tc.redrabbit-第9节

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d　long　since　passed　beyond　the　point　of　rule　by　a　single　man…that　had　ended　thirty　years　before　with　the　passing　of　〃Koba；〃　Josef　Vissarionovich　Stalin；　who'd　ruled　with　a　ruthlessness　to　make　Ivan　the　Terrible　quake　in　his　boots。　No；　that　sort　of　power　was　too　dangerous　to　ruler　and　ruled。　Stalin　had　made　as　many　errors　as　good　judgments；　and　as　useful　as　the　latter　had　been；　the　former　had　very　nearly　doomed　the　Soviet　Union　to　perpetual　backwardness…and；　in　fact；　by　creating　the　world's　most　formidable　bureaucracy；　he'd　largely　foresworn　progress　for　his　nation。
　　　But　one　man；　the　right　man；　could　lead　and　direct　his　political　associates　on　the　Politburo　in　the　correct　direction；　and　then　by　helping　to　select　the　new　members；　could　acplish　the　needed　goals　by　influence　rather　than　by　terror。　Just　maybe；　then；　he　could　get　his　country　moving　again；　keeping　the　single　control　that　all　nations　needed；　but　adding　the　flexibility　that　they　needed　just　as　much　for　new　things　to　happen…to　achieve　the　True　munism…to　see　the　Radiant　Future　that　the　writings　of　Lenin　proclaimed　awaited　the　Faithful。
　　　Andropov　did　not　quite　see　the　contradiction　in　his　own　mind。　Like　so　many　Great　Men；　he　was　blind　to　those　things　that　conflicted　with　his　own　capacious　ego。
　　　And；　in　any　case；　it　all　came　back　to　Karol　and　the　danger　he　posed。
　　　He　made　a　mental　note　for　the　morning　staff　meeting。　He　had　to　see　what　the　possibilities　were。　The　Politburo　would　wonder　aloud　how　to　deal　with　the　problem　announced　by　the　Warsaw　Letter；　and　eyes　would　turn　to　his　chair；　and　he'd　need　something　to　say。　The　trick　would　be　in　finding　something　that　would　not　frighten　his　colleagues　out　of　their　conservative　wits。　They　were　so　fearful；　these　supposedly　powerful　men。
　　　He　read　so　many　reports　from　his　field　officers；　the　talented　spies　of　the　First　Chief　Directorate；　always　probing　into　the　thoughts　of　their　counterparts。　It　was　so　strange；　how　much　fear　there　was　in　the　world；　and　the　most　fearful　of　all　were　so　often　those　who　held　the　power　in　their　hands。
　　　No；　Andropov　drained　his　glass　and　decided　against　another　nightcap。　The　reason　for　their　fear　was　that　they　worried　they　did　not　have　the　power。　They　were　not　strong。　They　were　henpecked　by　their　wives；　just　like　factory　workers　and　peasant　farmers。　They　dreaded　losing　what　they　so　greedily　held；　and　so　they　used　their　power　in　ignoble　enterprises　directed　at　crushing　those　who　would　seize　what　they　held。　Even　Stalin；　that　mightiest　of　despots；　had　used　his　power　mainly　to　eliminate　those　who　might　sit　in　his　elevated　chair。　And　so　the　great　Koba　had　spent　his　energy　not　looking　forward；　not　looking　outward；　but　looking　down。　He　was　like　a　woman　in　her　kitchen　who　feared　mice　under　her　skirt；　instead　of　a　man　with　the　power　and　the　will　to　slay　an　onrushing　tiger。
　　　But　could　he　do　otherwise？　Yes！　Yes；　he　could　look　forward　and　see　the　future　and　chart　a　path　to　it。　Yes；　he　could　municate　his　vision　to　the　lesser　men　who　sat　around　the　table　in　the　Kremlin；　and　lead　them　with　the　force　of　his　will。　Yes；　he　could　find　and　refocus　the　vision　of　Lenin　and　all　the　thinkers　of　the　governing　philosophy　of　his　country。　Yes；　he　could　alter　the　course　of　his　nation　and　be　forever　remembered　as　a　Great　Man…
　　　But　first；　here　and　now；　he'd　need　to　deal　with　Karol　and　his　annoying　threat　to　the　Soviet　Union。
　　　
　　　CHAPTER　2　…　VISIONS　AND　HORIZONS
　　　Cathy　almost　panicked　at　the　thought　of　driving　him　to　the　train　station。　Seeing　him　walk　to　the　left　side　of　the　car；　she'd　assumed；　as　any　American　would；　that　he'd　be　driving；　and　so　she　was　visibly　surprised　when　he　tossed　her　the　keys。
　　　The　pedals；　she　discovered；　were　the　same　as　in　an　American　car；　because　people　all　around　the　world　were　right…footed；　even　if　those　in　England　drove　left…handed。　The　gear　shift　was　in　the　center　console；　and　so　she　had　to　use　her　left　hand　to　shift。　Backing　out　of　the　brick　driveway　was　not　terribly　different　from　normal。　Both　instantly　wondered　if　it　was　as　hard　for　Brits　to　transform　their　driving　to　the　right…in　more　ways　than　one…side　of　the　road　when　they　came　to　America；　or　hopped　the　ferry　to　France。　Jack　decided　he'd　ask　somebody　over　a　beer　someday。
　　　〃Just　remember；　left　is　right；　and　right　is　left；　and　you　drive　on　the　wrong　side　of　the　road。〃
　　　〃Okay；〃　she　replied　with　annoyance。　She　knew　she'd　have　to　learn；　and　the　rational　part　of　her　brain　knew　that　this　was　as　good　a　time　as　ever；　even　though　now　had　a　nasty　way　of　appearing　out　of　the　ground　like　a　guerrilla　out　of　a　spider　hole。　The　way　out　of　the　mini…development　took　them　past　a　one…story　building　that　looked　like　it　housed　a　doctor's　office；　past　the　park　with　the　swing　set　that　had　sold　Jack　on　this　particular　house。　Sally　liked　swings；　and　she'd　surely　meet　and　make　new　friends　here。　And　Little　Jack　would　get　some　sun　there；　too。　In　the　summer；　anyway。
　　　〃Turn　left；　babe。　It's　a　right　turn　here　when　you　go　left；　you　don't　cross　traffic。〃
　　　〃I　know；〃　Dr。　Caroline　Ryan　said；　wondering　why　Jack　hadn't　called　for　a　cab。　She　still　had　a　ton　of　work　to　do　with　the　house；　and　didn't　need　a　driving　lesson。　Well；　at　least　it　seemed　to　be　a　nimble　car；　she　found；　giving　it　a　kick　that　was　answered　by　rapid　acceleration。　Not　her　old　Porsche；　though。
　　　〃Bottom　of　the　hill；　turn　right。〃
　　　〃Uh…huh。〃　Good；　this　would　be　simple。　She'd　have　to　find　her　way　home；　and　she　hated　asking　for　directions。　It　came　from　being　a　surgeon；　as　in　mand　of　her　world　as　a　fighter　pilot　in　his　cockpit。。。　And；　being　a　surgeon；　she　wasn't　allowed　to　panic；　was　she？
　　　〃Right　here；〃　Jack　told　her。　〃Remember　oning　traffic。〃　There　was　none　at　the　moment；　but　that　would　change；　probably　as　soon　as　he　got　out　of　the　car。　He　didn't　envy　her　attempt　to　learn　local　navigation　solo；　but　the　surest　way　to　learn　to　swim　was　to　jump　in…assuming　you　didn't　drown。　But　the　Brits　were　hospitable　people；　and　if　necessary　some　kind　local　driver　would　probably　lead　her　all　the　way　home。
　　　The　train　station　was　about　as　impressive　as　a　Bronx　elevated　platform；　a　smallish　stone　building　with　stairs　and/or　escalators　that　led　down　to　the　tracks。　Ryan　bought　his　ticket　with　cash；　but　noted　a　sign　that　offered　books　of　muter　tickets　for　daily　use。　He　picked　up　a　copy　of　The　Daily　Telegraph。　That　would　mark　him　to　the　locals　as　a　conservative　sort　of　person。　Those　of　a　more　liberal　bent　chose　The　Guardian。　He　decided　to　pass　on　the　tabloids　that　had　naked　women　on　the　inside。　Hell　of　a　thing　to　see　right　after　breakfast。
　　　He　had　to　wait　about　ten　minutes　for　the　train；　which　arrived　with　little　noise；　being　a　cross　between　an　American　electric　intercity　train　and　a　subway。　His　ticket　was　first　class；　which　placed　him　in　a　small　partment。　The　windows　went　up　and　down　if　you　pulled　on　a　leather　strap；　and　the　partment　door　hinged　outward　to　let　him　exit　directly　instead　of　walking　down　the　corridor。　With　that　set　of　discoveries　made；　Ryan　sat　down　and　scanned　the　paper's　front　page。　As　in　America；　local　politics　covered　about　half　of　the　sheet；　and　Ryan　looked　at　two　of　the　articles；　figuring　he　might　as　well　learn　the　local　customs　and　beefs。　The　schedule　said　about　forty　minutes　to　Victoria　Station。　Not　too　bad；　and　much　better　than　driving　it；　Dan　Murray　had　told　him。　In　addition；　parking　a　car　in　London　was　even　worse　than　it　was　in　New　York；　wrong　side　of　the　street　and　all。
　　　The　ride　on　the　train　was　agreeably　smooth。　The　trains　were　evidently　a　government…run　monopoly；　and　somebody　spent　money　on　the　roadbeds。　A　conductor　took　his　ticket　with　a　smile…doubtless　marking　Jack　as　a　Yank　instantly…and　moved　on；　leaving　Ryan　to　his　paper。　The　passing　scenery　soon　overtook　his　interest。　The　countryside　was　green　and　lush。　The　Brits　did　love　their　lawns。　The　row　houses　here　were　smaller　than　those　in　his　childhood　neighborhood　in　Baltimore；　with　what　looked　like　slate　roofs；　and　Jesus；　the　streets　were　narrow　here。　You'd　really　have　to　pay　attention　while　driving；　lest　you　end　up　in　someone's　living　room。　That　probably　wouldn't　sit　well；　even　to　Englishmen　accustomed　to　dealing　with　the　shortings　of　visiting　Yanks。
　　　It　was　a　clear　day；　some　white　fluffy　clouds　aloft；　and　the　sky　a　delightful　blue。　He'd　never　experienced　rain　over　here。　Yet　they　had　to　have　it。　Every　third　man　on　the　street　carried　a　furled　umbrella。　And　a　lot　of　them　wore　hats。　Ryan　hadn't　done　that　since　his　time　in　the　Marine　Corps。　England　was　just　different　enough　from　America　to　be　dangerous；　he　decided。　There　were　a　lot　of　similarities；　but　the　differences　rose　up　and　bit　you　on　the　ass　when　you　least　expected　them。　He'd　have　to　be　very　careful　with　Sally　crossing　the　street。　At　four　and　a　half；　she　was　just　imprinted　enough　to　look　the　wrong　way　at　the　wrong　time。　He'd　seen　his　little　girl　in　the　hospital　once；　and　that　was；　by　God；　enough　for　a　lifetime。
　　　He　was　rumbling　through　a　city　now；　a　thick　one。　The　right…of…way　was　elevated。　He　looked　around　for　recognizable　landmarks。　Was　that　St。　Paul's　Cathedral　off　to　the　right？　If　so；　he'd　be　at　Victoria　soon。　He　folded　his　paper。　Then　the　train　slowed；　and…yeah。　Victoria　Station。　He　opened　the　partment　door　like　a　native　and　stepped　out　on　the　platform。　The　s