tc.redrabbit-第48节

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yan　thought；　sure。
　　　〃Well；〃　Harding　said；　checking　his　watch；　〃I　think　we've　served　Her　Majesty　enough　for　one　day。〃
　　　〃Agreed。〃　Ryan　stood　up　and　collected　his　jacket　off　the　clothes　tree。　Take　the　tube　this　time　to　Victoria　Station；　and　catch　the　Lionel　home。　The　routine　was　getting　to　him。　It　would　have　been　better　to　get　a　place　in　town　and　cut　down　the　mute；　but　that　way　Sally　wouldn't　have　much　in　the　way　of　green　grass　to　play　on；　and　Cathy　had　been　adamant　about　that。　Renewed　proof　that　he　was　indeed　pussy…whipped；　Jack　thought　on　the　way　to　the　elevator。　Well；　it　could　have　been　worse。　He　did　have　a　good　wife　to　do　the　whipping；　after　all。
　　　Colonel　Bubovoy　came　back　to　the　embassy　on　his　way　home　from　the　airport。　A　short　dispatch　was　waiting；　which　he　quickly　decrypted：　He'd　be　working　through　Colonel　Rozhdestvenskiy。　No　particular　surprise　there。
　　　Aleksey　Nikolay'ch　was　Andropov's　lapdog。　And　that　was　probably　a　good　job；　the　rezident　thought。　You　just　had　to　keep　the　boss　happy；　and　Yuriy　Vladimirovich　was　probably　not　the　demanding　bastard　that　Beria　had　been。　Party　people　might　be　overly　precise　in　their　demands；　but　anyone　who'd　worked　in　the　Party　Secretariat　doubtless　knew　how　to　work　with　people。　The　age　of　Stalin　had　indeed　passed。
　　　So；　it　looked　as　though　he　had　an　assassination　to　arrange；　Bubovoy　thought。　He　wondered　how　Boris　Strokov　would　react　to　it。　Strokov　was　a　professional；　with　little　in　the　way　of　excess　emotion；　and　less　in　the　way　of　a　professional　conscience。　To　him；　work　was　work。　But　the　magnitude　of　this　was　higher　than　anything　he　would　have　encountered　working　for　the　Dirzhavna　Sugurnost。　Would　that　frighten　him　or　excite　him？　It　would　be　interesting　to　see。　There　was　a　coldness　to　his　Bulgarian　colleague　that　both　alarmed　and　impressed　the　KGB　officer。　His　particular　skills　could　be　useful　things　to　have　in　one's　pocket。　And　if　the　Politburo　needed　this　annoying　Pole　killed；　then　he　would　just　have　to　die。　Too　bad；　but　if　what　he　believed　was　true；　then　they　were　just　sending　him　off　to　heaven　as　a　holy　martyr；　weren't　they？　Surely　that　was　the　secret　ambition　of　every　priest。
　　　Bubovoy's　only　concern　was　the　political　repercussions。　Those　would　be　epic；　and　so　it　was　good　that　he　was　just　a　cutout　in　the　operation。　If　it　went　bad；　well；　it　wouldn't　be　his　fault。　That　Strokov　was　the　best　man　for　the　job；　based　on　his　curriculum　vitae；　was　something　no　man　could　deny；　something　a　board　of　inquiry；　if　any；　could　confirm。　He'd　warned　the　Chairman　that　a　shot；　however　closely　taken；　would　not　necessarily　be　fatal。　He'd　have　to　put　that　in　a　memo　to　make　sure　the　thin　paper　trail　on　operation　15…8…82…666　would　have　his　formal　evaluation　in　it。　He'd　draft　it　himself　and　send　it　by　diplomatic　bag　to　The　Centre…and　keep　his　own　copy　in　his　office　safe；　just　to　make　sure　his　own　backside　was　properly　covered。
　　　But　for　now　he　would　have　to　wait　for　the　authorization　to　e　from　the　Politburo。　Would　those　old　women　elect　to　go　forward　with　this？　That　was　the　question；　and　one　on　which　he　would　not　make　a　wager。　Brezhnev　was　in　his　dotage。　Would　that　make　him　bloodthirsty　or　cautious？　It　was　too　hard　a　question　for　the　colonel　to　puzzle　out。　They　were　saying　that　Yuriy　Vladimirovich　was　the　heir　apparent。　If　so；　here　was　his　chance　to　win　his　spurs。
　　　〃So；　Mikhail　Yevgeniyevich；　will　you　support　me　tomorrow？〃　Andropov　asked　over　drinks　in　his　flat。
　　　Alexandrov　swirled　the　expensive　brown　vodka　in　his　glass。　〃Suslov　will　not　attend　tomorrow。　They　say　his　kidneys　have　failed；　and　he　has　no　more　than　two　weeks；〃　the　ideologue…in…waiting　said；　briefly　dodging　the　issue。　〃Will　you　support　me　for　his　chair？〃
　　　〃Need　you　ask；　Misha？〃　the　Chairman　of　the　mittee　for　State　Security　responded。　〃Of　course　I　will　support　you。〃
　　　〃Very　well。　So；　what　are　the　chances　for　success　in　this　operation　you　propose？〃
　　　〃About　fifty…fifty；　my　people　tell　me。　We　will　use　a　Bulgarian　officer　to　set　it　up；　but　for　security　reasons　the　assassin　will　have　to　be　a　Turk。。。〃
　　　〃A　black…ass　Muslim？〃　Alexandrov　asked　sharply。
　　　〃Misha；　whoever　it　is　will　almost　certainly　be　apprehended…dead；　according　to　our　plan。　It　is　impossible　to　expect　a　clean　getaway　in　such　a　mission。　Thus；　we　cannot　use　one　of　our　own。　The　nature　of　the　mission　places　constraints　upon　us。　Ideally；　we　would　use　a　trained　sniper…from　Spetsnaz；　for　example…from　three　hundred　meters；　but　that　would　mark　the　assassination　as　a　killing　done　by　a　nation…state。　No；　this　must　appear　to　be　the　act　of　a　single　madman；　as　the　Americans　have　them。　You　know；　even　with　all　the　evidence　the　Americans　had；　some　fools　over　there　still　blamed　Kennedy　on　us　or　Castro。　No；　the　evidence　we　leave　must　be　a　clear　sign　that　we　were　not　involved。　That　limits　our　operational　methods。　I　think　this　is　the　best　plan　we　can　e　up　with。〃
　　　〃How　closely　have　you　studied　it？〃　Alexandrov　asked；　taking　a　swallow。
　　　〃It　has　been　closely　held。　Operations　like　this　must　be。　Security　must　be　airtight；　Mikhail　Yevgeniyevich。〃
　　　The　Party　man　conceded　the　point：　〃I　suppose　that　is　so；　Yuriy…but　the　risk　of　failure。。。〃
　　　〃Misha；　in　every　aspect　of　life；　there　is　risk。　The　important　thing　is　that　the　operation　not　be　tied　to　us。　That　we　can　assure　with　certainty。　If　nothing　else；　a　serious　wound　will　at　least　lessen　Karol's　ardor　for　making　trouble　for　us；　will　it　not？〃
　　　〃It　should…〃
　　　〃And　half　a　chance　of　failure　means　half　a　chance　of　total　success；〃　Andropov　reminded　his　guest。
　　　〃Then　I　will　support　you。　Leonid　Ilyich　will　go　along　as　well。　That　will　carry　the　day。　How　long　after　that　to　get　things　moving？〃
　　　〃A　month　or　so；　perhaps　six　weeks。〃
　　　〃That　quickly？〃　Party　matters　rarely　sped　along　that　well。
　　　〃What　is　the　point　of　taking　such；　such…'executive　action；'　isn't　that　what　the　Americans　call　it？…if　it　is　to　take　so　long？　If　it　is　to　be　done；　better　that　it　should　be　done　quickly；　so　as　to　forestall　further　political　intrigue　by　this　man。〃
　　　〃Who　will　replace　him？〃
　　　〃Some　Italian；　I　suppose。　His　selection　was　a　major　aberration。　Perhaps　his　death　will　encourage　the　Romans　to　go　back　to　their　old　habits；〃　Andropov　suggested。　It　generated　a　laugh　from　his　guest。
　　　〃Yes；　they　are　so　predictable；　these　religious　fanatics。〃
　　　〃So　tomorrow　I　will　float　the　mission；　and　you　will　support　me？〃　Andropov　wanted　that　one　very　clear。
　　　〃Yes；　Yuriy　Vladimirovich。　You　will　have　my　support。　And　you　will　support　me　for　Suslov's　full　voting　seat　at　the　table。〃
　　　〃Tomorrow；　rade；〃　Andropov　promised。
　　　
　　　CHAPTER　12　…　HANDOFF
　　　This　time；　the　alarm　clock　worked；　and　woke　them　both。　Ed　Foley　rose　and　headed　for　the　bathroom；　quickly　made　way　for　his　wife；　then　headed　to　Eddie's　room　to　shake　him　loose　while　Mary　Pat　started　breakfast。　Their　son　immediately　switched　on　the　TV　and　got　the　morning　exercise　show　that　every　city　in　the　world　seemed　to　have；　starring；　as　everywhere　in　the　world；　a　woman　of　impressive　physique…she　looked　capable　of　waltzing　through　the　Army's　Ranger　School　at　Fort　Benning；　Georgia。　Because　he　had　seen　the　Lynda　Carter　series　at　home　on　cable；　Eddie　called　her　Worker…Womannnnnn！　Mary　Pat　was　of　the　opinion　that　the　Russian's　blond　hair　came　out　of　a　bottle；　while　Ed　thought　it　hurt　just　to　watch　the　things　she　did。　With　no　decent　paper　or　sports　page　to　read；　however；　he　had　little　choice　in　the　matter；　and　semi…vegetated　in　front　of　the　TV　while　his　son　giggled　through　the　end　of　the　wake…up…and…sweat　program。　It　was　done　live；　the　Chief　of　Station　saw。　So；　whoever　this　broad　was；　she　had　to　wake　up　at　four　in　the　morning；　and　so　this　was　probably　her　morning　workout　as　well。　Well；　then；　at　least　it　was　honest。　Her　husband　must　have　been　a　Red　Army　paratrooper；　and　she　could　probably　beat　the　shit　out　of　him；　Ed　Foley　thought；　waiting　for　the　morning　news。
　　　That　started　at　6：30。　The　trick　was　to　watch　it　and　then　try　to　figure　out　what　was　really　happening　in　the　world…just　like　at　home；　the　CIA　officer　thought；　with　an　early…morning　grumble。　Well；　he'd　have　the　Early　Bird　at　the　embassy　for　that；　sent　by　secure　fax　from　Washington　for　the　senior　embassy　staffers。　For　an　American　citizen；　living　in　Moscow　was　like　being　on　a　desert　island。　At　least　they　had　a　satellite　dish　at　the　embassy　so　they　could　download　CNN　and　other　programming。　It　made　them　feel　like　real　people…almost。
　　　Breakfast　was　breakfast。　Little　Eddie　liked　Frosted　Flakes…the　milk　was　from　Finland；　because　his　mother　didn't　trust　the　local　grocery　store；　and　the　foreigners…only　store　was　convenient　to　the　pound。　Ed　and　Mary　Pat　didn't　talk　much　over　breakfast；　in　deference　to　the　bugs　that　littered　their　walls。　They　never　talked　at　home　about　important　matters；　except　via　hand　code…and　never　in　front　of　their　son；　because　little　kids　were　incapable　of　keeping　secrets　of　any　kind。　In　any　case；　their　KGB　surveillance　people　were　probably　bored　with　the　Foleys　by　now；　which　they'd　both　worked　hard　at；　inserting　just　enough　randomness　in　their　behavior　to　make　them　look　like　Americans。　But　a　considered　amount。　Not　too　much。　They'd　planned　it　out　carefully　and　thoroughly　at　Langley；　with　the　help　of　a　tame　KGB　Second　Chief　Directorate　defector。
　　　Mary　Pa