tc.redrabbit-第55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！


　　　〃Good。　Let's　keep　it　that　way。〃　He　handed　over　the　blank。
　　　〃By　your　order；　rade　Colonel。〃　Zaitzev　watched　him　head　off。　He　barely　had　time　to　get　this　done　before　taking　his　leave。
　　　MOST　SECRET
　　　IMMEDIATE　AND　URGENT
　　　FROM：　OFFICE　OF　CHAIRMAN；　Moscow　CENTRE
　　　To：　REZIDENT　SOFIA
　　　REFERENCE：　OPERATIONAL　DESIGNATOR　15…8…82…666
OPERATION　APPROVED。　NEXT　STEP　INTERMEDIATE　APPROVAL　BULGARIAN　POLITBURO。　EXPECT　FULL　APPROVAL　TEN　DAYS　OR　LESS。　CONTINUE　PLANNING　FOR　OPERATION。

　　　Zaitzev　saw　it　telexed　off；　then　handed　the　copy　to　a　messenger　to　be　hand…delivered　to　the　top　floor。　Then　he　took　his　leave；　walking　a　little　more　swiftly　than　usual。　Out　on　the　street；　he　fished　out　his　cigarette　pack　to　get　himself　another　Trud　before　going　down　the　escalator　to　the　metro　platform。　There；　he　checked　the　ceiling　clock。　He'd　actually　walked　too　quickly；　he　saw；　and　so　let　the　train　go　without　him；　fumbling　with　his　cigarette　pack　as　an　excuse　if　anyone　was　watching　him…but　then　again；　if　anyone　were　watching　him　now；　he　was　already　a　dead　man。　The　thought　made　his　hands　shake；　but　it　was　too　late　for　that。　The　next　train　came　out　of　the　tunnel　exactly　on　time；　and　he　boarded　the　proper　carriage；　shuffling　in　with　fifteen　or　so　other　workers。。。
　　　And　there　he　was。　Reading　a　newspaper；　wearing　an　unbuttoned　raincoat；　his　right　hand　on　the　chrome　overhead　bar。
　　　Zaitzev　wandered　that　way。　In　his　right　hand　was　the　second　note　that　he'd　just　fished　out　of　his　cigarette　pack。　Yes；　he　saw　belatedly；　the　man　was　wearing　a　bright　green　tie；　held　in　place　by　a　gold…colored　tie　bar。　A　brown　suit；　a　clean　white　shirt　that　looked　expensive；　and　his　face　was　occupied　with　the　paper。　The　man　did　not　look　around。　Zaitzev　slid　closer。
　　　One　of　the　things　Ed　Foley　had　studied　at　The　Farm　was　how　to　perfect　his　peripheral　vision。　With　training　and　practice；　your　eyes　could　actually　see　a　wider　field　than　the　unschooled　realized。　At　CIA　camp；　he'd　learned　by　walking　down　the　street　and　reading　house　numbers　without　turning　his　head。　Best　of　all；　it　was　like　riding　a　bicycle。　Once　learned；　it　was　always　there　if　you　just　concentrated　when　you　needed　to。　And　so　he　noticed　that　someone　was　moving　slowly　toward　him…white　male；　about　five…nine；　medium　build；　brown　eyes　and　hair；　drab　clothes；　needed　a　haircut。　He　didn't　see　the　face　clearly　enough　to　remember　it　or　to　pick　it　out　of　a　lineup。　A　Slavic　face；　that　was　all。　Expressionless；　and　the　eyes　were　definitely　in　his　direction。　Foley　didn't　allow　his　breathing　to　change；　though　his　heart　might　have　increased　its　frequency　by　a　few　extra　beats。
　　　e　on；　Ivan。　I'm　wearing　the　fucking　tie；　just　like　you　said。　He'd　gotten　on　at　the　right　stop。　KGB　headquarters　was　just　a　block　from　the　escalator。　So；　yeah；　this　guy　was　probably　a　spook。　And　not　a　false…flag。　If　this　was　some　Second　Chief　Directorate　guy；　they　would　have　staged　it　differently。　This　was　too　obvious；　too　amateurish；　not　the　way　KGB　would　do　things。　They　would　have　done　it　at　a　different　subway　stop。
　　　This　guy's　fuckin'　real；　Foley　told　himself。　He　forced　himself　to　be　patient；　which　wasn't　easy；　even　for　this　experienced　field　officer；　but　he　took　an　imperceptible　deep　breath　and　waited；　telling　the　nerve　endings　in　his　skin　to　report　the　least　shift　in　the　weight　of　his　topcoat　on　his　shoulders。。。
　　　Zaitzev　looked　around　the　car　as　casually　as　he　could。　There　were　no　eyes　on　him；　none　even　looking　in　this　general　direction。　So　his　right　hand　slid　into　the　open　pocket；　quickly　but　not　too　quickly。　Then　he　withdrew。
　　　Bingo。　foley　thought；　as　his　heart　skipped　two　or　three　beats。　Okay；　Ivan；　what's　the　message　this　time？
　　　Again；　he　had　to　be　patient。　No　sense　getting　this　guy　killed。　If　he　was　really　a　guy　from　the　Russian　MERCURY；　then　there　was　no　telling　how　important　this　might　be。　Like　the　first　nibble　on　a　deep…sea　fishing　boat。　Was　this　a　marlin；　a　shark；　or　a　lost　boot？　If　a　nice　blue　marlin；　how　big？　But　he　couldn't　even　pull　back　on　the　fishing　rod　to　set　the　hook　yet。　No；　that　would　e　later；　if　it　came　at　all。　The　recruitment　phase　of　field　operations…taking　some　innocent　Soviet　citizen　and　making　him　an　agent；　an　information…procuring　asset　of　the　CIA；　a　spy…that　was　harder　than　going　to　a　CYO　dance　and　getting　laid。　The　real　trick　was　not　getting　the　girl　pregnant…or　the　agent　killed。　No；　the　way　the　game　was　played；　you　had　the　first　fast　dance；　then　the　first　slow　dance；　then　the　first　kiss；　then　the　first　grope；　and　then；　if　you　got　lucky；　unbuttoning　the　blouse。。。　and　then。。。
　　　The　reverie　stopped　when　the　train　did。　Foley　removed　his　hand　from　the　overhead　rail　and　looked　around。。。
　　　And　there　he　was；　actually　looking　at　him；　and　the　face　went　into　the　mental　photo　album。
　　　Bad　tradecraft；　buddy。　That　can　get　your　ass　killed。　Never　look　right　at　your　case　officer　in　a　public　place；　Foley　thought；　his　eyes　passing　right　over　him；　no　expression　at　all　on　his　own　face　as　he　walked　past　the　guy；　deliberately　taking　the　long　way　to　the　door。
　　　Zaitzev　was　impressed　by　the　American。　He'd　actually　looked　at　his　new　Russian　contact；　but　his　eyes　had　revealed　nothing；　had　not　even　looked　at　him　directly；　but　past　him　to　the　end　of　the　carriage。　And；　just　that　quickly；　the　American　had　walked　away。　Be　what　I　hope　you　are；　Oleg　Ivan'ch's　mind　thought；　just　as　loudly　as　it　could。
　　　Fifty　meters　up　on　the　open　street；　Foley　refused　even　to　let　his　hand　go　into　the　coat。　He　was　certain　that　a　hand　had　been　there。　He'd　felt　it；　all　right。　And　Ivan　Whoever　hadn't　done　it　looking　for　change。
　　　Foley　walked　past　the　gate　guard；　into　the　building；　and　went　up　in　the　elevator。　His　key　went　into　the　lock；　and　the　door　opened。　Only　when　it　was　closed　behind　him　did　he　reach　into　the　pocket。
　　　Mary　Pat　was　there；　watching　his　face；　and　she　saw　the　unguarded　flash　of　recognition　and　discovery。
　　　Ed　took　the　note　out。　It　was　the　same　blank　message　form　and；　as　before；　it　had　writing　on　it。　Foley　read　it　once；　then　again；　and　a　third　time　before　handing　it　over　to　his　wife。
　　　Mary　Pat's　eyes　flared；　too。
　　　It　was　a　fish；　Foley　thought。　Maybe　a　big　one。　And　he　was　asking　for　something　substantive。　Whoever　he　was；　he　wasn't　stupid。　It　would　not　be　easy　to　arrange　what　he　wanted；　but　he'd　be　able　to　pull　it　off。　It　just　meant　making　the　gunnery　sergeant　angry；　and　more　important；　visibly　angry；　because　the　embassy　was　always　under　surveillance。　Something　like　this　could　not　appear　routine；　or　deliberate；　but　it　didn't　have　to　be　an　Oscar…class　bit　of　acting　either。　He　was　sure　the　Marines　could　bring　it　off。　Then　he　felt　Mary　Pat's　hand　in　his。
　　　〃Hey；　honey；〃　he　said；　for　the　microphones。
　　　〃Hi；　Ed。〃　Her　hand　entered　his。
　　　This　guy's　re＇al＇；　her　hand　said。　He　answered　with　a　nod。
　　　Tomor＇row＇　mor＇ning＇；　she　asked；　and　got　another　nod。
　　　〃Honey；　I　have　to　run　back　to　the　embassy。　I　left　something　in　my　desk；　damn　it。〃　Her　answer　was　a　thumbs…up。
　　　〃Well；　don't　take　too　long。　I　have　dinner　on。　Got　a　nice　roast　from　the　Finnish　store。　Baked　potatoes　and　frozen　corn　on　the　cob。〃
　　　〃Sounds　good；〃　he　agreed。　〃Half　an　hour；　max。〃
　　　〃Well；　don't　be　late。〃
　　　〃Where　are　the　car　keys？〃
　　　〃In　the　kitchen。〃　And　they　both　walked　that　way。
　　　〃Do　I　have　to　leave　without　a　kiss？〃　he　asked　in　his　best　pussy…whipped　voice。
　　　〃I　guess　not〃　was　the　playful　reply。
　　　〃Anything　interesting　at　work　today？〃
　　　〃Just　that　Price　guy　from　the　Times。〃
　　　〃He's　a　jerk。〃
　　　〃Tell　me　about　it。　Later；　honey。〃　Foley　headed　for　the　door；　still　wearing　his　topcoat。
　　　He　waved　to　the　gate　guard　on　the　way　back　out；　a　frustrated　grimace　on　his　face　for　theatrical　effect。　The　guards　would　probably　write　down　his　passage…maybe　even　call　it　in　somewhere…and；　with　luck；　his　drive　to　the　embassy　would　be　matched　against　the　tapes　from　the　apartment；　and　the　Second　Chief　Directorate　pukes　would　tick　off　whatever　box　they　had　on　their　surveillance　forms　and　decide　that　Ed　Foley　had　fucked　up　and　indeed　left　something　at　the　office。　He'd　have　to　remember　to　drive　back　with　a　manila　envelope　on　the　front　seat　of　the　Mercedes。　Spooks　earned　their　living　most　of　all　by　remembering　everything　and　forgetting　nothing。
　　　The　drive　to　the　embassy　was　faster　than　taking　the　metro　at　this　time　of　day；　but　that　was　factored　in　to　everything　else　his　working　routine　enpassed。　In　just　a　few　minutes；　he　pulled　into　the　embassy　gate；　past　the　Marine　sentry；　and　took　a　visitor's　slot　before　running　in；　past　some　more　Marines；　and　up　to　his　office。　There　he　lifted　the　phone　and　made　a　call；　while　he　took　a　manila　envelope　and　slid　a　copy　of　the　International　Herald　Tribune　into　it。
　　　〃Yeah；　Ed？〃　The　voice　belonged　to　Dominic　Corso；　one　of　Foley's　field　officers。　Actually　older　than　his　boss；　Corso　was　covered　as　a　mercial　Attache。　He'd　worked　Moscow　for　three　years　and　was　well　regarded　by　his　Station　Chief。　Another　New　Yorker；　he　was　a　native　of　the　Borough　of　Richmond…Staten　Island…the　son　of　an　NYPD　detective。　He　looked　like　what　he　was；　a　New　York　guinea；　but　he　was　a　quite　a　bit　smarter　than　ethnic　bigots　would　like　to　have　admitted。　Corso　had　the　fey　brown　eyes　of　an　old　red　fox；　but　he　kept　his　intelligence　under　wraps。
　　　〃Need　you　to