tc.redrabbit-第99部分

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t　Sergeant　Major　Canderton；　and　up　to　his　office。
　　　ing　in　the　door；　he　dropped　the　Telegraph　on　Simon's　desk　before　doffing　his　raincoat。
　　　〃I　saw　it；　Jack；〃　Harding　said　at　once。
　　　〃Who's　talking？〃
　　　〃Not　sure。　Foreign　Office；　probably。　They've　been　briefed　in　on　this。　Or　perhaps　someone　from　the　PM's　office。　Sir　Basil　is　not　pleased；〃　Harding　assured　him。
　　　〃Nobody　called　the　paper？〃
　　　〃No。　We　didn't　know　about　this　until　it　was　published　this　morning。〃
　　　〃I　thought　the　local　papers　had　a　more　cordial　relationship　with　the　government　over　here。〃
　　　〃Generally；　they　do；　which　leads　me　to　believe　it　was　the　PM's　office　that　did　the　leak。〃　Harding's　face　was　innocent　enough；　but　Jack　found　himself　trying　to　read　it。　That　was　something　his　wife　was　far　better　at。　He　had　the　feeling　that　Harding　was　not　being　entirely　truthful；　but　he　had　no　real　reason　to　plain　about　that；　did　he？
　　　〃Anything　new　from　the　overnights？〃
　　　Harding　shook　his　head。　〃Nothing　of　great　interest。　Nothing　on　this　BEATRIX　operation；　either。　Tell　your　wife　about　your　impending　trip？〃
　　　〃Yeah；　and　I　didn't　tell　you　that　she's　pretty　good　at　reading　my　mind。〃
　　　〃Most　wives　can；　Jack。〃　Harding　had　a　good　laugh　at　that。
　　　Zaitzev　had　the　same　desk　and　the　same　pile　of　message　traffic；　always　different　in　exact　details；　but　always　the　same　really：　reports　from　field　officers　transmitting　data　from　foreign　nationals　on　all　manner　of　subjects。　He　had　hundreds　of　operation　names　memorized；　and　untold　thousands　of　details　resident　between　his　ears；　including　the　actual　names　of　some　of　the　agents　and　the　code　names　of　many；　many　others。
　　　As　on　the　previous　workdays；　he　took　his　time；　reading　over　all　the　morning　traffic　before　sending　it　upstairs；　trusting　his　trained　memory　to　record　and　file　away　all　of　the　important　details。
　　　Some；　of　course；　contained　information　that　was　hidden　in　multiple　ways。　There　was　probably　a　penetration　agent　within　CIA；　for　example；　but　his　code　name…TRUMPET…was　all　Zaitzev　knew。　Even　the　data　he　transmitted　were　concealed　by　the　use　of　layered　super…encryption；　including　a　one…time　pad。　But　the　data　went　to　a　colonel　on　the　sixth　floor　who　specialized　in　CIA　investigations　and　worked　closely　with　the　Second　Chief　Directorate…so；　by　implication；　TRUMPET　was　giving　KGB　something　in　which　the　Second　Directorate　was　interested；　and　that　meant　agents　operating　for　CIA　right　here　in　Moscow。　Which　was　enough　to　give　him　chills；　but　the　Americans　he'd　talked　to…he'd　warned　them　about　munications　security；　and　that　would　flag　any　dispatch　about　him　to　a　very　limited　number　of　people。　And　he　knew　that　TRUMPET　was　being　paid　huge　amounts　of　money；　and　so；　probably　he　was　not　a　senior　CIA　official；　who；　Zaitzev　judged；　were　probably　very　well　paid。　An　ideological　agent　would　have　given　him　cause　to　worry；　but　there　were　none　of　them　in　America　whom　he　knew　bout…and　he　would　know；　wouldn't　he？
　　　In　a　week；　perhaps　less；　the　municator　told　himself；　he'd　be　in　the　West　and　safe。　He　hoped　his　wife　would　not　go　totally　amok　when　he　told　her　his　plans；　but　probably　she　would　not。　She　had　no　immediate　family。　Her　mother　had　died　the　previous　year；　to　Irina's　great　sorrow；　and　she　had　neither　brothers　nor　sisters　to　hold　her　back；　and　she　was　not　happy　working　at　GUM　because　of　all　the　petty　corruption　there。　And　he　would　promise　to　get　her　the　piano　she　longed　to　have；　but　which　even　his　KGB　post　couldn't　get　for　her；　so　meager　was　the　supply。
　　　So　he　shuffled　his　papers；　perhaps　more　slowly　than　usual；　but　not　greatly　so；　he　thought。　There　were　few　really　hard　workers；　even　in　KGB。　The　cynical　adage　in　the　Soviet　Union　was　〃As　long　as　they　pretend　to　pay　us；　we　will　pretend　to　work；〃　and　the　principle　applied　here　as　well。　If　you　exceeded　your　quota；　they'd　just　increase　it　the　following　year　without　any　improvement　in　your　working　conditions…and　so；　few　worked　hard　enough　to　be　noticed　as　Heroes　of　Socialist　Labor。
　　　Just　after　11：00；　Colonel　Rozhdestvenskiy　appeared　in　the　ms　room。　Zaitzev　caught　his　eye　and　waved　him　over。
　　　〃Yes；　rade　Major？〃　the　colonel　asked。
　　　〃rade　Colonel；〃　he　said　quietly；　〃there　have　been　no　recent　munications　about　six…six…six。　Is　there　anything　I　need　to　know？〃
　　　The　question　took　Rozhdestvenskiy　aback。　〃Why　do　you　ask？〃
　　　〃rade　Colonel；〃　Zaitzev　went　on　humbly；　〃it　was　my　understand　ing　that　this　operation　is　important　and　that　I　am　the　only　municator　cleared　for　it。　Have　I　acted　improperly　in　any　way？〃
　　　〃Ah。〃　Rozhdestvenskiy　relaxed。　〃No；　rade　Colonel；　we　have　no　plaints　with　your　activities。　The　operation　no　longer　requires　munications　of　this　type。〃
　　　〃I　see。　Thank　you；　rade　Colonel。〃
　　　〃You　look　tired；　Major　Zaitzev。　Is　anything　the　matter？〃
　　　〃No；　rade。　I　suppose　I　could　use　a　vacation。　I　didn't　get　to　go　anywhere　during　the　summer。　A　week　or　two　off　duty　would　be　a　blessing；　before　the　winter　hits。〃
　　　〃Very　well。　If　you　have　any　difficulties；　let　me　know；　and　I'll　try　to　smooth　things　out　for　you。〃
　　　Zaitzev　managed　a　grateful　smile。　〃Why；　thank　you；　rade　Colonel。〃
　　　〃You　do　good　work　down　here；　Zaitzev。　We're　all　entitled　to　some　time　off；　even　State　Security　people。〃
　　　〃Thank　you　again；　rade　Colonel。　I　serve　the　Soviet　Union。〃　Rozhdestvenskiy　nodded　and　took　his　leave。　As　he　walked　out　the　door；　Zaitzev　took　a　long　breath　and　went　back　to　work　memorizing　dispatches。。。　but　not　for　the　Soviet　Union。　So；　he　thought；　…666　was　being　handled　by　courier　now。　He'd　learn　no　more　about　it；　but　he'd　just　learned　that　it　was　going　forward　on　a　high…priority　basis。　They　were　really　going　to　do　it。　He　wondered　if　the　Americans　would　get　him　out　quickly　enough　to　forestall　it。　The　information　was　in　his　hands；　but　the　ability　to　do　anything　about　it　was　not。　It　was　like　being　Cassandra　of　old；　daughter　of　King　Priam　of　Troy；　knowing　what　was　going　to　happen；　but　unable　to　get　anyone　to　do　anything　about　it。　Cassandra　had　angered　the　gods　somehow　or　other　and　received　that　curse　as　a　result；　but　what　had　he　done　to　deserve　it？　Zaitzev　wondered；　suddenly　angry　at　CIA's　inefficiency。　But　he　couldn't　just　board　a　Pan　American　flight　out　of　Sheremetyevo　International　Airport；　could　he？
　　　
　　　CHAPTER　22　　…　PROCUREMENTS　AND　ARRANGEMENTS
　　　The　second　face…to…face　meeting　was　back　at　GUM　department　store；　where　a　certain　Little　Bunny　needed　some　fall/winter　clothing；　which　her　father　wanted　to　get　her…which　was　something　of　a　surprise　for　Irina　Bogdanova；　but　a　pleasant　one。　Mary　Pat；　the　supreme　expert　on　shopping　in　the　Foley　family；　wandered　about　looking　at　the　various　items　on　sale；　surprised　to　see　that　they　weren't　all　Soviet　schlock。　Some　were　even　attractive。。。　though　not　quite　attractive　enough　to　buy。　She　dawdled　again　in　the　fur　department…the　furs　here　might　have　sold　fairly　well　in　New　York；　though　they　were　not　quite　on　a　par　with　Fendi。　There　weren't　enough　Italian　designers　in　Russia。　But　the　quality　of　the　furs…that　is；　the　animal　skins　themselves…wasn't　too　shabby。　The　Soviets　just　didn't　know　how　to　sew　them　together　properly。　That　was　too　bad；　really；　she　thought。　The　saddest　thing　about　the　Soviet　Union　was　how　the　government　of　that　gray　country　prevented　its　citizens　from　actually　acplishing　much。　There　was　so　little　originality　here。　The　best　things　to　buy　were　all　old；　pre…revolutionary　art　works；　usually　small　ones；　almost　always　religious　pieces；　sold　at　impromptu　flea　markets　to　raise　needed　money　for　some　family　or　other。　She'd　already　purchased　several　pieces；　trying　not　to　feel　like　a　thief　in　doing　so。　To　assuage　her　conscience；　she　never　haggled；　almost　always　paying　the　price　asked　instead　of　trying　to　chisel　it　down　by　a　few　percent。　That　would　have　been　like　armed　robbery；　she　thought；　and　her　ultimate　mission　in　Moscow…this　was　a　core　belief　for　her…was　to　help　these　people；　though　in　a　way　they　could　hardly　have　understood　or　approved。　But；　for　the　most　part；　Muscovites　liked　her　American　smile　and　friendliness。　And　certainly　they　liked　the　blue…stripe　certificate　rubles　she　paid　with；　cash　money　that　would　give　them　access　to　luxury　items　or；　almost　as　good；　cash　that　they　could　exchange　at　a　rate　of　three　or　four　to　one。
　　　She　wandered