tc.redrabbit-第93部分

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！


ou　will　sit　it　out　there…a　couple　of　days；　I　expect…and　then　watch　how　Andy　gets　your　Rabbit　out　of　Redland。　Randy；　how　long　would　you　expect？〃
　　　〃To　get　this　moving？　End　of　the　week；　maybe　a　day　or　two　longer；〃　Silvestri　thought。　〃The　Rabbit　will　fly　or　take　the　train　to　Budapest；　and　your　man　will　figure　how　to　get　him　the　hell　out　of　Dodge　City。〃
　　　〃Two　or　three　days　for　that；〃　Sir　Basil　estimated。　〃Mustn't　be　too　quick。〃
　　　〃Okay；　that　keeps　me　away　from　home　for　four　days。　What's　my　cover　story？〃
　　　〃For　your　wife？〃　Charleston　asked。　〃Tell　her　that　you　have　to　go　to…oh；　to　Bonn；　shall　we　say；　on　NATO　business。　Be　vague　on　the　time　factor；〃　he　advised。　He　was　inwardly　amused　to　have　to　explain　this　to　the　Innocent　American　Abroad。
　　　〃Okay；〃　Ryan　conceded　the　point。　Not　like　I　have　a　hell　of　a　lot　of　choice　in　the　matter；　is　there？
　　　Upon　getting　back　to　the　embassy；　Foley　walked　to　Mike　Barnes's　office。　Barnes　was　the　Cultural　Attache；　the　official　expert　on　artsy…fartsy　stuff。　That　was　a　major　assignment　in　Moscow。　The　USSR　had　a　fairly　rich　cultural　life。　The　fact　that　the　best　part　of　it　dated　back　to　the　czars　didn't　seem　to　matter　to　the　current　regime；　probably；　Foley　thought；　because　all　Great　Russians　wanted　to　appear　kulturniy；　and　superior　to　Westerners；　especially　Americans；　whose　〃culture〃　was　far　newer　and　far　crasser　than　the　country　of　Borodin　and　Rimsky…Korsakov。　Barnes　was　a　graduate　of　the　Juilliard　School　and　Cornell；　and　especially　appreciated　Russian　music。
　　　〃Hey；　Mike；〃　Foley　said　in　greeting。
　　　〃How's　keeping　the　newsies　happy？〃　Barnes　asked。
　　　〃The　usual。　Hey；　got　a　question　for　you。〃
　　　〃Shoot。〃
　　　〃Mary　Pat　and　I　are　thinking　about　traveling　some；　maybe　to　Eastern　Europe。　Prague　and　like　that。　Any　good　music　to　be　heard　that　way？〃
　　　〃The　Prague　symphony　hasn't　opened　up　yet。　But　Jozsef　Rozsa　is　in　Berlin　right　now；　and　then　he's　going　to　Budapest。〃
　　　〃Who's　he？　I　don't　know　the　name；〃　Foley　said；　as　his　heart　nearly　leapt　out　of　his　chest。
　　　〃Hungarian　native；　cousin　of　Miklos　Rozsa；　Hollywood　poser…Ben　Hur；　and　like　that。　Musical　family；　I　guess。　He's　supposed　to　be　excellent。　The　Hungarian　State　Railroad　has　four　orchestras；　believe　it　or　not；　and　Jozsef　is　going　to　conduct　number　one。　You　can　go　there　by　train　or　fly；　depends　on　how　much　time　you　have。〃
　　　〃Interesting；〃　Foley　thought　aloud。　Fascinating；　he　thought　inside。
　　　〃You　know；　the　Moscow　State　Orchestra　opens　up　beginning　of　next　month。　They　have　a　new　conductor；　guy　named　Anatoliy　Sheymov。　Haven't　heard　him　yet；　but　he's　supposed　to　be　pretty　good。　I　can　get　you　tickets　easy。　Ivan　likes　to　show　off　to　us　foreigners；　and　they　really　are　world…class。〃
　　　〃Thanks；　Mike；　I'll　think　about　it。　Later；　man。〃　Foley　took　his　leave。
　　　And　he　smiled　all　the　way　back　to　his　office。
　　　〃Bloody　hell；〃　Sir　Basil　observed；　reading　over　the　newest　cable　from　Moscow。　〃What　bloody　genius　came　up　with　this　idea？〃　he　asked　the　air。　Oh；　he　saw。　The　American　officer；　Edward　Foley。　How　the　hell　will　he　make　this　e　about？　the　Director　General　wondered。
　　　He'd　been　about　to　leave　for　lunch　at　Westminster　Palace　across　the　river；　and　he　couldn't　break　that　one　off。　Well；　it　would　be　something　to　ruminate　over　with　his　roast　beef　and　Yorkshire　pudding。
　　　〃Lucky　me；〃　Ryan　observed；　back　in　his　office。
　　　〃Jack；　it　will　be　less　dangerous　than　crossing　the　street〃…which　could　be　a　lively　exercise　in　London。
　　　〃I　can　take　care　of　myself；　Simon；〃　Ryan　reminded　his　workmate。　〃But　if　I　screw　up；　somebody　else　takes　the　fall。〃
　　　〃You'll　not　be　responsible　for　any　of　that。　You'll　just　be　there　to　observe。　I　don't　know　Andy　Hudson　myself；　but　he　has　an　excellent　professional　reputation。〃
　　　〃Great；〃　Ryan　mented。　〃Lunchtime；　Simon；　and　I　feel　like　a　beer。〃
　　　〃Duke　of　Clarence　all　right？〃
　　　〃Isn't　that　the　guy　who　drowned　in　a　barrel　of　malmsey　wine？〃
　　　〃Worse　ways　to　go；　Sir　John；〃　Harding　observed。
　　　〃What　is　malmsey　anyway？〃
　　　〃Strong　and　sweet；　rather　like　a　Madeira。　It　now　es　from　those　islands；　in　fact。〃
　　　One　more　piece　of　trivia　learned；　Ryan　thought；　going　to　get　his　coat。
　　　In　Moscow；　Zaitzev　checked　his　personnel　file。　He'd　accrued　twelve　days　of　vacation　time。　He　and　his　family　hadn't　gotten　a　time　slot　at　Sochi　the　previous　summer…the　KGB　quota　had　been　filled　in　July　and　August…and　so　they　had　gone　without。　It　was　easier　to　schedule　a　vacation　with　a　preschool　child；　as　in　any　other　country…you　got　to　run　away　from　town　whenever　you　wished。　Svetlana　was　in　state…provided　day　care；　but　missing　a　few　days　of　blocks　and　crayons　was　a　lot　easier　to　arrange　than　a　week　or　two　of　state　primary　school；　which　was　frowned　upon。
　　　Upstairs；　colonel　Rozhdestvenskiy　was　going　over　the　latest　message　from　Colonel　Bubovoy　in　Sofia；　just　brought　in　by　courier。　So　the　Bulgarian　premier　had　agreed　to　Moscow's　request　with　a　decent　lack　of　annoying　questions。　The　Bulgars　knew　their　place。　The　chief　of　state　of　a　supposedly　sovereign　nation　knew　how　to　take　his　orders　from　a　field…grade　officer　of　Russia's　mittee　for　State　Security。　Which　was　just　as　it　should　be；　the　colonel　thought。　And　now　Colonel　Strokov　of　the　Dirzhavna　Sugurnost　would　be　out　picking　his　shooter；　undoubtedly　a　Turk；　and　Operation　…666　could　go　forward。　He　would　report　this　to　Chairman　Andropov　later　in　the　day。
　　　〃Three　human　bodies？〃　Alan　Kingshot　asked　in　considerable　surprise。　He　was　Sir　Basil's　most　senior　field　officer；　a　very　experienced　operator　who'd　worked　the　streets　of　every　major　European　city；　first　as　a　〃legal〃　officer　and　later　as　a　headquarters　troubleshooter；　in　his　thirty…seven　years　of　service　to　Queen　and　Country。　〃Some　sort　of　switch；　is　it？〃
　　　〃Yes。　The　chap　who　suggested　it　is　a　fan　of　MINCEMEAT；　I　imagine；〃　Basil　responded。
　　　Operation　MINCEMEAT　was　a　World　War　II　legend。　It　had　been　designed　to　give　Germany　the　impression　that　the　next　major　Allied　operation　would　not　be　the　planned　Operation　HUSKY；　the　invasion　of　Sicily；　and　so　it　had　been　decided　to　suggest　to　German　intelligence　that　Corsica　was　the　intended　invasion　target。　To　do　this；　the　Germans　were　given　the　body　of　a　dead　alcoholic　who'd　been　transformed　after　a　death　of　dissipation　into　a　major　of　the　Royal　Marines；　putatively　a　planning　officer　for　the　fictitious　operation　to　seize　Corsica。　The　body　had　been　dropped　in　the　water　off　the　Spanish　coast　by　the　submarine　HMS　Seraph；　from　which　it　had　washed　to　shore；　been　duly　picked　up；　delivered　to　the　local　police；　autopsied；　and　the　document　case　handcuffed　to　the　cadaver's　wrist　handed　over　to　the　local　Abwehr　officer。　He'd　fired　the　papers　off　to　Berlin；　where　they'd　had　the　intended　effect；　moving　several　German　divisions　to　an　island　with　no　more　military　significance　than　the　fact　that　it　was　Napoleon's　birthplace。　The　story　was　called　The　Man　Who　Never　Was；　the　subject　of　a　book　and　a　movie；　and　further　proof　of　the　wretched　performance　of　German　intelligence；　which　couldn't　tell　the　difference　between　the　body　of　a　dead　drunk　and　that　of　a　professional　soldier。
　　　〃What　else　do　we　know？　I　mean；〃　Kingshot　pointed　out；　〃what　age　and　gender；　sir？〃
　　　〃Yes；　and　hair　color　and　so　forth。　The　manner　of　death　will　also　be　important。　We　do　not　know　those　things　yet。　So　the　initial　question　is　a　broad　one：　Is　it　possible　to　do　this？〃
　　　〃In　the　abstract；　yes；　but　before　we　can　go　forward　with　it；　I　shall　need　a　lot　of　specifics。　As　I　said；　height；　weight；　hair　and　eye　color；　gender　to　be　sure。　With　that；　we　can　go　forward。〃
　　　〃Well；　Alan；　get　thinking　about　it。　Get　me　a　specific　list　of　what　you　need　by　tomorrow　noon。〃
　　　〃What　city　will　this　be　in？〃
　　　〃Budapest　probably。〃
　　　〃Well；　that's　something；〃　the　field　spook　thought　aloud。
　　　〃Damned　grisly　business；〃　Sir　Basil　muttered　after　his　man　left。
　　　Andy　Hudson　was　sitting　in　his　office；　relaxing　after　his　Ploughman's　Lunch　in　the　embassy's　pub；　along　with　a　pint　of　John　Courage　beer。　Not　a　tall　man；　he　had　eighty…two　parachute　jumps　under　his　belt；　and　had　the　bad　knees　to　prove　it。　He'd　been　invalided　out　of　active　service　eight　years　before；　but　because　he　liked　a　little　excitement　in　his　life；　he'd　opted　to　join　the　Secret　Intelligence　Service；　and　work