tc.redrabbit-第92节

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　　　〃I　will　see　what　I　can　do；　rade　Captain；〃　he　promised。
　　　〃When　can　I　call　you？〃
　　　〃Later　today。〃
　　　〃Thank　you；　rade。〃　Zaitzev　walked　out　and　down　the　corridor　to　the　elevators。　So　that　was　done；　thanks　to　his　temporary　patron　on　the　top　floor。　To　make　sure　everything　was　all　right；　he　had　his　blue　striped　tie　folded　and　in　his　coat　pocket。　Back　at　his　desk；　he　went　back　to　memorizing　the　content　of　his　routine　message　traffic。　A　pity；　he　thought；　that　he　could　not　copy　out　of　the　one…time…pad　books；　but　that　was　not　practical；　and　memorizing　them　was　a　sheer　impossibility　even　for　his　trained　memory。
　　　Underway　was　the　single　word　on　the　message　from　Langley；　Foley　saw。　So　they　were　going　forward。　That　was　good。　Headquarters　was　hot　to　trot　on　BEATRIX；　and　that　was　probably　because　the　Rabbit　had　warned　them　about　general　munications　security；　the　one　thing　sure　to　cause　a　general　panic　on　the　Seventh　Floor　at　headquarters。　But　could　it　possibly　be　true？　No。　Mike　Russell　didn't　think　so；　and；　as　he'd　already　observed；　were　it　true；　some　of　his　agents　would　have　been　swept　up　like　confetti　after　a　parade；　and　that　hadn't　happened。。。　unless　KGB　was　really　being　clever　and　had　doubled　his　agents；　operating　them　under　Soviet　control；　and　he'd　be　able　to　determine　that；　wouldn't　he？　Well；　probably；　Foley　judged。　Certainly　they　could　not　all　be　double　agents。　Some　things　were　just　impossible　to　hide；　unless　KGB's　Second　Chief　Directorate　had　the　cleverest　operation　in　the　history　of　espionage；　and　while　that　was　theoretically　possible；　it　was　the　tallest　of　tall　orders；　and　something　that　they'd　probably　avoid　since　the　quality　of　some　information　going　out　would　have　to　be　good…too　good　to　let　go　voluntarily。。。
　　　But　he　couldn't　entirely　discount　that　possibility。　For　sure；　NSA　would　be　taking　steps　right　now　to　examine　their　KH…7　and　other　cipher　machines；　but　Fort　Meade　had　a　very　active　Red　Team　whose　only　job　was　to　crack　their　own　systems；　and　while　Russian　mathematicians　were　pretty　smart…always　had　been…they　weren't　aliens　from　another　planet。。。　unless　they　had　an　agent　of　their　own　deep　inside　Fort　Meade；　and　that　was　a　worry　that　everyone　had。　How　much　would　KGB　pay　for　that　sort　of　information？　Millions；　perhaps。　They　didn't　have　all　that　much　cash　to　pay　their　people　and；　in　addition　to　being　niggardly；　KGB　was　singularly　disloyal　to　its　people；　regarding　them　all　as　expendable　assets。　Oh；　sure；　they　got　Kim　Philby　out　and　safely　ensconced　in　Moscow。　The　Western　spy　agencies　knew　where　he　lived　and　had　even　photographed　the　turncoat　bastard。　They　even　knew　how　much　he　drank…a　lot；　even　by　Russian　standards。　But　when　the　Russians　lost　an　agent　to　arrest；　did　they　ever　try　to　bargain　for　him；　do　a　trade？　No；　not　since　CIA　had　bargained　for　Francis　Gary　Powers；　the　unlucky　U…2　pilot　whom　they'd　shot　down　in　1961　and　then　traded　for　Rudolf　Abel；　but　Abel　had　been　one　of　their　own　officers；　a　colonel　and　a　pretty　good　one；　operating　in　New　York。　That　had　to　be　a　deterrent　to　any　American　national　in　the　spook　business　who　had　illusions　of　getting　rich　off　Mother　Russia's　bank　account。　And　traitors　did　hard　time　in　the　federal　prison　system；　which　had　to　be　one　hell　of　a　deterrent。
　　　But　traitors　were　real；　however　misguided　they　were。　At　least　the　age　of　the　ideological　spy　was　largely　ended。　Those　had　been　the　most　productive　and　the　most　dedicated；　back　when　people　really　had　believed　that　munism　was　the　leading　wave　of　human　evolution；　but　even　Russians　no　longer　believed　in　Marxism…Leninism；　except　for　Suslov…who　was　just　about　dead…and　his　successor…to…be；　Alexandrov。　So；　no；　KGB　agents　in　the　West　were　almost　entirely　mercenary　bastards。　Not　the　freedom　fighters　Ed　Foley　ran　on　the　streets　of　Moscow；　the　COS　told　himself。　That　was　an　illusion　all　CIA　officers　held　dearly；　even　his　wife。
　　　And　the　Rabbit？　He　was　mad　about　something。　A　murder；　he　said；　a　proposed　killing。　Something　that　offended　the　sense　of　an　honorable　and　decent　man。　So；　yes；　the　Rabbit　was　honorable　in　his　motivations；　and　therefore　worthy　of　CIA's　attention　and　solicitude。
　　　Jesus；　Ed　Foley　thought；　the　illusions　you　have　to　have　to　carry　on　this　stupid　fucking　business。　You　had　to　be　psychiatrist；　loving　mother；　stern　father；　close　friend；　and　father　confessor　to　the　idealistic；　confused；　angry；　or　just　plain　greedy　individuals　who　chose　to　betray　their　country。　Some　of　them　drank　too　much；　some　of　them　were　so　enraged　that　they　endangered　themselves　by　taking　grotesque　risks。　Some　were　just　plain　mad；　demented；　clinically　disturbed。　Some　became　sexual　deviants…hell；　some　started　off　that　way　and　just　got　worse。　But　Ed　Foley　had　to　be　their　social　worker；　which　was　such　an　odd　job　description　for　someone　who　thought　of　himself　as　a　warrior　against　the　Big　Ugly　Bear。　Well；　he　told　himself；　one　thing　at　a　time。　He'd　knowingly　chosen　a　profession　with　barely　adequate　pay；　virtually　no　credit　ever　to　be　awarded；　and　no　recognition　for　the　dangers；　physical　and　psychological；　that　attended　it；　serving　his　country　in　a　way　that　would　never　be　appreciated　by　the　millions　of　citizens　he　helped　to　protect；　despised　by　the　news　media…whom　he　in　turn　despised…and　never　being　able　to　defend　himself　with　the　truth　of　what　he　did。　What　a　hell　of　a　life。
　　　But　it　did　have　its　satisfactions；　like　getting　the　Rabbit　the　hell　out　of　Dodge　City。
　　　If　BEATRIX　worked。
　　　Foley　told　himself　that　now；　once　more；　he　knew　what　it　was　like　to　pitch　in　the　World　Series。
　　　Istvan　Kovacs　lived　a　few　blocks　from　the　Hungarian　parliamentary　palace；　an　ornate　building　reminiscent　of　the　Palace　of　Westminster；　on　the　third　floor　of　a　turn…of…the…century　tenement；　whose　four　toilets　were　on　the　first　floor　of　a　singularly　dreary　courtyard。　Hudson　took　the　local　metro　over　to　the　government　palace　and　walked　the　rest　of　the　way；　making　sure　that　he　didn't　have　a　tail。　He'd　called　ahead…remarkably；　the　city's　phone　lines　were　secure；　uncontrolled　mainly　because　of　the　inefficiency　of　the　local　phone　systems。
　　　Kovacs　was　so　typically　Hungarian　as　to　deserve　a　photo　in　the　non　existent　tourist　brochures：　five…eight；　swarthy；　a　mainly　circular　face　with　brown　eyes　and　black　hair。　But　he　dressed　rather　better　than　the　average　citizen　because　of　his　profession。　Kovacs　was　a　smuggler。　It　was　almost　an　honored　livelihood　in　this　country；　since　he　traded　across　the　border　to　a　putatively　Marxist　country　to　the　south；　Yugoslavia；　whose　borders　were　open　enough　that　a　clever　man　could　purchase　Western　goods　there　and　sell　them　in　Hungary　and　the　rest　of　Eastern　Europe。　The　border　controls　on　Yugoslavia　were　fairly　loose；　especially　for　those　who　had　an　understanding　with　the　border　guards。　Kovacs　was　one　such　person。
　　　〃Hello；　Istvan；〃　Andy　Hudson　said；　with　a　smile。　〃Istvan〃　was　the　local　version　of　Steven；　and　〃Kovacs〃　the　local　version　of　Smith；　for　its　ubiquity。
　　　〃Andy；　good　day　to　you；〃　Kovacs　replied　in　greeting。　He　opened　a　bottle　of　Tokaji；　the　local　tawny　wine　made　of　grapes　with　the　noble　rot；　which　afflicted　them　every　few　years。　Hudson　had　e　to　enjoy　it　as　the　local　variant　of　sherry；　with　a　different　taste　but　an　identical　purpose。
　　　〃Thank　you；　Istvan。〃　Hudson　took　a　sip。　This　was　good　stuff；　with　six　baskets　of　nobly　rotten　grapes　on　the　label；　indicating　the　very　best。　〃So；　how　is　business？〃
　　　〃Excellent。　Our　VCRs　are　popular　with　the　Yugoslavs；　and　the　tapes　they　sell　me　are　popular　with　everyone。　Oh；　to　have　such　a　prick　as　those　actors　do！〃　He　laughed。
　　　〃The　women　aren't　bad；　either；〃　Hudson　noted。　He'd　seen　his　share　of　such　tapes。
　　　〃How　can　a　kurva　be　so　beautiful？〃
　　　〃The　Americans　pay　their　whores　more　than　we　do　in　Europe；　I　suppose。　But；　Istvan；　they　have　no　heart；　those　women。〃　Hudson　had　never　paid　for　it　in　his　life…at　least　not　up　front。
　　　〃It's　not　their　hearts　that　I　want。〃　Kovacs　had　himself　another　hearty　laugh。　He'd　been　hitting　the　Tokaji　already　this　day；　so　he　wasn't　making　a　run　tonight。　Well；　nobody　worked　all　the　time。
　　　〃I　may　have　a　task　for　you。〃
　　　〃Bringing　what　in？〃
　　　〃Nothing。　Bringing　something　out；〃　Hudson　clarified。
　　　〃That　is　simple。　What　trouble　the　hatar　rseg　give　us　is　when　we　e　in；　and　then　not　much。〃　He　held　up　his　right　hand；　rubbing　thumb　and　forefinger　together　in　the　universal　gesture　for　what　the　border　guards　wanted…money　or　something　negotiable。
　　　〃Well；　this　package　might　be　bulky；〃　Hudson　warned。
　　　〃How　bulky？　A　tank　you　want　to　take　out？〃　The　Hungarian　army　had　just　taken　delivery　of　new　Russian　T…72s；　and　that　had　made　the　TV；　in　an　attempt　to　buck　up　the　fighting　spirit　of　the　troops。　A　waste　of　time；　Hudson　thought。　〃That　might　be　hard；　but　it　can　be　done；　for　a　price。〃　But　the　Poles　had　already　given　one　of　those　to　SIS；　a　fact　not　widely　known。
　　　〃No；　Istvan；　smaller　than　that。　About　my　size；　but　three　packages。〃
　　　〃Three　people？〃　Kovacs　asked；　getting　a　dull　stare　in　return。　He　got　the　message。　〃Bah；　a　simple　task…baszd　meg？〃　he　concluded：　Fuck　it。
　　　〃I　thought　I　could　count　on　you；　Istvan；〃　Hudson　said　with　a　smile。　〃How　much？〃
　　　〃For　three　people　into　Yugoslavia。。。〃　Kovacs　pondered　that　for　a　moment。　〃Oh。　Five　thousand　d…mark。〃
　　　〃Ez　kurva　draga！〃　Hudson　objected；　o