tc.redrabbit-第30部分

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rites　boggled　the　imagination。　For　the　Germans；　everything　was　supposed　to　be　in　Ordnung；　properly　arranged；　clean　and　ready　for　use　at　all　times。　About　the　only　things　the　Italians　kept　in　proper　order　were　their　kitchens　and　perhaps　their　wine　cellars。　Aside　from　that；　everything　was　so　casual　here。　To　a　Russian；　ing　to　Rome　was　a　culture　shock；　akin　to　being　bayoneted　in　the　chest。　The　Italians　had　no　sense　of　discipline。　You　only　had　to　observe　their　traffic　to　see　that；　and　driving　in　it　was　what　flying　a　fighter　plane　must　be　like。
　　　But　the　Italians　were　all　born　with　a　sense　of　style　and　propriety。　There　were　some　things　one　could　not　do　here。　Italians　had　a　collective　sense　of　beauty　that　was　difficult　for　any　man　to　fault；　and　to　violate　that　code　could　have　the　most　serious　of　consequences。　For　one　thing；　it　could　promise　his　intelligence　sources。　Mercenaries　or　not。。。　Even　mercenaries　would　not　work　against　their　very　religion；　would　they？　Every　man　had　some　scruples；　even…no；　he　corrected　himself；　especially…here。　So　the　political　consequences　of　something　like　this　potential　mission　could　adversely　affect　the　productivity　of　his　rezidentura　and　would　seriously　impact　recruitment。
　　　So；　what　in　hell　do　I　do　now？　he　asked　himself。　A　senior　colonel　in　the　KGB's　First　Chief　Directorate　and　a　highly　successful　rezident；　he　had　a　certain　degree　of　flexibility　in　his　actions。　He　was　also　a　member　of　a　huge　bureaucracy；　and　the　easiest　thing　for　him　to　do　was　what　all　bureaucrats　did。　He　would　delay；　obfuscate；　and　obstruct。
　　　There　was　some　degree　of　skill　required　for　this；　but　Ruslan　Borissovich　Goderenko　knew　all　he　needed　to　know　about　that。
　　　
　　　CHAPTER　6　…　BUT　NOT　TOO　CLOSE
　　　New　things　are　always　interesting；　and　that　was　true　for　surgeons；　too。　While　Ryan　read　his　paper；　Cathy　looked　out　the　train　window。　It　was　another　bright　day；　with　a　sky　as　blue　as　his　wife's　pretty　eyes。　For　his　part；　Jack　had　the　route　pretty　well　memorized；　and　boredom　invariably　made　him　sleepy。　He　slumped　in　the　corner　of　the　seat　and　found　his　eyelids　getting　heavy。
　　　〃Jack；　are　you　going　to　sleep？　What　if　you　miss　the　stop？〃
　　　〃It's　a　terminal；〃　her　husband　explained。　〃The　train　doesn't　just　stop　there；　it　ends　there。　Besides；　never　stand　up　when　you　can　sit　down；　and　never　sit　down　when　you　can　lie　down。〃
　　　〃Who　ever　told　you　that？〃
　　　〃My　gunny；〃　Jack　said；　from　behind　closed　eyes。
　　　〃Who？〃
　　　〃Gunnery　Sergeant　Phillip　Tate；　United　States　Marine　Corps。　He　ran　my　platoon　for　me　until　I　got　killed　in　that　chopper　crash…ran　it　after　I　left；　too；　I　suppose。〃　Ryan　still　sent　him　Christmas　cards。　Had　Tate　screwed　up；　that　〃killed〃　might　not　have　been　the　limp　joke　he　pretended　it　was。　Tate　and　a　Navy　Hospital　Corpsman　Second　Class　named　Michael　Burns　had　stabilized　Ryan's　back；　at　the　very　least　preventing　a　permanent　crippling　injury。　Burns　got　a　Christmas　card；　too。
　　　About　ten　minutes　to　Victoria；　Ryan　rubbed　his　eyes　and　sat　up　straight。
　　　〃Wele　back；〃　Cathy　observed　dryly。
　　　〃You'll　be　doing　it　by　the　middle　of　next　week。〃
　　　She　snorted。　〃For　an　ex…Marine；　you　sure　are　lazy。〃
　　　〃Honey；　if　there's　nothing　to　do；　you　might　as　well　use　the　time　productively。〃
　　　〃I　do。〃　She　held　up　her　copy　of　The　Lancet。
　　　〃What　have　you　been　reading　up　on？〃
　　　〃You　wouldn't　understand；〃　she　replied。　It　was　true。　Ryan's　knowledge　of　biology　was　limited　to　the　frog　he'd　disassembled　in　high　school。　Cathy　had　done　that；　too；　but　she'd　probably　put　it　together　again　and　watched　it　hop　back　to　its　lily　pad。　She　could　also　deal　cards　like　a　Vegas　cardsharp；　a　talent　that　flat　amazed　her　husband　every　time　she　demonstrated　it。　But　she　wasn't　worth　a　damn　with　a　pistol。　Most　physicians　probably　weren't；　and　here　guns　were　regarded　as　unclean　objects；　even　by　the　cops；　some　of　whom　were　allowed　to　carry　them。　Funny　country。
　　　〃How　do　I　get　to　the　hospital？〃　Cathy　asked；　as　the　train　slowed　for　its　last　stop。
　　　〃Take　a　cab　the　first　time。　You　can　take　the　tube；　too；〃　Jack　suggested。　〃It's　a　new　city。　Takes　time　to　learn　your　way　around。〃
　　　〃How's　the　neighborhood？〃　she　asked。　It　came　from　growing　up　in　New　York　and　working　in　Baltimore's　inner　city；　where　you　did　well　to　keep　your　eyes　open。
　　　〃Damned　sight　better　than　the　one　around　Hopkins。　You　won't　be　seeing　too　much　gunshot　trauma　in　the　ER。　And　the　people　are　as　nice　as　they　can　be。　When　they　figure　out　that　you're　an　American；　they　practically　give　you　the　joint。〃
　　　〃Well；　they　were　nice　to　us　in　the　grocery　store　yesterday；〃　Cathy　allowed。　〃But；　you　know；　they　don't　have　grape　juice　here。〃
　　　〃My　God；　no　civilization　at　all！〃　Jack　exclaimed。　〃So　get　Sally　some　of　the　local　bitter。〃
　　　〃You　moron！〃　she　laughed。　〃Sally　likes　her　grape　juice；　remember；　and　Hi…C　cherry。　All　they　have　here　is　black…currant　juice。　I　was　afraid　to　buy　it。〃
　　　〃Yeah；　and　she's　going　to　learn　to　spell　funny；　too。〃　Jack　didn't　worry　about　his　little　Sally。　Kids　were　the　most　adaptable　of　creatures。　Maybe　she'd　even　learn　the　rules　for　cricket。　If　so；　she　could　explain　the　inprehensible　game　to　her　daddy。
　　　〃My　God；　everybody　smokes　here；〃　Cathy　observed　as　they　pulled　into　Victoria　Station。
　　　〃Honey；　think　of　it　as　a　future　ine　source　for　all　the　docs。〃
　　　〃It's　an　awful　and　a　dumb　way　to　die。〃
　　　〃Yes；　dear。〃　Whenever　Jack　smoked　a　cigarette；　there　was　hell　to　pay　in　the　Ryan　house。　One　more　cost　of　being　married　to　a　doc。　She　was　right；　of　course；　and　Jack　knew　it；　but　everyone　was　entitled　to　at　least　one　vice。　Except　Cathy。　If　she　had　one；　she　concealed　it　with　great　skill。　The　train　slowed　to　a　halt；　allowing　them　to　stand　and　open　the　partment　door。
　　　They　stepped　out　into　the　arriving　rush　of　office　workers。　Just　like　Grand　Central　Terminal　in　New　York；　Jack　thought；　but　not　quite　as　crowded。　London　had　a　lot　of　stations；　laid　out　like　the　legs　of　an　octopus。　The　platform　was　agreeably　wide；　and　the　rush　of　people　politer　than　New　York　would　ever　be。　Rush　hour　was　rush　hour　everywhere；　but　the　English　city　had　a　patina　of　gentility　that　was　hard　not　to　like。　Even　Cathy　would　soon　be　admiring　it。　Ryan　led　his　wife　to　the　outside；　where　a　rank　of　cabs　waited。　He　walked　her　to　the　first　one　in　line。
　　　〃Hammersmith　Hospital；〃　he　told　the　driver。　Then　he　kissed　his　wife　good…bye。
　　　〃See　you　tonight；　Jack。〃　She　always　had　a　smile　for　him。
　　　〃Have　a　good　one；　babe。〃　And　Ryan　made　his　way　to　the　other　side　of　the　building。　Part　of　him　hated　the　fact　that　Cathy　had　to　work。　His　mom　never　had。　His　father；　like　all　men　of　his　generation；　had　figured　that　it　was　the　man's　job　to　put　food　on　the　table。　Emmet　Ryan　had　liked　the　fact　that　his　son　had　married　a　physician；　but　his　chauvinistic　attitude　about　a　woman's　place　had　somehow　or　other　carried　over　to　his　son　despite　the　fact　that　Cathy　made　a　lot　more　than　Jack　did；　probably　because　ophthalmologists　were　more　valuable　to　society　than　intelligence　analysts。　Or　the　marketplace　thought　so；　anyway。　Well；　she　couldn't　do　what　he　did；　and　he　couldn't　do　what　she　did；　and　that　was　that。
　　　At　Century　House；　the　uniformed　security　guard　recognized　him　with　a　wave　and　a　smile。
　　　〃Good　morning；　Sir　John。〃
　　　〃Hey；　Bert。〃　Ryan　slid　his　card　into　the　slot。　The　light　blinked　green；　and　Jack　transited　the　security　gate。　From　there；　it　was　just　a　few　steps　to　the　elevator。
　　　Simon　Harding　was　just　arriving；　too。　The　usual　greeting：　〃Morning；　Jack。〃
　　　〃Hey；〃　Jack　grunted　in　reply　on　the　way　to　his　desk。　There　was　a　manila　envelope　waiting　for　him。　The　cover　tag　said　it　had　been　messengered　over　from　the　U。S。　Embassy　in　Grosvenor　Square。　He　ripped　the　top　open　to　see　that　it　was　the　report　from　Hopkins　on　Mikhail　Suslov。　Jack　flipped　through　the　pages　and　saw　something　he'd　forgotten。　Bernie　Katz；　ever　the　thorough　doc；　had　evaluated　Suslov's　diabetes　as　dangerously　advanced；　and　predicted　that　his　longevity　was　going　to　be　limited。
　　　〃Here；　Simon。　Says　here　the　head　mie's　sicker　than　he　looks。〃
　　　〃Pity；〃　Harding　observed；　taking　it　as　he　fumbled　with　his　pipe。　〃He's　not　a　very　nice　chap；　you　know。〃
　　　〃So　I've　heard。〃
　　　Next　in　Ryan's　pile　were　the　morning　briefing　papers。　They　were　labeled　SECRET；　which　meant　that　the　conten