tc.thebearandthedragon-第113部分

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ty　airport。　Buildings　were　going　up。　Some　of　the　first　things　that　had　been　sent　in　were　the　ponents　of　a　sawmill；　and　one　thing　you　didn't　have　to　import　into　this　region　was　wood。　Large　swaths　were　being　cleared；　and　the　trees　cut　down　to　clear　them　were　almost　instantly　transformed　into　lumber　for　building。　First；　the　sawmill　workers　set　up　their　own　rough　cabins。　Now；　administrative　buildings　were　going　up；　and　in　four　months；　they　expected　to　have　dormitories　for　over　a　thousand　of　the　miners　who　were　already　lining　up　for　the　highly　paid　job　of　digging　this　gold　out　of　the　ground。　The　Russian　government　had　decided　that　the　workers　here　would　have　the　option　of　being　paid　in　gold　coin　at　world…price；　and　that　was　something　few　Russian　citizens　wanted　to　walk　away　from。　And　so　expert　miners　were　filling　out　their　application　forms　in　anticipation　of　the　flights　into　the　new　strike。　Bondarenko　wished　them　luck。　There　were　enough　mosquitoes　there　to　carry　off　a　small　child　and　suck　him　dry　of　blood　like　mini…vampires。　Even　for　gold　coin；　it　was　not　a　place　he'd　want　to　work。
　The　oil　field　was　ultimately　more　important　to　his　country；　the　general　knew。　Already；　ships　were　fighting　their　way　through　the　late…spring　ice；　shepherded　by　navy　icebreakers　like　the　Yamal　and　Rossiya；　to　deliver　the　drilling　equipment　needed　to　mence　proper　exploration　for　later　production。　But　Bondarenko　had　been　well　briefed　on　this　subject。　This　oil　field　was　no　pipe　dream。　It　was　the　economic　salvation　of　his　country；　a　way　to　inject　huge　quantities　of　hard　currency　into　Russia；　money　to　buy　the　things　it　needed　to　smash　its　way　into　the　twenty…first　century；　money　to　pay　the　workers　who'd　striven　so　hard　and　so　long　for　the　prosperity　they　and　their　country　deserved。
　And　it　was　Bondarenko's　job　to　guard　it。　Meanwhile；　army　engineers　were　furiously　at　work　building　harbor　facilities　so　that　the　cargo　ships　would　be　able　to　land　what　cargo　they　had。　The　use　of　amphibious…warfare　ships；　so　that　the　Russian　navy　could　land　the　cargo　on　the　beaches　as　though　it　were　battle　gear；　had　been　examined　but　discarded。　In　many　cases；　the　cargo　to　be　landed　was　larger　than　the　main　battle　tanks　of　the　Russian　army；　a　fact　which　had　both　surprised　and　impressed　the　manding　general　of　the　Far　East　Military　District。
　One　consequence　of　all　this　was　that　most　of　Bondarenko's　engineers　had　been　stripped　away　for　one　project　or　another；　leaving　him　with　a　few　battalions　organically　attached　to　his　fighting　formations。　And　he　had　uses　of　his　own　for　those　engineers；　the　general　grumbled。　There　were　several　places　on　the　Chinese　border　where　a　couple　of　regiments　could　put　together　some　very　useful　obstacles　against　invading　mechanized　forces。　But　they'd　be　visible；　and　too　obviously　intended　to　be　used　against　Chinese　forces；　Moscow　had　told　him；　not　caring；　evidently；　that　the　only　way　they　could　be　used　against　the　People's　Liberation　Army　was　if　that　army　decided　to　e　north　and　liberate　Russia！
　What　was　it　about　politicians？　Bondarenko　thought。　Even　the　ones　in　America　were　the　same；　so　he'd　been　told　by　American　officers　he'd　met。　Politicians　didn't　really　care　much　about　what　something　did；　but　they　cared　a　great　deal　about　what　it　appeared　to　do。　In　that　sense；　all　politicians　of　whatever　political　tilt　all　over　the　world　were　munists；　Bondarenko　thought　with　an　amused　grunt；　more　interested　in　show　than　reality。
　〃When　will　they　be　finished？〃　the　general…colonel　asked。
　〃They've　made　amazing　progress；〃　Colonel　Aliyev　replied。　〃The　routes　will　be　fully　roughed　in…oh；　another　month　or　six　weeks；　depending　on　weather。　The　finishing　work　will　take　much　longer。〃
　〃You　know　what　worries　me？〃
　〃What　is　that；　rade　General？〃　the　operations　officer　asked。
　〃We've　built　an　invasion　route。　For　the　first　time；　the　Chinese　could　jump　across　the　border　and　make　good　time　to　the　north　Siberian　coast。〃　Before；　the　natural　obstacles…mainly　the　wooded　nature　of　the　terrain…would　have　made　that　task　difficult　to　the　point　of　impossibility。　But　now　there　was　a　way　to　get　there；　and　a　reason　to　go　there　as　well。　Siberia　now　truly　was　something　it　had　often　been　thought　to　be；　a　treasure　house　of　cosmic　proportions。　Treasure　house；　Bondarenko　thought。　And　I　am　the　keeper　of　the　keys。　He　walked　back　to　his　helicopter　to　plete　his　tour　of　the　route　being　carved　out　by　army　engineers。
　
　
　
　
　CHAPTER　36
　SORGE　Reports
　
　President　Ryan　awoke　just　before　six　in　the　morning。　The　Secret　Service　preferred　that　he　keep　the　shades　closed；　thus　blocking　the　windows；　but　Ryan　had　never　wanted　to　sleep　in　a　coffin；　even　a　large　one；　and　so　when　he　awoke　momentarily　at　such　times　as　3：53　he　preferred　to　see　some　sort　of　light　outside　the　window；　even　if　only　the　taillights　of　a　patrolling　police　car　or　a　lonely　taxicab。　Over　the　years；　he'd　bee　accustomed　to　waking　early。　That　surprised　him。　As　a　boy；　he'd　always　preferred　to　sleep　late；　especially　on　weekends。　But　Cathy　had　been　the　other　way；　like　most　doctors；　and　especially　most　SURGEONs：　early　to　rise；　and　get　to　the　hospital；　so　that　when　you　worked　on　a　patient　you　had　all　day　to　see　how　he　or　she　tolerated　the　procedure。
　So；　maybe　he'd　picked　it　up　from　her；　and　in　some　sort　of　perverse　one…upmanship　he'd　e　to　open　his　eyes　even　earlier。　Or　maybe　it　was　a　more　recently　acquired　habit　in　this　damned　place；　Jack　thought；　as　he　slid　off　the　bed　and　padded　off　to　the　bathroom　as　another　damned　day　started；　this　one　like　so　many　others；　too　damned　early。　What　the　hell　was　the　matter？　the　President　wondered。　Why　was　it　that　he　didn't　need　sleep　as　much　anymore？　Hell；　sleep　was　one　of　the　very　few　pure　pleasures　given　to　man　on　earth；　and　all　he　wanted　was　just　a　little　more　of　it。。。
　But　he　couldn't　have　it。　It　was　just　short　of　six　in　the　morning；　Jack　told　himself　as　he　looked　out　the　window。　Milkmen　were　up；　as　were　paperboys。　Mailmen　were　in　their　sorting　rooms；　and　in　other　places　people　who　had　worked　through　the　night　were　ending　their　working　days。
　That　included　a　lot　of　people　right　here　in　the　White　House：　protective　troops　in　the　Secret　Service；　domestic　staff；　some　people　Ryan　knew　by　sight　but　not　by　name；　which　fact　shamed　him　somewhat。　They　were　his　people；　after　all；　and　he　was　supposed　to　know　about　them；　know　their　names　well　enough　to　speak　them　when　he　saw　the　owners　thereof…but　there　were　just　too　many　of　them　for　him　to　know。　Then　there　were　the　uniformed　people　in　the　White　House　Military　Office…called　Wham…o　by　insiders…who　supplemented　the　Office　of　Signals。　There　was；　in　fact；　a　small　army　of　men　and　women　who　existed　only　to　serve　John　Patrick　Ryan…and　through　him　the　country　as　a　whole；　or　that　was　the　theory。　What　the　hell；　he　thought；　looking　out　the　window。　It　was　light　enough　to　see。　The　streetlights　were　clicking　off　as　their　photoelectric　sensors　told　them　the　sun　was　ing　up。　Jack　pulled　on　his　old　Naval　Academy　robe；　stepped　into　his　slippers…he'd　only　gotten　them　recently；　at　home　he　just　walked　around　barefoot；　but　a　President　couldn't　do　that　in　front　of　the　troops；　could　he？…and　moved　quietly　into　the　corridor。
　There　must　have　been　some　sort　of　bug　or　motion　sensor　close　to　the　bedroom　door；　Jack　thought。　He　never　managed　to　surprise　anyone　when　he　came　out　into　the　upstairs　corridor　unexpectedly。　The　heads　always　seemed　to　be　looking　in　his　direction　and　there　was　the　instant　morning　race　to　see　who　could　greet　him　first。
　The　first　this　time　was　one　of　the　senior　Secret　Service　troops；　head　of　the　night　crew。　Andrea　Price…O'Day　was　still　at　her　home　in　Maryland；　probably　dressed　and　ready　to　head　out　the　door…what　shitty　hours　these　people　worked　on　his　behalf；　Jack　reminded　himself…for　the　hourlong　drive　into　D。C。　And　with　luck　she'd　make　it　home…　when？　Tonight？　That　depended　on　his　schedule　for　today；　and　he　couldn't　remember　offhand　what　he　had　happening。
　〃Coffee；　boss？〃　one　of　the　younger　agents　asked。
　〃Sounds　like　a　winner；　Charlie。〃　Ryan　followed　him；　yawning。　He　ended　up　in　the　Secret　Service　guard　post　for　this　floor；　a　walk…in　closet；　really；　with　a　TV　and　a　coffeepot…probably　stocked　by　the　kitchen　staff…and　some　munchies　to　help　the　people　get　through　the　night。
　〃When　did　you　e　on　duty？〃　POTUS　asked。
　〃Eleven；　sir；〃　Charlie　Malone　answered。
　〃Boring　duty？〃
　〃Could　be　worse。　At　least　I'm　not　working　the　bad…check　detail　in　Omaha　anymore。〃
　〃Oh；　yeah；〃　agreed　Joe　Hilton；　another　one　of　the　young　agents　on　the　deathwatch。
　〃I　bet　you　played　ball；〃　Jack　observed。
　Hilton　nodded。　〃Outside　linebacker；　sir。　Florida　State　University。　Not　big　enough　for　the　pros；　though。〃
　Only　about　two…twenty；　and　it's　all　lean　meat；　Jack　thought。　Young　Special　Agent　Hilton　looked　like　a　fundamental　force　of　nature。
　〃Better　off　playing　baseball。　You　make　a　good　living；　work　fifteen　years；　maybe　more；　and　you're　healthy　at　the　end　of　it。〃
　〃Well；　maybe　I'll　train　my　boy　to　be　an　outfielder；〃　Hilton　said。
　〃How　old？〃　Ryan　asked；　vaguely　remembering　that　Hilton　was　a　recent　father。　His　wife　was　a　lawyer　at　the　Justice　Department；　wasn't　she？
　〃Three　months。　Sleeping　through　the　night　now；　Mr。　President。　Good　of　you　to　ask。〃
　I　wish　they'd　just　call　me　Jack。　I'm　not　God；　am　I？　But　that　was　about　as　likely　as　his　calling　his　manding　general　Bobby…Ray　back　when　he'd　been　Second　Lieutenant　John　P。　Ryan；　USMC。
　〃Anything　interesting　happen　during　the　night？〃
　〃Sir；　CNN　covered　the　departure　of　our　diplomats　from　Beijing；　but　that　just　showed　the　airplane　taking　off。〃
　〃I　think　they　just　send　the　cameras　down　halfway　hoping　the　airplane'll　blow　up　so　that　they'll　have　tape　of　it…you　know；　like　when　the　chopper　es　to　lift　me　out　of　here。〃　Ryan　sipped　his　coffee。　These　junior　Secret　Service　agents　were　probably　a　little　uneasy　to　have　〃The　Boss；〃　as　he　was　known　within　the　Service；　talking　with　them　as　if　he　and　they　were　normal　people。　If　so；　Jack　thought；　tough　shit。　He　wasn't　going　to　turn　into　Louis　XIV　just　to　make　them　happy。　Besides；　he　wasn't　as　good…looking　as　Leonardo　DiCaprio；　at　least　according　to　Sally；　who　thought　that　young　actor　was　the　cat's　ass。
　Just　then；　a　messenger　arrived　with　the　day's　copies　of　the　morning's　Early　Bird。　Jac