tc.redrabbit-第31节

按键盘上方向键 ← 或 → 可快速上下翻页，按键盘上的 Enter 键可回到本书目录页，按键盘上方向键 ↑ 可回到本页顶部！
————未阅读完？加入书签已便下次继续阅读！


d　so　absolutely　on　one…time　pads。　They　couldn't　trust　anything　else。
　　　〃How　good　is　this？〃　Ryan　asked　Harding。
　　　〃We　think　it's　the　genuine　article；　Jack。　Part　of　it　es　from　open　sources；　but　most　es　from　documents　prepared　for　their　Council　of　Ministers。　At　that　level；　they　don't　lie　to　themselves　much。〃
　　　〃Why　not？〃　Jack　asked　pointedly。　〃Everyone　else　there　does。〃
　　　〃But　here　you're　dealing　with　something　concrete；　products　that　have　to　be　delivered　to　their　army。　If　they　do　not　appear；　it　will　be　noted；　and　inquiries　will　be　made。　In　any　case；〃　Harding　went　on；　qualifying　himself　carefully；　〃the　most　important　material　here　has　to　do　with　policy　questions；　and　for　that　you　gain　nothing　by　lying。〃　
　　　〃I　suppose。　I　raised　a　little　hell　at　Langley　last　month　when　I　ripped　through　an　economics　assessment　that　was　going　on　to　the　President's　office。　I　said　it　couldn't　possibly　be　true；　and　the　guy　who　drew　it　up　said　it　was　just　what　the　Politburo　saw　at　their　meetings…〃
　　　〃And　you　said　what；　Jack？〃　Harding　interrupted。
　　　〃Simon；　I　said；　whether　the　big　shots　saw　it　or　not；　it　simply　could　not　be　true。　That　report　was　total　bullshit…which　makes　me　wonder　how　the　hell　their　Politburo　makes　policy　when　the　data　they　base　it　on　is　about　as　truthful　as　Alice…in…goddamned…wonderland。　You　know；　when　I　was　in　the　Marine　Corps；　we　worried　that　Ivan　Ivanovich　the　Russian　Soldier　might　be　ten　feet　tall。　He　isn't。　There　may　be　a　lot　of　them；　but　they're　actually　smaller　than　our　people　because　they　don't　eat　as　well　as　children；　and　their　weapons　suck。　The　AK…47's　a　nice　rifle；　but　I'll　take　the　M…16　over　it　any　time；　and　a　rifle　is　a　damned　sight　simpler　than　a　portable　radio。　So　I　finally　get　into　CIA　and　find　out　the　tactical　radios　their　army　uses　are　for　shit；　and　so　it　turns　out　I　was　right　about　that　back　when　I　was　a　shavetail　butter…bar　in　the　Green　Machine。　Bottom　line；　Simon；　they　lie　to　the　Politburo　on　what　are　supposed　to　be　economic　realities；　and　if　they　lie　to　those　folks；　they'll　lie　about　anything。〃
　　　〃So；　what　happened　to　the　report　to　your　President？〃
　　　〃They　sent　it　to　him；　but　with　five　pages　of　mine　appended　to　the　back。　I　hope　he　got　that　far。　They　say　he　reads　a　lot。　Anyway；　what　I'm　saying　is　that　they　base　their　policy　on　lies；　and　maybe　we　can　make　better　policy　by　appreciating　reality　a　little　bit　better。　I　think　their　economy's　in　the　shitter；　Simon。　It　can't　be　performing　as　well　as　their　data　says　it　is。　If　it　were；　we'd　be　seeing　the　positive　results　in　the　products　they　make；　but　we　don't；　do　we？〃
　　　〃Why　be　afraid　of　a　country　that　can't　feed　itself？〃
　　　〃Yep。〃　Ryan　nodded。
　　　〃In　the　Second　World　War…〃
　　　〃In　1941；　Russia　got　invaded　by　a　country　that　they　never　liked　much；　but　Hitler　was　too　damned　stupid　to　make　their　antipathy　for　their　own　government　work　for　him；　so　he　implemented　racist　policies　that　were　calculated　to　drive　the　Russian　people　back　into　the　arms　of　Joe　Stalin。　So　that's　a　false　parison；　Simon。　The　Soviet　Union　is　fundamentally　unstable。　Why？　Because　it's　an　unjust　society；　and　there　ain't　no　such　thing　as　a　stable　unjust　society。　Their　economy。。。〃　He　paused。　〃You　know；　there　ought　to　be　a　way　to　make　that　work　for　us。。。〃
　　　〃And　do　what？〃
　　　〃Shake　their　foundations　some。　Maybe　a　mild　earthquake；〃　Ryan　suggested。
　　　〃And　bring　them　crashing　down？〃　Harding　asked。　His　eyebrows　went　up。　〃They　do　have　a　lot　of　nuclear　weapons；　you　might　want　to　remember。〃
　　　〃Okay；　fine；　we　try　to　arrange　a　soft　landing。〃
　　　〃Bloody　decent　of　you；　Jack。〃
　　　
　　　CHAPTER　7　…　SIMMERING
　　　Ed　foleys　job　as　Press　Attache　was　not　overly　demanding　in　terms　of　the　time　required　to　stroke　the　local　American　correspondents　and　occasionally　others。　〃Others〃　included　reporters　purportedly　from　Pravda　and　other　Russian　publications。　Foley　assumed　that　all　of　them　were　KGB　officers　or　stringers…there　was　no　difference　between　the　two　since　KGB　routinely　used　journalistic　covers　for　its　field　officers。　As　a　result；　most　Soviet　reporters　in　America　as　often　as　not　had　an　FBI　agent　or　two　in　close　attendance；　at　least　when　the　FBI　had　agents　to　spare　for　the　task；　which　wasn't　all　that　often。　Reporters　and　field　intelligence　officers　had　virtually　identical　functions。
　　　He'd　just　been　pinged　hard　by　a　Pravda　guy　named　Pavel　Kuritsyn；　who　was　either　a　professional　spook　or　sure　as　hell　had　read　a　lot　of　spy　novels。　Since　it　was　easier　to　act　dumb　than　smart；　he'd　fumbled　through　his　Russian；　smiling　with　apparent　pride　at　how　well　he'd　mastered　the　plex　language。　For　his　part；　Kuritsyn　had　advised　the　American　to　watch　Russian　TV；　the　quicker　to　master　the　mother　tongue。　Foley　had　then　drafted　a　contact　report　for　the　CIA　files；　noting　that　this　Pavel　Yevgeniyevich　Kuritsyn　smelled　like　a　Second　Chief　Directorate　boy　who　was　checking　him　out；　and　opining　that　he　thought　he'd　passed　the　test。　You　couldn't　be　sure；　of　course。　For　all　he　knew；　the　Russians　did　employ　people　who　read　minds。　Foley　knew　that　they'd　experimented　in　almost　everything；　even　something　called　remote　viewing；　which　to　his　professional　mind　was　a　step　down　from　gypsy　fortune…tellers…but　which　had　gotten　the　Agency　to　start　a　program　of　its　own；　much　to　Foley's　disgust。　For　Ed　Foley；　if　you　couldn't　hold　it；　then　it　wasn't　real。　But　there　was　no　telling　what　those　pantywaists　in　the　Directorate　of　Intelligence　would　try；　just　to　bypass　what　the　DO　people…the　real　spooks　in　CIA…had　to　do　every　goddamned　day。
　　　It　was　enough　that　Ivan　had　eyes；　and　Christ　knew　how　many　ears；　in　the　embassy；　though　the　building　was　regularly　swept　by　electronics　experts。　（Once　they'd　even　succeeded　in　planting　a　bug　in　the　ambassador's　own　office。）　Just　across　the　street　was　a　former　church　that　was　used　by　KGB。　In　the　U。S。　Embassy；　it　was　known　as　Our　Lady　of　the　Microchips；　because　the　structure　was　full　of　microwave　transmitters　aimed　at　the　embassy；　their　function　being　to　interfere　with　all　the　listening　devices　that　Station　Moscow　used　to　tap　in　to　Soviet　phone　and　radio　systems。　The　amount　of　radiation　that　came　in　flirted　with　dangerous…to…your…health　levels；　and　as　a　result　the　embassy　was　protected　with　metal　sheeting　in　the　drywall；　which　reflected　a　lot　of　it　right　back　at　the　people　across　the　street。　The　game　had　rules；　and　the　Russians　pretty　much　played　within　them；　but　the　rules　often　didn't　make　a　hell　of　a　lot　of　sense。　There　had　been　quiet　protests　to　the　local　natives　about　the　microwaves；　but　these　were　invariably　met　with　shrugs　of　〃Who；　us？〃　And　that　was　as　far　as　it　usually　went。　The　embassy　doc　said　he　wasn't　worried…but　his　office　was　in　the　basement；　shielded　from　the　radiation　by　stone　and　dirt。　Some　people　said　you　could　cook　a　hot　dog　by　putting　it　on　the　east…facing　windowsills。
　　　Two　people　who　did　know　about　Ed　Foley　were　the　ambassador　and　the　Defense　Attache。　The　former　was　Ernest　Fuller。　Fuller　looked　like　an　illustration　from　a　book　about　patricians：　tall；　slim；　with　a　regal　mane　of　white　hair。　In　fact；　he'd　grown　up　on　an　Iowa　hog　farm；　gotten　a　scholarship　to　Northwestern　University；　and　then　a　law　degree；　which　had　taken　him　to　corporate　boardrooms；　where　he　finally　ended　up　as　CEO　of　a　major　auto　pany。　Along　the　way；　he'd　served　three　years　in　the　U。S。　Navy　in　World　War　II　on　the　light　cruiser　USS　Boise　during　the　Guadalcanal　campaign。　He　was　regarded　as　a　serious　player　and　a　gifted　amateur　by　the　embassy's　FSOs。
　　　The　Defense　Attache　was　Brigadier　General　George　Dalton。　By　profession　an　artilleryman；　he　got　along　well　with　his　Russian　counterparts。　Dalton　was　a　bear　of　a　man　with　curly　black　hair；　who'd　played　linebacker　for　West　Point　twenty…odd　years　before。
　　　Foley　had　an　appointment　with　both　of　them…ostensibly；　to　talk　over　relations　with　the　American　news　correspondents。　Even　his　internal　embassy　business　needed　a　cover　in　this　station。
　　　〃How's　your　son　adjusting？〃　Fuller　asked。
　　　〃He　misses　his　cartoons。　Before　we　came　over；　I　bought　one　of　those　new　tape　machines…you　know；　the　Betamax　thing…and　some　tapes；　but　those　only　last　so　long；　and　they　cost　an　arm　and　a　leg。〃
　　　〃There's　a　local　version　of　Roadrunner…Coyote；〃　General　Dalton　told　him。　〃It's　called　Wait　a　Moment；　something　like　that。　It's　not　as　good　as　Warner　Brothers；　but　better　than　that　damned　exercise　show　in　the　morning。　The　gal　on　that　could　whip　a　mand　sergeant…major。〃
　　　〃I　noticed　that　yesterday　morning。　Is　she　part　of　their　Olympic　weight…lifting　squad？〃　Foley　joked。　〃Anyway。。。〃
　　　〃First　impressions…any　surprises？〃　Fuller　asked。
　　　Foley　shook　his　head。　〃About　what　I　was　briefed　to　expect。　Looks　like　everywhere　I　go；　I　have　pany。　How　long　you　suppose　that　will　last？〃
　　　〃Maybe　a　week　or　so。　Take　a　walk　around…better　yet；　watch　Ron　Fielding　when　he　takes　a　walk。　He　does　his　job　pretty　well。〃
　　　〃Anything　major　under　way？〃　Ambassador　Fuller　asked。
　　　〃No；　sir。　Just　routine　operations　at　the　moment。　But　the　Russians　have　something　very　large　happening　at　home。〃
　　　〃What's　that？〃　Fuller　asked。
　　　〃They　call　it　Operation　RYAN。　Their　acronym　for　Surprise　Nuclear　Attack　on　the　Motherland。　They're　worried　that　the　President　might　want　to　nuke　them；　and　they　have　officers　running　around　back　home　trying　to　get　a　feel