tc.patriotgames-第94节

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　　　　〃And　what　if　it　had　been　a　different　camp？　What　if　those　paratroopers　had　done　a　job　for　us；　or　the　Brits；　and　taken　out　your　ULA　friends？〃
　　　　〃That's　different！〃　Ryan　snapped　back。　But　why？　he　asked　himself　a　moment　later。　〃It's　personal。　You　can't　expect　me　to　feel　the　same　way　about　that。〃　
　　　　〃Can't　I？〃　Cantor　hung　up　the　phone。
　　　　Ryan　stared　at　the　telephone　receiver　for　several　seconds　before　replacing　it　in　the　cradle。　What　was　Marty　trying　to　tell　him？　Jack　reviewed　the　events　in　his　own　mind；　trying　to　e　to　a　conclusion　that　made　sense。
　　　　Did　any　of　it　make　sense？　Did　it　make　sense　for　political　dissidents　to　express　themselves　with　bombs　and　machine　guns？　Did　it　make　sense　for　small　nations　to　use　terrorism　as　a　short…of…war　weapon　to　change　the　policies　of　larger　ones？　Ryan　grunted。　That　depended　on　which　side　of　the　issue　you　were　on　　or　at　least　there　were　people　who　thought　that　way。　Was　this　something　pletely　new？
　　　　It　was；　and　it　wasn't。　State…sponsored　terrorism；　in　the　form　of　the　Barbary　pirates；　had　been　America's　first　test　as　a　nation。　The　enemy　objective　then　had　been　simple　greed。　The　Barbary　states　demanded　tribute　before　they　would　give　right　of　passage　to　American…flag　trading　ships；　but　it　had　finally　been　decided　that　enough　was　enough。　Preble　took　the　infant　U。S。　Navy　to　the　Mediterranean　Sea　to　put　an　end　to　it　　no；　to　put　an　end　to　America's　victimization　by　it；　Jack　corrected　himself。
　　　　God；　it　was　even　the　someplace；　Ryan　thought。　〃To　the　shores　of　Tripoli；〃　the　Marine　Hymn　said；　where　First　Lieutenant　Presley　O'Bannon；　USMC；　had　attacked　the　fort　at　Derna。　Jack　wondered　if　the　place　still　existed。　Certainly　the　problem　did。
　　　　The　violence　hadn't　changed。　What　had　changed　were　the　rules　under　which　the　large　nations　acted；　and　the　objectives　of　their　enemies。　Two　hundred　years　earlier；　when　a　small　nation　offended　a　larger　one；　ships　and　troops　would　settle　matters。　No　longer　was　this　simple　wog…bashing；　though。　The　smaller　countries　now　had　arsenals　of　modern　weapons　that　could　make　such　punitive　expeditions　too　expensive　for　societies　that　had　learned　to　husband　the　lives　of　their　young　men。　A　regiment　of　troops　could　no　longer　settle　matters；　and　moving　a　whole　army　was　no　longer　such　a　simple　thing。　Knowing　this；　the　small　country　could　inflict　wounds　itself；　or　even　more　safely；　sponsor　others　to　do　so　　〃deniably〃　　in　order　to　move　its　larger　opponent　in　the　desired　direction。　There　wasn't　even　much　of　a　hurry。　Such　low…level　conflict　could　last　years；　so　small　were　the　expenditures　of　resources　and　so　different　the　perceived　value　of　the　human　lives　taken　and　lost。
　　　　What　was　new；　then；　was　not　the　violence；　but　the　safety　of　the　nation　that　either　performed　or　sponsored　it。　Until　that　changed；　the　killing　would　never　stop。
　　　　So；　on　the　international　level；　terrorism　was　a　form　of　war　that　didn't　even　have　to　interrupt　normal　diplomatic　relations。　America　itself　had　embassies　in　some　of　the　nations；　even　today。　Nearer　to　home；　however；　it　was　being　treated　as　a　crime。　He'd　faced　Miller　in　the　Old　Bailey；　Ryan　remembered；　not　a　military　court…martial。　They　can　even　use　that　against　us。　It　was　a　surprising　realization。　They　can　fight　their　kind　of　war；　but　we　can't　recognize　it　as　such　without　giving　up　something　our　society　needs。　If　we　treat　terrorists　as　politically　motivated　activists；　we　give　them　an　honor　they　don't　deserve。　If　we　treat　them　as　soldiers；　and　kill　them　as　such；　we　both　give　them　legitimacy　and　violate　our　own　laws。　By　a　small　stretch　of　the　imagination；　organized　crime　could　be　thought　of　as　a　form　of　terrorism；　Ryan　knew。　The　terrorists'　only　weakness　was　their　negativity。　They　were　a　political　movement　with　nothing　to　offer　other　than　their　conviction　that　their　parent　society　was　unjust。　So　long　as　the　people　in　that　society　felt　otherwise；　it　was　the　terrorists　who　were　alienated　from　it；　not　the　population　as　a　whole。　The　democratic　processes　that　benefited　the　terrorists　were　also　their　worst　political　enemy。　Their　prime　objective；　then；　had　to　be　the　elimination　of　the　democratic　process；　converting　justice　to　injustice　in　order　to　arouse　members　of　the　society　to　sympathy　with　the　terrorists。
　　　　The　pure　elegance　of　the　concept　was　stunning。　Terrorists　could　fight　a　war　and　be　protected　by　the　democratic　processes　of　their　enemy。　If　those　processes　were　obviated；　the　terrorists　would　win　additional　political　support；　but　so　long　as　those　processes　were　not　obviated；　it　was　extremely　difficult　for　them　to　lose。　They　could　hold　a　society　hostage　against　itself　and　its　most　important　precepts；　daring　it　to　change。　They　could　move　around　at　will；　taking　advantage　of　the　freedom　that　defined　a　democratic　state；　and　get　all　the　support　they　needed　from　a　nation…state　with　which　their　parent　society　was　unwilling　or　unable　to　deal　effectively。
　　　　The　only　solution　was　international　cooperation。　The　terrorists　had　to　be　cut　off　from　support。　Left　to　their　own　resources；　terrorists　would　bee　little　more　than　an　organized…crime　network　。　。　。　But　the　democracies　found　it　easier　to　deal　with　their　domestic　problems　singly　than　to　band　together　and　strike　a　decisive　blow　at　those　who　fomented　them；　despite　all　the　rhetoric　to　the　contrary。　Had　that　just　changed？　The　CIA　had　given　data　on　terrorists　to　someone　else；　and　action　had　been　taken　as　a　result。　What　he　had　seen　earlier；　therefore；　was　a　step　in　the　right　direction；　even　if　it　wasn't　necessarily　the　right　kind　of　step。　Ryan　told　himself　that　he'd　just　witnessed　one　of　the　world's　many　imperfections；　but　at　least　one　aimed　in　the　proper　direction。　That　it　had　disturbed　him　was　a　consequence　of　his　civilization。　That　he　was　now　rationalizing　it　was　a　result　of　。　。　。　what？

　　　　Cantor　walked　into　Admiral　Greer's　office。　
　　　　〃Well？〃　the　DDI　asked。
　　　　〃We'll　give　him　a　high　B；　maybe　an　A…minus。　It　depends　on　what　he　learns　from　it。〃　
　　　　〃Conscience　attack？〃　the　DDI　asked。　
　　　　〃Yeah。〃
　　　　〃It's　about　time　he　found　out　what　the　game's　really　like。　Everybody　has　to　learn　that。　He'll　stay；〃　Greer　said。　
　　　　〃Probably。〃

　　　　The　pickup　truck　tried　to　pull　into　the　driveway　that　passed　under　the　Hoover　building；　but　a　guard　waved　him　off。　The　driver　hesitated；　partly　in　frustration；　partly　in　rage　while　he　tried　to　figure　something　else　out。　The　heavy　traffic　didn't　help。　Finally　he　started　circling　the　block　until　he　was　able　to　find　a　way　into　a　public　parking　garage。　The　attendant　held　up　his　nose　at　the　plebeian　vehicle　　he　was　more　accustomed　to　Buicks　and　Cadillacs　　and　burned　rubber　on　the　way　up　the　ramp　to　show　his　feelings。　The　driver　and　his　son　didn't　care。　They　walked　downhill　and　across　the　street；　going　by　foot　on　the　path　denied　their　truck。　Finally　they　got　to　the　door　and　walked　in。
　　　　The　agent　who　had　desk　duty　noted　the　entrance　of　two　people　somewhat　disreputably　dressed；　the　elder　of　whom　had　something　wrapped　in　his　leather　jacket　and　tucked　under　his　arm。　This　got　the　agent's　immediate　and　full　attention。　He　waved　the　visitors　over　with　his　left　hand。　His　right　was　somewhere　else。
　　　　〃Can　I　help　you；　sir？〃
　　　　〃Hi；〃　the　man　said。　〃I　got　something　for　you。〃　The　man　raised　the　jacket　and　pulled　out　a　submachine　gun。　He　quickly　learned　that　this　wasn't　the　way　to　get　on　the　FBI's　good　side。
　　　　The　desk　agent　snatched　the　weapon　and　yanked　it　off　the　desk；　standing　and　reaching　for　his　service　revolver。　The　panic　button　under　the　desk　was　already　pushed；　and　two　more　agents　in　the　room　converged　on　the　scene。　The　man　behind　the　desk　immediately　saw　that　the　gun's　bolt　was　closed　　the　gun　was　safe；　and　there　wasn't　a　magazine　in　the　pistol　grip。　
　　　　〃I　found　it！〃　the　kid　announced　proudly。　
　　　　〃What？〃　one　of　the　arriving　agents　said。
　　　　〃And　I　figured　I'd　bring　it　here；〃　the　lad's　father　said。　
　　　　〃What　the　hell？〃　the　desk　agent　observed。
　　　　〃Let's　see　it。〃　A　supervisory　agent　arrived　next。　He　came　from　a　surveillance　room　whose　TV　cameras　monitored　the　entrance。　The　man　behind　the　desk　rechecked　to　make　sure　the　weapon　was　safe；　then　handed　it　across。
　　　　It　was　an　Uzi；　the　9mm　Israeli　submachine　gun　used　all　over　the　world　because　of　its　quality；　balance；　and　accuracy。　The　cheap…looking　（the　Uzi　is　anything　but　cheap；　though　it　does　look　that　way）　metal　stampings　were　covered　with　red…brown　rust；　and　water　dripped　from　the　receiver。　The　agent　pulled　open　the　bolt　and　stared　down　the　barrel。　The　gun　had　been　fired　and　not　cleaned　since。　It　was　impossible　to　tell　how　long　ago　that　had　been；　but　there　weren't　all　that　many　FBI　cases　pending　in　which　a　weapon　of　this　type　had　been　used。　
　　　　〃Where　did　you　find　this；　sir？〃　
　　　　〃In　a　quarry；　about　thirty　miles　from　here；〃　the　man　said。
　　　　〃I　found　it！〃　the　kid　pointed　out。
　　　　〃That's　right；　he　found　it；〃　his　father　conceded。　〃I　figured　this　was　the　place　to　bring　it。〃
　　　　〃You　thought　right；　sir。　Will　both　of　you　e　with　me；　please？〃
　　　　The　agent　on　the　desk　gave　both　of　them　〃visitor〃　passes。　He　and　the　other　two　agents　on　entrance…guard　duty　went　back　to　work；　wondering　what　the　hell　that　had　been　all　about。
　　　　On　the　building's　top　floor；　those　few　people　in　the　corridor　were　surprised　to　see