rludlum-shelby.thecassandracompact-第4节

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h　was　talking　at　all。
　
　CHAPTER　THREE
　　
　In　Catholic　Europe；　Easter　week　is　a　time　of　pilgrimages　and　reunions。　Businesses　and　schools　close　their　doors；　trains　and　hotels　are　overbooked；　and　the　denizens　of　the　Old　World's　landmark　cities　brace　themselves　for　an　onslaught　of　strangers。
　In　Italy；　Venice　is　one　of　the　most　popular　destinations　for　those　seeking　to　bine　the　sacred　and　the　profane。　The　Serenissima　is　a　rich　tapestry　of　churches　and　cathedrals；　enough　to　satisfy　the　spiritual　needs　of　even　the　most　devoted　pilgrim。　Yet　it　is　also　a　thousand…year…old　playground　whose　narrow　streets　and　cobblestone　alleys　shelter　enterprises　catering　to　a　whole　spectrum　of　earthly　appetites。
　At　precisely　one　forty…five　in　the　afternoon；　just　as　he'd　done　the　past　two　days；　Smith　threaded　through　the　rows　of　tables　set　out　in　front　of　the　Florian　Café　on　the　Piazza　San　Marco。　He　always　chose　the　same　table；　close　to　a　small；　raised　platform　upon　which　stood　a　grand　piano。　The　pianist　would　arrive　in　a　few　minutes；　and　punctually　on　the　hour；　notes　written　by　Mozart　or　Bach　would　dance　above　the　chatter　and　footsteps　of　the　hundreds　of　tourists　who　crowded　the　square。
　The　server　who　had　waited　on　Smith　the　last　two　days　hurried　over　to　his　customer。　The　American…　he　could　only　be　that；　given　his　accented　Italian…　was　a　good　customer；　that　is　to　say；　one　who　didn't　recognize　bad　service　and　so　tipped　generously　anyway。　Judging　by　the　smart　charcoal…gray　suit　and　hand…tooled　shoes；　the　waiter　took　Smith　for　a　prosperous　business　executive　who；　having　concluded　his　transactions；　was　enjoying　a　few　days'　sightseeing　at　his　pany's　expense。
　Smith　smiled　at　the　waiter；　ordered　his　usual　Gaffe　latte　and　prosciutto　affumicatio　sandwich；　and　flipped　open　the　day's　edition　of　The　International　Herald　Tribune　to　the　business　section。
　His　late…afternoon　snack　arrived　just　as　the　pianist　struck　the　opening　chords　of　a　Bach　variation。　Smith　dropped　two　sugar　cubes　into　his　coffee　and　took　his　time　stirring。　As　he　opened　his　newspaper；　he　scanned　the　open　area　between　his　table　and　the　Doge's　Palace。
　Most　anytime；　St。　Mark's；　with　its　inevitable　crowds；　was　the　perfect　place　to　pick　up　a　running　man。　But　the　runner　was　a　day　late。　He　wondered　if　Yuri　Danko　had　even　made　it　out　of　Russia　at　all。
　Smith　had　been　with　USAMRIID　when　he　had　first　met　Danko；　his　counterpart　in　the　Russian　army's　Medical　Intelligence　Division。　The　venue　was　the　palatial　Victoria…Jungfrau　Grand　Hotel　near　Berne。　There；　representatives　of　the　two　countries　came　together　in　an　informal　setting　to　brief　one　another　on　the　progress　of　the　gradual　shutdown　of　their　respective　bioweapons　programs。　The　meetings　were　an　adjunct　to　the　formal　verifications　made　by　international　inspectors。
　Smith　had　never　been　in　the　business　of　recruiting　agents。　But；　like　every　other　member　of　the　U。S。　team；　he　had　been　thoroughly　briefed　by　CIA　counterintelligence　officers　as　to　how　the　other　side　might　make　its　approaches　and　overtures。　During　the　first　few　days　of　the　conference；　Smith　found　himself　partnered　with　Danko。　Always　careful；　he　nonetheless　took　a　liking　to　the　tall；　burly　Russian。　Danko　did　not　hide　the　fact　that　he　was　a　patriot。　But；　as　he　told　Smith；　his　work　was　important　to　him　because　he　did　not　want　his　children　to　live　with　the　possibility　of　some　madman　unleashing　a　bioweapon　for　terror　or　revenge。
　Smith　was　very　much　aware　that　such　a　scenario　was　not　only　possible　but　a　grave　likelihood。　Russia　was　in　the　throes　of　change；　crisis；　and　uncertainty。　Meanwhile；　it　still　had　an　enormous　stockpile　of　bioweapons　stored　in　rusting　containers　under　the　halfhearted　supervision　of　researchers；　scientists；　and　military　personnel　who；　more　often　than　not；　weren't　paid　enough　to　feed　their　families。　For　these　men；　the　temptation　to　sell　a　little　something　on　the　side　could　be　overwhelming。
　Smith　and　Danko　started　to　meet　outside　the　conference's　regular　hours。　By　the　time　the　parties　were　ready　to　return　to　their　respective　countries；　the　two　men　had　forged　a　friendship　based　on　mutual　respect　and　trust。
　Over　the　next　two　years；　they　met　again…　in　St。　Petersburg；　Atlanta；　Paris；　and　Hong　Kong…　each　time　under　the　auspices　of　a　formal　conference。　But　on　each　occasion；　Smith　noticed　that　Danko　was　more　and　more　troubled。　Although　he　eschewed　alcohol；　he　would　sometimes　ramble　on　about　the　duplicity　of　his　military　masters。　Russia；　he　hinted；　was　violating　its　agreements　with　the　United　States　and　the　world。　While　it　was　making　a　good　show　of　reducing　its　bioweapons　programs；　advance　research　had　actually　accelerated。　Worst　of　all；　Russian　scientists　and　technicians　were　disappearing　only　to　surface　in　China；　India；　and　Iraq；　where　there　was　high　demand　and　unlimited　funds　for　their　skills。
　Smith　was　a　keen　student　of　human　nature。　At　the　end　of　one　of　Danko's　tortured　confessions；　he'd　said：　〃I　will　work　with　you　on　this；　Yuri。　If　that's　what　you　want。〃
　Danko's　reaction　was　akin　to　that　of　a　penitent　who　has　finally　been　cleansed　of　his　burden　of　sin。　He　agreed　to　provide　Smith　with　information　he　thought　the　United　States　should　have。　There　were　only　two　caveats：　he　would　deal　only　with　Smith；　not　with　anyone　from　the　U。S。　intelligence　munity；　second；　he　wanted　Smith's　word　that　Smith　would　look　after　his　family　in　the　event　that　anything　happened　to　him。
　〃Nothing's　going　to　happen　to　you；　Yuri；〃　Smith　had　said　at　the　time。　〃You'll　die　in　your　own　bed；　surrounded　by　your　grandchildren。〃
　Observing　the　crowds　streaming　out　of　the　Doge's　Palace；　Smith　reflected　on　these　words。　At　the　time；　he　had　meant　them　sincerely。　But　now；　with　Danko　twenty…four　hours　late；　they　tasted　like　ashes　in　his　mouth。
　But　you　never　once　mentioned　Klein；　Smith　thought。　That　you　already　had　a　contact　in　the　United　States。　Why；　Yuri？　Is　Klein　your　ace　in　the　hole？
　New　arrivals　were　ing　in　by　gondola　and　launch　that　tied　up　at　the　wharves　in　front　of　the　lions　of　St。　Mark's。　More　exited　the　majestic　basilica；　glassy…eyed　from　the　landmark's　overwhelming　grandeur。　Smith　watched　them　all…　the　young　couples　holding　hands；　the　fathers　and　mothers　herding　their　children；　the　tour　groups　clustered　around　guides　who　shouted　above　the　din　in　a　dozen　different　languages。　He　held　his　newspaper　at　eye　level；　but　his　gaze　roamed　ceaselessly　above　the　masthead；　scanning　faces；　trying　to　find　that　special　one。
　Where　are　you？　What　did　you　find　that　was　so　terrible　you　had　to　promise　your　secrets　and　risk　your　life　to　bring　it　out？
　The　questions　gnawed　at　Smith。　Since　Danko　had　severed　all　contact；　there　were　no　answers　to　be　had。　According　to　Klein；　the　Russian　would　be　ing　across　war…scarred　Yugoslavia；　hiding　in　and　moving　through　the　chaos　and　misery　of　that　region　until　he　reached　the　coast。　There　he　would　find　a　ship　to　ferry　him　across　the　Adriatic　to　Venice。
　Just　get　here　and　you'll　be　safe。
　The　Gulfstream　was　on　standby　at　Venice's　Marco　Polo　Airport；　a　fast　launch　was　moored　at　the　dock　next　to　the　Palazzo　delle　Prigioni　on　the　Rio　di　Palazzo。　Smith　could　have　Danko　on　the　boat　within　three　minutes　of　spotting　him。　They　would　be　airborne　an　hour　later。
　Where　are　you？
　Smith　was　reaching　for　his　coffee　when　something　drifted　across　his　peripheral　vision：　a　heavyset　man　skirting　the　edge　of　a　tour　group。　Maybe　a　part　of　it；　maybe　not。　He　wore　a　weatherproof　nylon　jacket　and　a　golfer's　cap；　a　thick　beard　and　large　wraparound　sunglasses　concealed　his　face。　But　there　was　something　about　him。
　Smith　continued　to　watch；　then　saw　it…　a　slight　limp　in　the　left　leg。　Yuri　Danko　had　been　born　with　a　left　leg　one　inch　shorter　than　his　right。　Even　a　custom…made　platform　shoe　could　not　fully　disguise　the　limp。
　Smith　shifted　in　his　chair　and　adjusted　his　newspaper　so　that　he　could　follow　Danko's　movements。　The　Russian　was　using　the　tour　group　very　effectively；　drifting　alongside；　close　enough　to　be　mistaken　for　belonging；　not　so　close　as　to　get　the　leader's　attention。
　Slowly；　the　group　turned　away　from　the　basilica　and　headed　in　the　direction　of　the　Doge's　Palace。　In　less　than　a　minute　it　was　abreast　the　outer　row　of　tables　and　chairs　of　the　Florian　Café。　A　few　tourists　broke　away　from　the　group；　heading　for　the　small　snack　bar　next　to　the　café　next　door。　Smith　did　not　stir　as　they　passed　his　table；　chattering　to　one　another。　Only　when　Danko　was　passing　by　did　he　look　up。
　〃No　one's　using　this　chair。〃
　Smith　watched　as　Danko　turned；　clearly　recognizing　Smith's　voice。
　〃Jon？〃
　〃It's　me；　Yuri。　Go　on；　sit　down。〃
　The　Russian　slipped　into　the　chair；　bewilderment　etched　across　his　face。
　〃But　Mr。　Klein。。。　He　sent　you？　Do　you　work…？〃
　〃Not　here；　Yuri。　And　yes；　I　came　to　bring　you　over。〃
　Shaking　his　head；　Danko　flagged　a　passing　waiter　and　ordered　coffee。　He　tapped　out　a　cigarette　and　lit　it。　Smith　noticed　that　not　even　the　beard　could　hide　how　gaunt　Danko's　face　had　bee。　His　fingers　trembled　as　he　worked　to　light　the　cigarette。
　〃I　still　can't　believe　it's　you。。。。〃
　〃Yuri…〃
　〃It's　all　right；　Jon。　I　wasn't　followed。　I'm　clean。〃　Danko　leaned　back　in　his　chair　and　stared　at　the　pianist。　〃Wonderful；　isn't　it？　The　music；　I　mean。〃
　Smith　leaned　for