tc.patriotgames-第83节

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and　e　up　with　three　possibles。　Two　of　these　were　in　prison；　one　for　bank　robbery；　the　other　for　interstate　transport　of　explosives。　The　third　had　dropped　out　of　sight　seven　years　before。　He　was　only　a　picture　to　the　Bureau。　The　name　they　had　for　him　was　known　to　be　an　alias；　and　there　were　no　fingerprints。　He'd　cut　himself　loose　from　his　former　associates　　a　smart　move；　since　most　of　them　had　been　arrested　and　convicted　for　various　criminal　acts　　and　simply　disappeared。　The　best　bet；　Shaw　told　himself；　was　that　he　was　now　part　of　society；　living　a　normal　life　somewhere　with　his　past　activities　no　more　than　a　memory。
　　　　The　agent　looked　over　the　file　once　again。　〃Constantine　Duppens；〃　his　alias　had　been。　Well…spoken　on　the　few　occasions　when　he'd　spoken　at　all；　the　informant　had　said　of　him。　Educated；　probably。　Attached　to　the　group　the　Bureau　had　been　watching；　but　never　really　part　of　it；　the　file　went　on。　He'd　never　participated　in　a　single　illegal　act；　and　had　drifted　away　when　the　leaders　of　the　little　band　had　started　talking　about　supporting　themselves　with　bank　robberies　and　drug　trafficking。　Maybe　a　dilettante；　Shaw　thought；　a　student　with　a　radical　streak　who'd　gotten　a　look　at　one　of　the　groups　and　recognized　them　for　what　they　were　　what　Shaw　thought　they　were：　ineffective　dolts；　street　hoods　with　a　smattering　of　Marxist　garbage　or　pseudo…Hitlerism。
　　　　A　few　fringe　groups　occasionally　managed　to　set　off　a　bomb　somewhere；　but　these　cases　were　so　rare；　so　minor；　that　the　American　people　scarcely　knew　that　they'd　happened　at　all。　When　a　group　robbed　a　bank　or　armored　car　to　support　itself；　the　public　remembered　that　one　need　not　be　politically　motivated　to　rob　a　bank；　greed　was　enough。　From　a　high　of　fifty…one　terrorist　incidents　in　1982；　the　number　had　been　slashed　to　seven　in　1985。　The　Bureau　had　managed　to　run　down　many　of　these　amateurish　groups；　preventing　more　than　twenty　incidents　the　previous　year；　with　good　intelligence　followed　by　quick　action。　Fundamentally；　the　small　cells　of　crazies　had　been　done　in　by　their　own　amateurism。
　　　　America　didn't　have　any　ideologically　motivated　terrorist　groups；　at　least　not　in　the　European　sense。　There　were　the　Armenian　groups　whose　main　objective　was　murdering　Turkish　diplomats；　and　the　white…supremacist　people　in　the　Northwest；　but　in　both　cases　the　only　ideology　was　hatred　　of　Turks；　blacks；　Jews；　or　whatever。　These　were　vicious　but　not　really　dangerous　to　society；　since　they　lacked　a　shared　vision　of　their　political　objective。　To　be　really　effective；　the　members　of　such　a　group　had　to　believe　in　something　more　than　the　negativity　of　hate。　The　most　dangerous　terrorists　were　the　idealists；　of　course；　but　America　was　a　hard　place　to　see　the　benefits　of　Marxism　or　Nazism。　When　even　welfare　families　had　color　televisions；　how　much　attraction　could　there　be　to　collectivism？　When　the　country　lacked　a　system　of　class　distinctions；　what　group　could　one　hate　with　conviction？　And　so　most　of　the　small　groups　found　that　they　were　guerrilla　fish　swimming　not　in　a　sea　of　peasants；　but　rather　a　sea　of　apathy。　Not　a　single　group　had　been　able　to　overe　that　fact　before　being　penetrated　and　destroyed　by　the　Bureau　　then　to　learn　that　their　destruction　was　granted　but　a　few　column　inches　on　page　eleven；　their　defiant　manifesto　not　printed　at　all。　They　were　judged　by　faceless　editors　not　to　be　newsworthy。　In　so　many　ways　this　was　the　perfect　conclusion　to　a　terrorist　trial。
　　　　In　that　sense　the　FBI　was　a　victim　of　its　own　success。　So　well　had　the　job　been　done　that　the　possibility　of　terrorist　activity　in　America　was　not　a　matter　of　general　public　concern。　Even　the　Ryan　base；　as　it　was　now　being　called；　was　regarded　as　nothing　more　than　a　nasty　crime；　not　a　harbinger　of　something　new　in　America。　To　Shaw　it　was　both。　As　a　matter　of　institutional　policy；　the　FBI　regarded　terrorism　as　a　crime　without　any　sort　of　political　dimension　that　might　lend　a　perverted　respectability　to　the　perpetrators。　The　importance　of　this　distinction　was　not　merely　semantic。　Since　by　their　nature；　terrorists　struck　at　the　foundations　of　civilized　society；　to　grant　them　the　thinnest　shred　of　respectability　was　the　equivalent　of　a　suicide　note　for　the　targeted　society。　The　Bureau　recognized；　however；　that　these　were　not　mere　criminals　chasing　after　money。　Their　objective　was　far　more　dangerous　than　that。　For　this　reason；　crimes　that　otherwise　would　have　been　in　the　domain　of　local　police　departments　were　immediately　taken　under　charge　by　the　federal　government。
　　　　Shaw　returned　to　the　photo　of　〃Constantine　Duppens〃　one　more　time。　It　was　expecting　too　much　for　a　convenience…store　clerk　to　remember　one　face　from　the　hundred　she　saw　every　day；　or　at　least　to　remember　it　well　enough　to　pick　out　a　photo　that　might　be　years　old。　She'd　certainly　tried　to　help；　and　had　agreed　to　tell　no　one　of　what　she'd　done。　They　had　a　description　of　the　suspect's　clothing　　almost　certainly　burned　　and　the　van；　which　they　had。　It　was　being　dismantled　piece　by　piece　not　far　from　Shaw's　office。　The　forensic　experts　had　identified　the　type　of　gun　used。　For　the　moment；　that　was　all　they　had。　All　Inspector　Bill　Shaw　could　do　was　wait　for　his　agents　in　the　field　to　e　up　with　something　new。　A　paid　informant　might　overhear　something；　or　a　new　witness　might　turn　up；　or　maybe　the　forensics　team　would　discover　something　unexpected　in　the　van。　Shaw　told　himself　to　be　patient。　Despite　twenty…two　years　in　the　FBI；　patience　was　something　he　still　had　to　force　on　himself。

　　　　〃Aw；　I　was　starting　to　like　the　beard；〃　a　co…worker　said。
　　　　〃Damned　thing　itched　too　much。〃　Alexander　Constantine　Dobbens　was　back　at　his　job。　〃I　was　spending　half　my　time　just　scratching　my　face。〃
　　　　〃Yeah；　same　thing　when　I　was　on　subs；〃　his　roommate　agreed。　〃Different　when　you're　young。〃
　　　　〃Speak　for　yourself；　grandpop！〃　Dobbens　laughed。　〃You　old　married　turkey。　Just　because　you're　chained　doesn't　mean　I　have　to　be。〃　
　　　　〃You　oughta　settle　down；　Alex。〃
　　　　〃The　world　is　full　of　interesting　things　to　do；　and　I　haven't　done　them　all　yet。〃　Not　hardly。　He　was　a　field　engineer　for　Baltimore　Gas　and　Electric　pany　and　usually　worked　nights。　The　job　forced　him　to　spend　much　of　his　time　on　the　road；　checking　equipment　and　supervising　line　crews。　Alex　was　a　popular　fellow　who　didn't　mind　getting　his　hands　dirty；　who　actually　enjoyed　the　physical　work　that　many　engineers　were　too　proud　to　do。　A　man　of　the　people；　he　called　himself。　His　pro…union　stance　was　a　source　of　irritation　to　management；　but　he　was　a　good　engineer；　and　being　black　didn't　hurt　either。　A　man　who　was　a　good　engineer；　popular　with　his　people；　and　black　was　fireproof。　He'd　done　a　good　deal　of　minority　recruiting；　moreover；　having　brought　a　dozen　good　workers　into　the　pany。　A　few　of　them　had　shaky　backgrounds；　but　Alex　had　brought　them　around。
　　　　It　was　often　quiet　working　nights；　and　as　was　usually　the　case；　Alex　got　the　first　edition　of　the　Baltimore　Sun。　The　case　was　already　off　the　front　page；　now　back　in　the　local　news　section。　The　FBI　and　State　Police；　he　read；　were　continuing　to　investigate　the　case。　He　was　still　amazed　that　the　woman　and　kid　had　survived　　testimony；　his　training　told　him；　to　the　efficacy　of　seat　belts；　not　to　mention　the　work　of　the　Porsche　engineers。　Well；　he　decided；　that's　okay。　Killing　a　little　kid　and　a　pregnant　woman　wasn't　exactly　something　to　brag　about。　They　had　wasted　the　state　trooper；　and　that　was　enough　for　him。　Losing　that　Clark　boy　to　the　cops　continued　to　rankle　Dobbens；　though。　I　told　the　dumb　fuck　that　the　man　was　too　exposed　there；　but　no；　he　wanted　to　waste　the　whole　family　at　once。　Alex　knew　why　that　was　so；　but　saw　it　as　a　case　of　zeal　overing　realism。　Damned　political…science　majors；　they　think　you　can　make　something　happen　if　you　wish　hard　enough。　Engineers　knew　different。
　　　　Dobbens　took　fort　from　the　fact　that　all　the　known　suspects　were　white。　Waving　to　the　helicopter　had　been　his　mistake。　Bravado　had　no　place　in　revolutionary　activity。　It　was　his　own　lesson　to　be　learned；　but　this　one　hadn't　hurt　anyone。　The　gloves　and　hat　had　denied　the　pigs　a　description。　The　really　funny　thing　was　that　despite　all　the　screwups；　the　operation　had　been　a　success。　That　IRA　punk；　O…something；　had　been　booted　out　of　Boston　with　his　honky　tail　between　his　legs。　At　least　the　operation　had　been　politically　sound。　And　that；　he　told　himself；　was　the　real　measure　of　success。
　　　　From　his　point　of　view；　success　meant　earning　his　spurs。　He　and　his　people　had　provided　expert　assistance　to　an　established　revolutionary　group。　He　could　now　look　to　his　African　friends　for　funding。　They　really　weren't　African　to　his　way　of　thinking；　but　they　liked　to　call　themselves　that。　There　were　ways　to　hurt　America；　to　get　attention　in　a　way　that　no　revolutionary　group　ever　had。　What；　for　example；　if　he　could　turn　out　the　lights　in　fifteen　states　at　once？　Alex　Dobbens　knew　how。　The　revolutionary　had　to　know　a　way　of　hitting　people　where　they　lived；　and　what　better　way；　he　thought；　than　to　make　unreliable　something　that　they　took　for　granted？　If　he　could　demonstrate　that　the　corrupt　government　could　not　even　keep　their　lights　on　reliably；　what　doubts　might　he　put　in　people's　heads　next？　America　was　a　so