tc.redrabbit-第27节

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he　corner　of　the　seat　and　found　his　eyelids　getting　heavy。
　　　〃Jack；　are　you　going　to　sleep？　What　if　you　miss　the　stop？〃
　　　〃It's　a　terminal；〃　her　husband　explained。　〃The　train　doesn't　just　stop　there；　it　ends　there。　Besides；　never　stand　up　when　you　can　sit　down；　and　never　sit　down　when　you　can　lie　down。〃
　　　〃Who　ever　told　you　that？〃
　　　〃My　gunny；〃　Jack　said；　from　behind　closed　eyes。
　　　〃Who？〃
　　　〃Gunnery　Sergeant　Phillip　Tate；　United　States　Marine　Corps。　He　ran　my　platoon　for　me　until　I　got　killed　in　that　chopper　crash…ran　it　after　I　left；　too；　I　suppose。〃　Ryan　still　sent　him　Christmas　cards。　Had　Tate　screwed　up；　that　〃killed〃　might　not　have　been　the　limp　joke　he　pretended　it　was。　Tate　and　a　Navy　Hospital　Corpsman　Second　Class　named　Michael　Burns　had　stabilized　Ryan's　back；　at　the　very　least　preventing　a　permanent　crippling　injury。　Burns　got　a　Christmas　card；　too。
　　　About　ten　minutes　to　Victoria；　Ryan　rubbed　his　eyes　and　sat　up　straight。
　　　〃Wele　back；〃　Cathy　observed　dryly。
　　　〃You'll　be　doing　it　by　the　middle　of　next　week。〃
　　　She　snorted。　〃For　an　ex…Marine；　you　sure　are　lazy。〃
　　　〃Honey；　if　there's　nothing　to　do；　you　might　as　well　use　the　time　productively。〃
　　　〃I　do。〃　She　held　up　her　copy　of　The　Lancet。
　　　〃What　have　you　been　reading　up　on？〃
　　　〃You　wouldn't　understand；〃　she　replied。　It　was　true。　Ryan's　knowledge　of　biology　was　limited　to　the　frog　he'd　disassembled　in　high　school。　Cathy　had　done　that；　too；　but　she'd　probably　put　it　together　again　and　watched　it　hop　back　to　its　lily　pad。　She　could　also　deal　cards　like　a　Vegas　cardsharp；　a　talent　that　flat　amazed　her　husband　every　time　she　demonstrated　it。　But　she　wasn't　worth　a　damn　with　a　pistol。　Most　physicians　probably　weren't；　and　here　guns　were　regarded　as　unclean　objects；　even　by　the　cops；　some　of　whom　were　allowed　to　carry　them。　Funny　country。
　　　〃How　do　I　get　to　the　hospital？〃　Cathy　asked；　as　the　train　slowed　for　its　last　stop。
　　　〃Take　a　cab　the　first　time。　You　can　take　the　tube；　too；〃　Jack　suggested。　〃It's　a　new　city。　Takes　time　to　learn　your　way　around。〃
　　　〃How's　the　neighborhood？〃　she　asked。　It　came　from　growing　up　in　New　York　and　working　in　Baltimore's　inner　city；　where　you　did　well　to　keep　your　eyes　open。
　　　〃Damned　sight　better　than　the　one　around　Hopkins。　You　won't　be　seeing　too　much　gunshot　trauma　in　the　ER。　And　the　people　are　as　nice　as　they　can　be。　When　they　figure　out　that　you're　an　American；　they　practically　give　you　the　joint。〃
　　　〃Well；　they　were　nice　to　us　in　the　grocery　store　yesterday；〃　Cathy　allowed。　〃But；　you　know；　they　don't　have　grape　juice　here。〃
　　　〃My　God；　no　civilization　at　all！〃　Jack　exclaimed。　〃So　get　Sally　some　of　the　local　bitter。〃
　　　〃You　moron！〃　she　laughed。　〃Sally　likes　her　grape　juice；　remember；　and　Hi…C　cherry。　All　they　have　here　is　black…currant　juice。　I　was　afraid　to　buy　it。〃
　　　〃Yeah；　and　she's　going　to　learn　to　spell　funny；　too。〃　Jack　didn't　worry　about　his　little　Sally。　Kids　were　the　most　adaptable　of　creatures。　Maybe　she'd　even　learn　the　rules　for　cricket。　If　so；　she　could　explain　the　inprehensible　game　to　her　daddy。
　　　〃My　God；　everybody　smokes　here；〃　Cathy　observed　as　they　pulled　into　Victoria　Station。
　　　〃Honey；　think　of　it　as　a　future　ine　source　for　all　the　docs。〃
　　　〃It's　an　awful　and　a　dumb　way　to　die。〃
　　　〃Yes；　dear。〃　Whenever　Jack　smoked　a　cigarette；　there　was　hell　to　pay　in　the　Ryan　house。　One　more　cost　of　being　married　to　a　doc。　She　was　right；　of　course；　and　Jack　knew　it；　but　everyone　was　entitled　to　at　least　one　vice。　Except　Cathy。　If　she　had　one；　she　concealed　it　with　great　skill。　The　train　slowed　to　a　halt；　allowing　them　to　stand　and　open　the　partment　door。
　　　They　stepped　out　into　the　arriving　rush　of　office　workers。　Just　like　Grand　Central　Terminal　in　New　York；　Jack　thought；　but　not　quite　as　crowded。　London　had　a　lot　of　stations；　laid　out　like　the　legs　of　an　octopus。　The　platform　was　agreeably　wide；　and　the　rush　of　people　politer　than　New　York　would　ever　be。　Rush　hour　was　rush　hour　everywhere；　but　the　English　city　had　a　patina　of　gentility　that　was　hard　not　to　like。　Even　Cathy　would　soon　be　admiring　it。　Ryan　led　his　wife　to　the　outside；　where　a　rank　of　cabs　waited。　He　walked　her　to　the　first　one　in　line。
　　　〃Hammersmith　Hospital；〃　he　told　the　driver。　Then　he　kissed　his　wife　good…bye。
　　　〃See　you　tonight；　Jack。〃　She　always　had　a　smile　for　him。
　　　〃Have　a　good　one；　babe。〃　And　Ryan　made　his　way　to　the　other　side　of　the　building。　Part　of　him　hated　the　fact　that　Cathy　had　to　work。　His　mom　never　had。　His　father；　like　all　men　of　his　generation；　had　figured　that　it　was　the　man's　job　to　put　food　on　the　table。　Emmet　Ryan　had　liked　the　fact　that　his　son　had　married　a　physician；　but　his　chauvinistic　attitude　about　a　woman's　place　had　somehow　or　other　carried　over　to　his　son　despite　the　fact　that　Cathy　made　a　lot　more　than　Jack　did；　probably　because　ophthalmologists　were　more　valuable　to　society　than　intelligence　analysts。　Or　the　marketplace　thought　so；　anyway。　Well；　she　couldn't　do　what　he　did；　and　he　couldn't　do　what　she　did；　and　that　was　that。
　　　At　Century　House；　the　uniformed　security　guard　recognized　him　with　a　wave　and　a　smile。
　　　〃Good　morning；　Sir　John。〃
　　　〃Hey；　Bert。〃　Ryan　slid　his　card　into　the　slot。　The　light　blinked　green；　and　Jack　transited　the　security　gate。　From　there；　it　was　just　a　few　steps　to　the　elevator。
　　　Simon　Harding　was　just　arriving；　too。　The　usual　greeting：　〃Morning；　Jack。〃
　　　〃Hey；〃　Jack　grunted　in　reply　on　the　way　to　his　desk。　There　was　a　manila　envelope　waiting　for　him。　The　cover　tag　said　it　had　been　messengered　over　from　the　U。S。　Embassy　in　Grosvenor　Square。　He　ripped　the　top　open　to　see　that　it　was　the　report　from　Hopkins　on　Mikhail　Suslov。　Jack　flipped　through　the　pages　and　saw　something　he'd　forgotten。　Bernie　Katz；　ever　the　thorough　doc；　had　evaluated　Suslov's　diabetes　as　dangerously　advanced；　and　predicted　that　his　longevity　was　going　to　be　limited。
　　　〃Here；　Simon。　Says　here　the　head　mie's　sicker　than　he　looks。〃
　　　〃Pity；〃　Harding　observed；　taking　it　as　he　fumbled　with　his　pipe。　〃He's　not　a　very　nice　chap；　you　know。〃
　　　〃So　I've　heard。〃
　　　Next　in　Ryan's　pile　were　the　morning　briefing　papers。　They　were　labeled　SECRET；　which　meant　that　the　contents　might　not　be　in　the　newspapers　for　a　day　or　two。　It　was　interesting　even　so；　because　this　document　occasionally　gave　sources；　and　that　sometimes　told　you　if　the　information　was　good　or　not。　Remarkably；　not　all　the　data　received　by　the　intelligence　services　was　very　reliable。　A　lot　of　it　could　be　classified　as　gossip；　because　even　important　people　inside　the　world's　government　loops　indulged　in　it。　They　were　jealous　and　backbiting　sons…of…　bitches；　like　anyone　else。　Especially　in　Washington。　Perhaps　even　more　so　in　Moscow？　He　asked　Harding。
　　　〃Oh；　yes；　very　much　so。　Their　society　depends　so　much　on　status；　and　the　backstabbing　can　be…well；　Jack；　you　could　say　that　it's　their　national　sport。　I　mean；　we　have　it　here　as　well；　of　course；　but　over　there　it　can　be　remarkably　vicious。　Rather　like　it　must　have　been　in　a　medieval　court；　I　imagine…people　jockeying　for　position　every　bloody　day。　The　infighting　inside　their　major　bureaucracies　must　be　horrific。〃
　　　〃And　how　does　that　affect　this　sort　of　information？〃
　　　〃I　often　think　I　should　have　read　psychology　at　Oxford。　We　have　a　number　of　psychiatrists　on　staff　here…as　I'm　sure　you　do　at　Langley。〃
　　　〃Oh；　yeah。　I　know　a　few　of　the　pshrinks。　Mainly　in　my　directorate；　but　some　in　S　and　T；　too。　We're　not　as　good　at　that　as　we　ought　to　be。〃
　　　〃How　so；　Jack？〃
　　　Ryan　stretched　in　his　chair。　〃A　couple　of　months　ago；　I　was　talking　to　one　of　Cathy's　pals　at　Hopkins；　his　name's　Solomon；　neuropsychiatrist。　You'd　have　to　understand　Sol。　He's　real　smart…department　chairman　and　all　that。　He　doesn't　believe　much　in　putting　his　patients　on　the　couch　and　talking　to　them。　He　thinks　most　mental　illness　es　from　chemical　imbalances　in　the　brain。　They　nearly　chopped　him　out　of　the　profession　for　that　but；　twenty　years　later；　they　all　realized　that　he　was　right。　Anyway；　Sol　told　me　that　most　politicians　are　like　movie　stars。　They　surround　themselves　with　sycophants　and　yes…men　and　people　to　whisper　nice　shit　into　their　ears…and　a　lot　of　them　start　believing　it；　because　they　want　to　believe　it。　It's　all　a　great　big　game　to　them；　but　a　game　where　everything　is　process　and　damned　little　of　it　is　product。　They're　not　like　real　people。　They　don't　do　any　real　work；　but　they　appear　to。　There's　a　line　in　Advise　and　Consent：　Washington　is　a　town　where　you　deal　with　people　not　as　they　are；　but　as　they　are　reputed　to　be。　If　that's　true　in　Washington；　then　how　much　more　must　it　be　in　Moscow？　There；　everything　is　politics。　It's　all　symbols；　right？　So　the　infighting　and　backstabbing　must　really　be　wild　there。　I　figure　that　has　to　affect　us　in　two　ways。　First；　it　means　that　a　lot　of　the　data　we　get　is　skewed；　because　the　sources　of　the　data　either　don't　know　reality　even　when　it　jumps　up　and　bites　them　on　the　ass；　or　they　twist　the　data　for　their　own　ends　as　they　process　it　and　pass　it　on…whether　consciously　or　unconsciously。　Second；　it　means　that　even　the　people　on　the　other　side　who　need　the　data　don't　know　good　from　bad；　so　even　if　we　can　figure　it　out；　we　can't　predict　what　it　means　because　they