tc.redrabbit-第49节

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nd　thoroughly　at　Langley；　with　the　help　of　a　tame　KGB　Second　Chief　Directorate　defector。
　　　Mary　Pat　had　her　husband's　clothes　all　laid　out　on　the　bed；　including　the　green　tie　to　go　with　his　brown　suit。　Like　the　President；　Ed　looked　good　in　brown；　his　wife　thought。　Ed　would　wear　a　raincoat　again；　and　he　would　keep　it　unbuttoned　and　loose　around　his　body　should　another　message　be　passed；　and　his　senses　would　be　thoroughly　sandpapered　all　day。　
　　　〃What　are　your　plans　for　the　day？〃　he　asked　Mary　Pat　in　the　living　room。
　　　〃The　usual。　I　might　get　together　with　Penny　after　lunch。〃
　　　〃Oh？　Well；　say　hello　for　me。　Maybe　we　can　get　together　for　dinner　later　this　week。〃
　　　〃Good　idea；〃　his　wife　said。　〃Maybe　they　can　explain　rugby　to　me。〃
　　　〃It's　like　football；　honey；　just　the　rules　are　a　little　goofy；〃　the　Station　Chief　explained。　〃Well；　off　to　keep　the　reporters　happy。〃
　　　〃Right！〃　Mary　Pat　laughed；　working　her　eyes　at　the　walls。　〃That　guy　from　the　Boston　Globe　is　such　an　ass。〃
　　　Outside；　the　morning　was　pleasant　enough…just　a　hint　of　cool　air　to　suggest　the　approach　of　autumn。　Foley　walked　off　toward　the　station；　waving　at　the　gate　guard。　The　guy　on　morning　duty　actually　smiled　once　in　a　while。　He'd　clearly　been　around　foreigners　too　much；　or　had　been　trained　to　do　so　by　KGB。　His　uniform　was　that　of　the　Moscow　Militia…the　city　police…but　Foley　thought　he　looked　a　little　too　intelligent　for　that。　Muscovites　thought　of　their　police　as　a　rather　low　form　of　life；　and　such　an　agency　would　not　attract　the　brightest　of　people。
　　　The　couple　blocks　to　the　metro　station　passed　quickly。　Crossing　the　streets　was　reasonably　safe　here…far　more　so　than　in　New　York…because　private　cars　were　pretty　rare。　And　it　was　a　good　thing。　Russian　drivers　made　the　Italians　look　prudent　and　orderly。　The　guys　driving　the　ubiquitous　dump　trucks　must　all　have　been　former　tank　crewmen；　judging　by　their　road　manners。　He　picked　up　his　copy　of　Pravda　at　the　kiosk　and　took　the　escalator　down　to　the　platform。　A　man　of　the　strictest　habits；　he　arrived　at　the　station　at　exactly　the　same　time　every　morning；　then　checked　the　clock　hanging　from　the　ceiling　to　make　sure。　The　subway　trains　ran　on　an　inhumanly　precise　schedule；　and　he　walked　aboard　at　exactly　7：43　A。M。　He　hadn't　looked　over　his　shoulder。　It　was　too　far　into　his　residency　in　Moscow　to　rubberneck　like　a　new　tourist；　and　that；　he　figured；　would　make　his　KGB　shadow　think　that　his　American　subject　was　about　as　interesting　as　the　kasha　that　Russians　liked　for　breakfast　along　with　the　dreadful　local　coffee。　Quality　control　was　something　the　Soviets　reserved　for　their　nuclear　weapons　and　space　program；　though　Foley　had　doubts　about　those；　based　on　what　he'd　seen　in　this　city；　where　only　the　metro　seemed　to　work　properly。　Such　a　strange　bination　of　casual…klutz　and　Germanlike　precision　they　were。　You　could　tell　how　well　things　worked　over　here　by　what　they　were　used　for；　and　intelligence　operations　had　the　highest　priority　of　all；　lest　the　Soviets'　enemies　find　out　not　what　they　had；　but　what　they　didn't　have。　Foley　had　agent　CARDINAL　to　tell　him　and　America　what　the　Soviet　Union　had　in　the　military　realm。　Generally；　it　was　good　stuff　to　learn；　but　that　was　mainly　because　the　more　you　learned；　the　less　you　had　to　worry。　No；　it　was　political　intelligence　that　counted　most　here　because；　as　backward　as　they　were；　they　were　still　big　enough　to　cause　trouble　if　you　couldn't　counter　them　early　on。　Langley　was　very　worried　about　the　Pope　at　the　moment。　He'd　evidently　done　something　that　might　be　embarrassing　to　the　Russians。　And　Ivan　didn't　like　being　embarrassed　in　the　political　field　any　more　than　American　politicians…just　that　Ivan　didn't　go　running　off　to　The　Washington　Post　to　get　even。　Ritter　and　Moore　were　very　concerned　about　what　Ivan　might　do…and　even　more　worried　about　what　Yuriy　Andropov　might　do。　Ed　Foley　didn't　have　a　feel　for　that　particular　Russian。　Like　most　in　CIA；　he　knew　the　guy　only　by　his　face；　name；　and　his　evident　liver　problems…that　information　had　leaked　out　through　a　means　the　Station　Chief　didn't　know。　Maybe　the　Brits。。。　if　you　could　trust　the　Brits；　Ed　cautioned　himself。　He　had　to　trust　them；　but　something　kept　making　the　hackles　on　his　neck　get　nervous　about　them。　Well；　they　probably　had　doubts　about　CIA。　Such　a　crazy　game　this　was。　He　scanned　the　front　page。　Nothing　surprising；　though　the　piece　on　the　Warsaw　Pact　was　a　little　interesting。　They　still　worried　about　NATO。　Maybe　they　really　did　worry　about　having　the　German　army　e　east　again。　They　were　certainly　paranoid　enough。。。　Paranoia　had　probably　been　invented　in　Russia。　Maybe　Freud　discovered　it　on　a　trip　here；　he　mused；　lifting　his　eyes　for　a　pair　tracking　him。。。　no；　none；　he　decided。　Was　it　possible　that　the　KGB　em》wasn't　tracking　him？　Well；　possible；　yes；　but　likely；　no。　If　they　had　a　guy…more　likely　a　team…shadowing　him；　the　coverage　would　be　expert…but　why　put　expert…but　why　put　expert　coverage　on　the　Press　Attache？　Foley　sighed　to　himself。　Was　he　too　much　of　a　worrier；　or　not　paranoid　enough？　And　how　did　you　tell　the　difference？　Or　might　he　have　exposed　himself　to　a　false…flag　operation　by　wearing　a　green　tie？　How　the　hell　do　you　tell？
　　　If　he　was　burned；　then　so　was　his　wife；　and　that　would　put　the　brakes　on　two　very　promising　CIA　careers。　He　and　Mary　Pat　were　Bob　Ritter's　fair…haired　pair；　the　varsity；　the　young　all…pro　team　at　Langley；　and　it　was　a　reputation　that　had　to　be　both　protected　carefully　and　also　built　upon。　The　President　of　the　United　States　himself　would　read　their　〃take〃　and　maybe　make　decisions　based　on　the　information　they　brought　in。　Important　decisions　that　could　affect　the　policy　of　their　country。　The　responsibility　was　not　something　to　dwell　on。　It　could　drive　you　nuts；　make　you　too　cautious…so　cautious　that　you　never　acplished　anything。　No；　the　biggest　problem　in　the　intelligence　business　was　in　drawing　the　line　between　circumspection　and　effectiveness。　If　you　leaned　too　far　the　one　way；　you　never　got　anything　useful　done。　If　you　went　too　far　the　other　way；　then　you　got　yourself　burned；　and　your　agents；　and　over　here　that　meant　virtual　certain　death　for　people　for　whose　lives　you　were　responsible。　It　was　a　dilemma　fit　to　drive　a　man　to　drink。
　　　The　metro　stopped　at　his　station　and　he　went　out　the　door；　then　up　the　escalator。　He　was　pretty　sure　that　nobody　had　fished　in　his　pocket。　On　the　street　level；　he　checked。　Nothing。　So　whomever　it　was；　either　he　only　rode　the　afternoon　train　or　the　Chief　of　Station　had　been　〃made〃　by　the　opposition。　It　would　give　him　something　to　worry　about　all　day。
　　　〃This　one's　for　you；〃　Dobrik　said；　handing　it　over。　〃From　Sofia。〃
　　　〃Oh？〃　Zaitzev　responded。
　　　〃It's　in　the　book；　your…eyes…only；　Oleg　Ivan'ch；〃　the　night…duty　officer　said。　〃At　least　it's　short。〃
　　　〃Ah；〃　Zaitzev　said；　taking　the　message　and　seeing　the　header：　15…8…82…666。　So　they　figured　that　with　a　number　instead　of　a　name；　the　header　didn't　need　to　be　encrypted。　He　didn't　react　or　say　anything　further。　It　just　wasn't　done。　Surely；　Kolya　wondered　about　it…it　was　the　office　sport　in　munications；　wondering　about　the　things　one　couldn't　read。　This　message　had　e　in　just　forty　minutes　after　his　departure。　〃Well；　something　to　start　my　watch　with。　Anything　else；　Nikolay　Konstantinovich？〃
　　　〃No；　aside　from　that；　you　have　a　clean　desk。〃　Dobrik　was　an　efficient　worker；　whatever　faults　he　might　have　had。　〃And　now　I　am　properly　relieved　of　duty。　At　home　I　have　a　fresh　bottle　of　vodka。〃
　　　〃You　should　eat　first；　Kolya；〃　Zaitzev　warned。
　　　〃That's　what　my　mother　says；　Oleg。　Perhaps　I'll　have　a　sandwich　with　my　breakfast；〃　he　joked。
　　　〃Sleep　well；　rade　Major；　I　relieve　you；〃　Zaitzev　said；　as　he　took　his　seat。　Ten　minutes　later；　he　had　the　brief　dispatch　decrypted。　The　Sofia　rezident　acknowledged　that　Colonel　Rozhdestvenskiy　was　his　point　of　contact　for　Operation　15…8…82…666。　So　that　/was　properly　crossed。　And　15…8…82…666　was　a　full…fledged　operation　now。　He　tucked　the　decrypted　message　into　a　manila　envelope；　sealed　it；　and　then　dripped　hot　wax　on　the　seal。
　　　They're　really　going　to　do　it；　Oleg　Ivanovich　told　himself　with　a　frown。　What　do　I　do　now？
　　　Work　his　usual　day；　and　then　look　for　a　green　tie　on　the　metro　home。　And　pray　he　saw　it？　Or　pray　he　didn't？
　　　Zaitzev　shook　the　thought　off　and　called　for　a　messenger　to　hand…deliver　the　dispatch　to　the　top　floor。　A　moment　later；　a　basketful　of　dispatches　landed　on　his　desk　for　processing。
　　　〃Ouch；〃　Ed　Foley　said　aloud　at　his　desk。　The　message…a　lengthy　one…came　from　Ritter　and　Moore；　speaking　for　the　President。　He'd　have　to　rattle　some　serious　bushes　for　this。
　　　Station　Moscow　didn't　have　a　written　list　of　agents；　even　by　code　names；　and　even　in　Foley's　office　safe；　which　in　addition　to　a　bination　had　a　two…phase　alarm　built　in；　a　keypad　on　the　outside；　and　one　on　the　inside　with　a　different　code；　which　Foley　had　set　himself。　The　embassy's　Marines　had　orders　to　respond　to　either　alarm　with　drawn　weapons；　since　the　contents　of　this　safe　were　about　the　most　sensitive　documents　in　the　whole　building。
　　　But　Foley　had　the　names　of　every　Russian　citizen　who　worked　for　the　Agency　hard　cut　into　his　eyelids；　along　with　their　specialty　areas。　Twelve　such　agents　were　curren