tc.redrabbit-第103节

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Jack。〃
　　　〃You　say　so；　sir。〃　It　damned　sure　isn't　for　me；
　　　Charleston　stood。　〃Good　luck；　Jack。　See　you　back　in　a　few　days。〃
　　　Ryan　took　his　hand。　〃Roger　that；　Sir　Basil。〃　Semper　fi；　pal。
　　　There　was　a　car　waiting　on　the　street。　Jack　hopped　in　the　left…front　seat；　and　the　driver　headed　east。　The　ride　took　about　fifty　minutes　with　the　light　afternoon　traffic；　almost　as　fast　as　the　train　would　have　been。
　　　On　getting　to　Chatham；　Ryan　found　his　daughter　napping；　Little　Jack　playing　with　his　feet…fascinating　things　they　were…in　the　playpen；　and　Miss　Margaret　sitting　with　a　magazine　in　the　living　room。
　　　〃Dr。　Ryan；　I　didn't　expect…〃
　　　〃That's　okay；　I　have　to　take　a　business　trip。〃　He　walked　to　the　wall　phone　in　the　kitchen　and　tried　calling　Cathy；　only　to　learn　that　she　was　giving　her　damned　lecture　on　her　laser　toy。　It　was　the　one　she　used　for　welding　blood　vessels　back　shut；　he　thought。　Something　like　that。　Frowning；　he　went　upstairs　for　his　bag。　He'd　try　to　call　her　from　the　airport。　But；　just　in　case；　he　scribbled　a　note。
　　　OFF　TO　BONN。　TRIED　TO　CALL。　WILL　TRY　AGAIN。　LOVE；　JACK。　This　one　found　its　way　to　the　refrigerator　door。　Ryan　bent　down　to　give　Sally　a　kiss　and　then　reached　down　to　lift　his　son　for　a　hug；　a　sloppy　one；　as　it　turned　out。　The　little　guy　dribbled　the　way　a　car　engine　dripped　oil。　That　necessitated　a　paper　towel　on　the　way　out。
　　　〃Have　a　good　trip；　Dr。　Ryan；〃　the　nanny　called。
　　　〃Thanks；　Margaret。　See　ya。〃　As　soon　as　the　car　pulled　off；　she　called　Century　House　to　let　people　know　Sir　John　was　on　the　way　to　Heathrow。　Then　she　went　back　to　her　magazine；　this　month's　Tattler。
　　　The　train　came　to　an　unexpected　halt　in　a　yard　right　at　the　Hungarian　frontier；　near　the　town　of　Zombor。　Zaitzev　hadn't　known　about　this；　and　the　surprise　was　soon　pounded。　There　were　cranes　on　their　side　of　the　train；　and　no　sooner　had　the　train　stopped　than　a　crowd　of　coveralled　workmen　appeared。
　　　The　Hungarian　State　Railway　operated　on　standard　gauge；　the　tracks　1；435　millimeters…4　feet；　814　inches…apart；　which　was　the　world's　standard；　and　which　incongruously　dated　back　to　the　two…horse　chariots　used　by　the　Romans。　But　the　Russian　train　gauge　was　five　feet；　or　1；524　millimeters…for　some　reason　no　one　remembered。　The　solution　to　that　here　was　to　lift　the　train　bodies　off　the　Russian　tracks…the　wheel　sets…and　lower　them　onto　a　different　set。　That　took　about　an　hour；　but　it　was　efficiently　done；　for　all　that。　It　utterly　fascinated　Svedana；　and　it　even　impressed　her　father　that　the　task　was　performed　so　routinely。　An　hour　and　twenty　minutes　later；　they　were　moving　almost　due　north　on　narrower　tracks　behind　a　new　electric　lootive；　crossing　the　rich　agricultural　soil　of　Hungary。　Almost　at　once；　Svetlana　chirped　at　the　sight　of　men　in　local　dress　riding　horses；　which　struck　both　parents　and　child　as　quite　exotic。
　　　The　aircraft　was　a　fairly　new　Boeing　737　and；　for　this　trip；　Ryan　decided　to　take　a　friend。　He　bought　a　pack　of　cigarettes　at　the　airport　and　lit　one　up　at　once　on　the　concourse。
　　　The　good　news　was　that　he'd　been　give　a　first…class　window　seat；　1…A。　The　scenery　up　in　the　sky　was　the　only　good　part　of　flying；　with　the　additional　bonus　that　nobody　could　see　the　fear　in　your　face；　except　maybe　the　stewardess；　because　like　doctors　they　could　probably　also　smell　fear。　But　up　front　the　booze　was　free；　and　so　Ryan　tried　to　order　whiskey；　only　to　find　that　the　selection　was　Scotch　（which　he　didn't　like）；　vodka　（which　he　didn't　like）；　or　gin　（which　he　could　not　stand　in　his　presence）。　It　was　the　wrong　airline　for　Jack　Daniel's；　but　the　wine　list　was　okay；　and；　climbing　to　cruise　altitude；　the　no…smoking　light　dinged　off；　and　Ryan　lit　up　another　smoke。　Not　as　good　as　a　nice　bourbon；　but　better　than　nothing　at　all。　At　least　it　enabled　him　to　lean　back　and　pretend　to　relax　behind　closed　eyes；　occasionally　looking　out　to　see　if　the　stuff　under　the　aircraft　was　green　or　blue。　The　flight　was　agreeably　smooth；　with　only　a　few　bumps　to　make　him　grab　for　the　armrests；　and　three　glasses　of　a　decent　French　white　helped　smooth　his　anxiety　out。　About　halfway　there；　over　Belgium；　he　got　back　to　thinking。　How　many　people　hated　flying？　Maybe　a　third；　maybe　half？　How　many　of　them　detested　it　as　much　as　he　did？　Half　of　those？　So；　probably；　he　wasn't　alone。　Fearful　people　tried　to　hide　it；　and　a　look　around　showed　faces　much　the　same　as　his　probably　was。　So　at　least　he　probably　wasn't　the　only　wimp　on　the　airplane。　And　the　wine　was　nice　and　fruity。
　　　And　if　the　ULA　hadn't　been　able　to　punch　his　ticket　with　Uzis　right　in　his　home　on　the　Chesapeake　Bay；　then　random　chance　was　probably　on　his　side　as　well。　So　he　might　as　well　relax　and　enjoy　the　ride…he　was　stuck　here　one　way　or　another；　after　all；　and　the　Boeing　cruised　along　at　500　knots　or　so。
　　　There　were　a　few　bumps　in　the　descent；　but　for　Ryan　this　was　the　one　part　of　the　flight　during　which　he　felt　safe…when　the　aircraft　was　returning　to　earth。　Intellectually；　he　knew　that　this　was　actually　the　most　dangerous　part；　but　somehow　his　gut　didn't　see　it　that　way。　He　heard　the　whine　of　various　servos；　and　then　the　whooshing　sound　that　announced　the　open　landing…gear　doors；　and　then　felt　safe　enough　to　see　the　ground　rushing　toward　him。　The　landing　was　bumpy；　but　Jack　weled　it。　He　was　back　on　the　ground；　where　you　could　stand　up　and　ambulate　all　by　yourself　at　a　reasonably　safe　speed。　Good。
　　　They　were　in　another　train　yard；　packed　with　boxcars　and　cattle　cars；　and　their　train　car　jostled　back　and　forth　through　switches　and　turns。　Once　more；　zaichik　had　her　nose　against　the　glass；　and　finally　they　passed　under　a　glass　roof　and　the　train　jerked　to　a　stop　in　Eastern　Station。　Semi…uniformed　and　rather　scruffy…looking　porters　drew　up　by　the　baggage　car。　Zaichik　practically　leaped　off　the　car　to　look　around；　almost　outracing　her　mother；　who　fumbled　after　her　with　their　carry…on　bags。　Oleg　walked　to　the　baggage　car　and　oversaw　the　transfer　of　his　bags　to　the　two…wheel　hand　truck。　They　walked　away　from　the　train；　through　the　old　and　rather　seedy　ticket　room；　and　from　there　outside　to　the　cabstand。　There　were　a　lot　of　cabs；　all　of　them　Russian…made　Ladas…the　Soviet　version　of　an　old　Fiat…and　all　the　same　color；　which　might　have　been　beige　under　the　dirt。　Zaitzev　tipped　the　porter　one　econ　ruble　and　supervised　the　loading　of　their　bags　into　the　car。　The　trunk　of　the　diminutive　taxicab　was　far　too　small。　Three　bags　went　to　the　front　seat；　and　Svetlana　would　have　to　sit　in　her　mother's　lap　for　the　ride　to　the　hotel。　The　cab　pulled　away；　made　a　swift　and　legally　dubious　U…turn；　and　then　raced　at　breakneck　speed　down　what　appeared　to　be　a　major　shopping　street。
　　　The　Astoria　Hotel　was　only　four　minutes　from　the　station。　It　seemed　to　be　an　impressive　structure；　looking　almost　like　a　grand　hotel　of　another　age。　The　lobby　was　modest　in　size；　though　not　in　appointments；　and　much　carved　oak　was　in　evidence。　The　desk　clerk　expected　them；　and　greeted　them　with　a　smile。　Soon　after　giving　Zaitzev　the　room　key；　he　pointed　across　the　street　to　the　Soviet…Hungarian　Culture　and　Friendship　Center；　which　was　so　obviously　a　KGB　operation　that　it　might　as　well　have　had　a　statue　of　Iron　Feliks　in　front。　The　bellman　led　them　to　the　tiny　elevator　and　then　to　the　third　floor；　turning　right　for　Room　307；　a　corner　room　that　would　be　their　home　for　the　next　ten　days；　or　so　everyone　but　Oleg　thought。　He　also　got　a　ruble　for　his　trouble　and　withdrew；　leaving　the　family　in　a　room　little　larger　than　the　bined　space　of　their　train　acmodations；　and　with　only　a　single　bathroom；　albeit　one　with　a　bath/shower；　which　all　three　of　them　needed。　Oleg　let　his　wife　and　daughter　go　first。
　　　As　shabby　as　the　room　was　by　Western　standards；　however；　by　Soviet　ones　it　was　almost　palatial。　There　was　a　chair　by　the　window；　and　Zaitzev　sat　down　and　surveyed　the　streets　for　a　CIA　officer。　That；　he　knew；　was　a　fool's　errand；　but　he　could　hardly　resist　the　temptation。
　　　The　men　he　was　looking　for　were　not　Americans　at　all；　but　rather　Tom　Trent　and　Chris　Morton；　both　of　whom　worked　for　Andy　Hudson。　Both　had　dark　hair　and　hadn't　washed　that　day　so　that　they　could　appear　to　be　working…class　Hungarians。　Trent　had　staked　out　the　train　station　and　spotted　them　ing　in；　while　Morton　had　camped　out　in　the　hotel。　With　good　photographic　prints　provided　by　the　Times　photographer　in　Moscow；　identifying　the　Zaitzev　family　had　been　simplicity　itself。　As　a　final　check；　Morton；　who　spoke　flawless　Russian；　walked　to　the　reception　desk　and　verified　his　〃old　friend's〃　room　number　at　the　desk；　in　return　for　a　twenty…florint　banknote　and　a　wink。　Then　he　wandered　down　to　the　bar；　while　surveying　the　hotel's　ground　floor　for　future　reference。　So　far；　they　decided　on　the　subway　ride　back　to　the　embassy；　things　were　going　remarkably　well。　The　train　had　arrived　late；　but　their　information　on　the　hotel　had　been　bang…on　for　once。
　　　Andy　Hudson　was　a　man　of　average　height　and　appearance；　except　his　sandy　hair　marked　him　as　a　foreigner　in　a　land　where　everyone　looked　pretty　much　alike。　Certainly　at　the　airport　they　all　did；　Ryan　thought。
　　　〃Can　we　talk？〃　Ryan　asked　on　the　way　away　from　the　airport。
　　　〃Yes；　the　car　is　clean。〃　Like　all　such　vehicles；　it　was　regularly　swep