　enjoyed　being　the　royal　family　of　the　Soviet　Union　too　much　to　let　their　father　do　that。　Corruption　was　never　a　pretty　thing。　Andropov　did　not　suffer　from　it　himself…indeed；　that　was　one　of　his　core　beliefs。　That　was　why　the　current　situation　was　so　frustrating。　He　would…he　had　to…save　his　country　from　the　chaos　into　which　it　was　falling。　If　I　live　long　enough；　and　Brezhnev　dies　soon　enough；　that　is。　Leonid　Ilyich　was　clearly　in　failing　health。　He'd　managed　to　stop　smoking…at　the　age　of　seventy…six；　which；　Yuriy　Vladimirovich　admitted　to　himself；　was　fairly　impressive…but　the　man　was　in　his　dotage。　His　mind　wandered。　He　had　trouble　remembering　things。　He　occasionally　dozed　off　at　important　meetings；　to　the　dismay　of　his　associates。　But　his　grasp　of　power　was　a　death…grip。　He'd　engineered　the　downfall　of　Nikita　Sergeyevich　Khrushchev　through　a　masterful　series　of　political　maneuvers；　and　nobody　in　Moscow　forgot　that　tidbit　of　political　history…a　trick　like　that　was　unlikely　to　work　on　someone　who'd　engineered　it　himself。　No　one　had　even　suggested　to　Leonid　that　he　might　wish　to　slow　down…if　not　actually　step　slightly　aside；　then　at　least　let　others　undertake　some　of　his　more　administrative　duties　and　allow　him　to　concentrate　his　abilities　on　the　really　major　questions。　The　American　President　was　not　all　that　much　younger　than　Brezhnev；　but　he　had　lived　a　healthier　life；　or　perhaps　came　from　hardier　peasant　stock。
　　　In　his　reflective　moments；　it　struck　Andropov　as　strange　that　he　objected　to　this　sort　of　corruption。　He　saw　it　precisely　as　such；　but　only　rarely　asked　himself　why　he　saw　it　so。　In　those　moments；　he　actually　did　fall　back　on　his　Marxist　beliefs；　the　very　ones　he'd　discarded　years　ago；　because　even　he　had　to　fall　back　on　some　sort　of　ethos；　and　that　was　all　he　had。　Stranger　still；　it　was　an　area　in　which　Marx　and　Christianity　actually　overlapped　in　their　beliefs。　Must　have　been　an　accident。　After　all；　Karl　Marx　had　been　a　Jew；　not　a　Christian；　and　whatever　religion　he　rejected　or　embraced　ought　to　have　been　his　own；　not　one　foreign　to　him　and　his　heritage。　The　KGB　Chairman　dismissed　the　entire　line　of　thought　with　an　annoyed　shake　of　the　head。　He　had　enough　on　his　professional　plate；　even　as　he　finished　what　lay　before　him。　There　was　a　discreet　knock　on　the　door。
　　　〃e；〃　Andropov　called；　knowing　who　it　was　by　the　sound。
　　　〃Your　car　is　ready；　rade　Chairman；〃　the　head　of　the　security　detail　announced。
　　　〃Thank　you；　Vladimir　Stepanovich。〃　He　rose　from　the　table；　lifted　his　suit　jacket；　and　shrugged　into　it　for　the　trip　to　work。
　　　This　was　a　routine　fourteen…minute　drive　through　central　Moscow。　His　ZIL　automobile　was　entirely　handmade；　actually　similar　in　appearance　to　the　American　Checker　taxicab。　It　ran　straight　down　the　center　of　the　expansive　avenues；　in　a　broad　lane　kept　clear　by　officers　of　the　Moscow　Militia　exclusively　for　senior　political　officials。　They　stood　out　there　all　day　in　the　heat　of　summer　and　the　punishing　cold　of　winter；　one　cop　every　three　blocks　or　so；　making　sure　no　one　obstructed　the　way　for　longer　than　it　took　to　make　a　crossing　turn。　It　made　the　drive　to　work　as　convenient　as　taking　a　helicopter；　and　far　easier　on　the　nerves。
　　　Moscow　Centre；　as　KGB　was　known　throughout　the　world　of　intelligence；　was　located　in　the　former　home　office　of　the　Rossiya　Insurance　pany；　and　a　mighty　pany　it　must　have　been　to　build　such　an　edifice。　Andropov's　car　pulled　through　the　gate　into　the　inner　courtyard；　right　up　to　the　bronze　doors；　where　his　car　door　was　yanked　open；　and　he　alit　to　the　official　salutes　from　uniformed　Eighth　Directorate　men。　Inside；　he　walked　to　the　elevator；　which　was　held　for　him；　of　course；　and　then　rode　to　the　top　floor。　His　detail　examined　his　face　to　ascertain　his　mood…as　such　men　did　all　over　the　world…and；　as　usual；　saw　nothing：　He　guarded　his　feelings　as　closely　as　a　professional　cardplayer。　On　the　top　floor　was　a　walk　of　perhaps　fifteen　meters　to　his　secretary's　door。　That　was　because　Andropov's　office　had　no　door　of　its　own。　Instead；　there　was　a　clothes　dresser　in　the　anteroom；　and　the　entrance　to　his　office　lay　within　that。　This　chicanery　dated　back　to　Lavrenti　Beria；　Stalin's　own　chief　of　clandestine　services；　who'd　had　a　large　and　hardly　unreasonable　fear　of　assassination　and　had　e　up　with　this　security　measure；　lest　a　mando　team　reach　all　the　way　into　NKVD　headquarters。　Andropov　found　it　theatrical；　but　it　was　something　of　a　KGB　tradition　and；　in　its　way；　roundly　entertaining　for　visitors…it　had　been　around　too　long　to　be　a　secret　from　anyone　able　to　get　this　far；　in　any　case。
　　　His　schedule　gave　him　fifteen　free　minutes　at　the　beginning　of　the　day　to　review　the　papers　on　his　desk　before　the　daily　briefings　began；　followed　by　meetings　that　were　scheduled　days　or　even　weeks　in　advance。　Today　it　was　almost　all　internal…security　matters；　though　someone　from　the　Party　Secretariat　was　scheduled　before　lunch　to　discuss　strictly　political　business。　Oh；　yes；　that　thing　in　Kiev；　he　remembered。　Soon　after　being　KGB　Chairman；　he'd　found　that　Party　affairs　paled　in　importance　next　to　the　agreeably　broad　canvas　he　had　here　at　#2　Dzerzhinskiy　Square。　The　charter　of　KGB；　insofar　as　it　had　such　a　limitation；　was　to　be　the　〃Sword　and　Shield〃　of　the　Party。　Hence　its　primary　mission；　theoretically；　was　to　keep　an　eye　on　Soviet　citizens　who　might　not　be　as　enthusiastic　as　they　ought　toward　their　own　country's　government。　Those　Helsinki　Watch　people　were　being　a　major　annoyance。　The　USSR　had　made　an　agreement　in　the　Finnish　capital　seven　years　before；　regarding　the　monitoring　of　human　rights；　and　they　evidently　took　it　seriously。　Worse；　they　had　attracted　the　on…and…off　attention　of　the　Western　news　media。　Reporters　could　be　a　huge　nuisance；　and　you　couldn't　rough　them　up　the　way　you　used　to…not　all　of　them；　anyway。　The　capitalist　world　treated　them　like　demigods；　and　expected　everyone　else　to　do　the　same；　when　everyone　knew　they　were　all　spies　of　some　kind。　It　was　amusing　to　see　how　the　American　government　overtly　forbade　its　intelligence　services　from　adopting　journalistic　covers。　Every　other　spy　service　in　the　world　did　it。　As　if　the　Americans　would　follow　their　own　lily…white　laws；　which　had　been　passed　only　to　make　other　countries　feel　good　about　having　The　New　York　Times　snooping　around　their　countries。　It　wasn't　even　worth　a　dismissive　snort。　Preposterous。　All　foreign　visitors　in　the　Soviet　Union　were　spies。　Everyone　knew　it；　and　that　was　why　his　Second　Chief　Directorate；　whose　job　was　counterespionage；　was　so　large　a　part　of　the　KGB。
　　　Well；　the　problem　that　had　cost　him　an　hour　of　sleep　the　night　before　wasn't　all　that　different；　was　it？　Not　when　you　got　down　to　it。　Yuriy　Vladimirovich　punched　a　button　on　his　inter。
　　　〃Yes；　rade　Chairman；〃　his　secretary…a　man；　of　course…answered　immediately。
　　　〃Send　Aleksey　Nikolayi'ch　in　to　see　me。〃
　　　〃At　once；　rade。〃　It　took　four　minutes　by　Andropov's　desk　clock。
　　　〃Yes；　rade　Chairman。〃　Aleksey　Nikolayevich　Rozhdestvenskiy　was　a　senior　colonel　in　the　First　Chief…〃Foreign〃…Directorate；　a　very　experienced　field　officer　who'd　served　extensively　in　Western　Europe；　though　never　in　the　Western　Hemisphere。　A　gifted　field　officer　and　runner…of…agents；　he'd　been　bumped　up　to　The　Centre　for　his　street…smart　expertise　and　to　act　more　or　less　as　an　in…house　expert　for　Andropov　to　consult　when　he　needed　information　on　field　operations。　Not　tall；　not　especially　handsome；　he　was　the　sort　of　man　who　could　turn　invisible　on　any　city　street　in　the　world；　which　partly　explained　his　success　in　the　field。
　　　〃Aleksey；　I　have　a　theoretical　problem。　You've　worked　in　Italy；　as　I　recall。〃
　　　〃For　three　years　in　Station　Rome；　rade　Chairman；　yes；　under　Colonel　Goderenko。　He's　still　there；　as　rezident。〃
　　　〃A　good　man？〃　Andropov　asked。
　　　He　gave　an　emphatic　nod　of　the　head。　〃A　fine　senior　officer；　yes；　rade　Chairman。　He　runs　a　good　station。　I　learned　much　from　him。〃
　　　〃How　well　does　he　know　the　Vatican？〃
　　　That　made　Rozhdestvenskiy　blink。　〃There　is　not　much　to　be　learned　there。　We　do　have　some　contacts；