tc.redrabbit-第93部分

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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　swept　and　parked　in　a　secure　location。
　　　〃How　sure　are　you　of　that？〃
　　　〃The　opposition　doesn't　break　the　rules　of　diplomatic　conduct。　Strange；　but　true。　And　besides；　the　car　has　a　very　sophisticated　alarm。　Not　sure　I　could　fiddle　it　myself；　as　a　matter　of　fact。　In　any　case；　wele　to　Budapest；　Sir　John。〃　He　pronounced　the　city's　name　as　Byudapesht；　as　opposed　to　the　way　Ryan　thought　it　was　spoken。
　　　〃So；　you　know　who　I　am？〃
　　　〃Yes；　I　was　home　in　London　last　March。　I　was　in　town　when　you　performed　your　heroics…bloody　fool；　you　ought　to　have　gotten　yourself　killed；　except　for　the　stupid　bloody　Irish。〃
　　　〃I've　said　that　to　myself　many　times；　Mr。　Hud…〃
　　　〃Andy；〃　Hudson　suggested　at　once。
　　　〃Fine。　My　name　is　Jack。〃
　　　〃Good　flight？〃
　　　〃Any　flight　you　walk　off　of　is　a　good　one；　Andy。　So；　tell　me　about　the　mission　and　how　you're　going　to　go　about　it。〃
　　　〃Entirely　routine。　We　observe　the　Rabbit　and　his　family…we'll　keep　them　under　intermittent　surveillance…and　when　the　time　is　right；　we'll　whisk　them　out　of　the　city　and　into　Yugoslavia。〃
　　　〃How？〃
　　　〃Car　or　truck；　haven't　decided　yet；〃　Hudson　answered。　〃Hungary　is　the　only　possible　problem。　The　Yugoslavs　care　sod…all　about　people　crossing　their　border…they　have　a　million　citizens　working　overseas　in　various　capacities。　And　our　relations　with　the　border　guards　is　very　cordial　indeed；〃　Andy　assured　him。
　　　〃Payoffs？〃
　　　Hudson　nodded　as　he　took　a　turn　around　a　modest…sized　park。　〃It's　a　good　way　for　them　to　outfit　their　families　with　fashionable　items。　I　know　people　who　smuggle　hard　drugs　in…I　make　no　use　of　them；　of　course。　Drugs　are　one　thing　the　locals　at　least　pretend　to　care　about；　but　some　border　guards　are　more　open　to　negotiation　than　others…hell；　they　probably　all　are；　or　damned　nearly　all。　It's　remarkable　what　you　can　get　for　some　hard　currency　or　a　pair　of　Reebok　running　shoes。　The　black　market　here　is　a　lively　one；　and　since　it　often　brings　hard　currency　into　the　country；　the　political　leadership　will　look　the　other　way　so　long　as　it　doesn't　get　too　out　of　hand；　you　see。〃
　　　〃Then　how　did　the　CIA　station　get　clobbered？〃
　　　〃Bad　bloody　luck。〃　Hudson　went　on　to　explain　for　a　minute　or　two。　〃Like　being　run　over　by　a　lorry　on　an　empty　road。〃
　　　〃Damn；　does　that　sort　of　thing　really　happen？〃
　　　〃Not　often；　rather　like　winning　a　state　lottery。〃
　　　〃You　gotta　play　to　win；〃　Ryan　murmured。　It　was　the　motto　for　the　Maryland　State　Lottery；　which　was　just　one　more　form　of　tax　for　those　dumb　enough　to　partake；　just　one　that　was　a　little　more　cynical　than　the　other　kinds。
　　　〃Yes；　that's　right。　It's　a　chance　we　all　take。〃
　　　〃And　how　does　that　apply　to　getting　the　Rabbit　and　his　family　out？〃
　　　〃One　in　ten　thousand。〃
　　　To　Ryan；　those　sounded　like　betting　odds；　but　there　was　one　other　hang…up　to　worry　about。　〃Have　they　told　you　his　wife　and　kid　don't　know　how　extended　his　vacation　is？〃
　　　That　made　Hudson's　head　turn。　〃You're　bloody　joking。〃
　　　〃Nope。　That's　what　he　told　our　people　in　Moscow。　plication？〃
　　　His　hands　flexed　on　the　wheel。　〃Only　if　sh