tc.thebearandthedragon-第27部分

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tite。　There　was　no　real　obesity　in　China。　People　didn't　overeat　here；　probably　because　of　the　lingering　memory　of　times　when　food　had　not　been　in　abundance　and　overeating　was　simply　not　possible。　Ming　would　have　been　considered　overweight　in　California；　Chester　thought；　but　that　was　just　her　body　type。　She　was　squat　because　she　was　short；　and　no　amount　of　dieting　or　working　out　or　makeup　could　change　it。　Her　waist　wouldn't　be　much　less　than　twenty…seven　inches。　For　her　chest；　34B　was　about　the　best　he　could　hope　for。。。　well；　maybe　34C　…　no；　he　decided；　B＋　at　most。　So；　a　34B　bra；　and　medium　shorts　…　panties　…　red　silk；　something　feminine。。。　something　on　the　wild；　whorish　side　of　feminine；　something　that　she　could　look　into　the　mirror　alone　with　and　giggle。。。　and　maybe　sigh　at　how　different　she　looked　wearing　such　things；　and　maybe　smile；　that　special　inward　smile　women　had　for　such　moments。　The　moment　when　you　knew　you　had　them　…　and　the　rest　was　just　dessert。
　The　best　part　of　Victoria's　Secret　was　the　catalog；　designed　for　men　who　really；　and　sensibly；　wanted　to　buy　the　models　themselves；　despite　the　facial　attitudes　that　sometimes　made　them　look　like　lesbians　on　quaaludes　…　but　with　such　bodies；　a　man　couldn't　have　everything；　could　he？　Fantasies；　things　of　the　mind。　Nomuri　wondered　if　the　models　really　existed　or　were　the　products　of　puters。　They　could　do　anything　with　puters　these　days　…　make　Rosie　O'Donnell　into　Twiggy；　or　Cindy　Crawford　obsolete。
　Back　to　work；　he　told　himself。　This　might　be　a　place　for　fantasies；　but　not　that　one；　not　yet。　Okay；　it　had　to　be　sexy。　It　had　to　be　something　that　would　both　amuse　and　excite　Ming；　and　himself；　too：　That　was　all　part　of　it。　Nomuri　took　the　catalog　off　the　pile　because　it　was　a　lot　easier　for　him　to　see　what　he　wanted　in　a　filled　rather　than　an　unfilled　condition。　He　turned　pages　and　stopped　dead　on　page　26。　There　was　a　black　girl　modeling　it；　and　whatever　genetic　stew　she'd　e　from　must 　have　had　some　fine　ingredients；　as　her　face　would　have　appealed　to　a　member　of　Hitler's　SS　just　as　much　as　Idi　Amin。　It　was　that　sort　of　face。　Better　yet；　she　wore　something　called　a　Racerback　bra　with　matching　string　bikini　panties；　and　the　color　was　just　perfect；　a　red…purple　that　the　Romans　had　once　called　Tyrrian　Scarlet；　the　color　on　the　toga　stripe　of　members　of　the　senatorial　order；　reserved　by　price　and　custom　to　the　richest　of　the　Roman　nobility；　not　quite　red；　not　quite　purple。　The　bra　material　was　satin　and　Lycra；　and　it　closed　in　front；　the　easier　for　a　girl　to　put　it　on；　and　the　more　interesting　for　a　guy　to　take　it　off；　his　mind　thought；　as　he　headed　over　to　the　proper　rack　of　clothing。　Thirty…four…B；　he　thought。　If　too　small；　it　would　be　all　the　more　flattering。。。　small　or　medium　on　the　string　bikini？　Shit；　he　decided；　get　one　of　each。　Just　to　be　sure；　he　also　got　a　no…wire　triangle…pattern　bra　and　thong　panties　in　an　orange…red　color　that　the　Catholic　Church　would　call　a　mortal　sin　just　for　looking　at。　On　impulse　he　got　several　additional　panties　on　the　assumption　that　they　soiled　more　quickly　than　bras　did；　something　he　wasn't　sure　of　despite　being　a　field　intelligence　officer　of　the　Central　Intelligence　Agency。　They　didn't　tell　you　about　such　things　at　The　Farm。　He'd　have　to　do　a　memo　on　that。　It　might　give　MP　a　chuckle　in　her　seventh…floor　office　at　Langley。
　One　other　thing；　he　thought。　Perfume。　Women　liked　perfume。　You'd　expect　them　to　like　it；　especially　here。　The　entire　city　of　Beijing　smelled　like　a　steel　mill；　lots　of　coal　dust　and　other　pollutants　in　the　air　…　as　Pittsburgh　had　probably　been　at　the　turn　of　the　last　century　…　and　the　sad　truth　was　that　the　Chinese　didn't　bathe　as　diligently　as　Californians　did；　and　nowhere　nearly　as　regularly　as　the　Japanese。　So；　something　that　smelled　nice。。。
　〃Dream　Angels；〃　the　brand　was　called。　It　came　in　a　perfume　spray；　lotion；　and　other　applications　that　he　didn't　understand；　but　he　was　sure　Ming　would；　since　she　was　a　girl；　and　this　was　a　quintessential　girl　thing。　So；　he　bought　some　of　that；　too；　using　his　NEC　credit　card　to　pay　for　it　…　his　Japanese　bosses　would　understand。　There　were　skillfully　arranged　and　choreographed　sex　tours　that　took　Japanese　salarymen　to　various　places　in　Asia　that　catered　to　the　sex　trade。　That　was　probably　how　AIDS　had　gotten　to　Japan；　and　why　Nomuri　used　a　condom　for　everything　there　except　urinating。　The　total　came　to　about　300　euros。　The　salesclerk　wrapped　everything　and　mented　that　the　lady　in　his　life　was　very　lucky。
　She　will　be；　Nomuri　promised　himself。　The　underthings　he'd　just　bought　her；　well；　the　fabrics　felt　as　smooth　as　flexible　glass；　and　the　colors　would　arouse　a　blind　man。　The　only　question　was　how　they　would　affect　a　dumpy　Chinese　female　secretary　to　a　government　minister。　It　wasn't　as　though　he　was　trying　to　seduce　Suzie　Wong。　Lian　Ming　was　pretty　ordinary　rather　than　ordinarily　pretty；　but　you　never　knew。　Amy　Irvin；　his　first　conquest　at　the　ripe　old　age　of　seventeen　years　and　three　months；　had　been　pretty　enough　to　inspire　him　…　which　meant；　for　a　boy　of　that　age；　she　had　the　requisite　body　parts；　no　beard　like　a　Civil　War　general；　and　had　showered　in　the　previous　month。　At　least　Ming　wouldn't　be　like　so　many　American　women　now　who'd　visited　the　plastic　SURGEON　to　have　their　tummies　tucked；　tits　augmented　to　look　like　cereal　bowls；　and　lips　pumped　full　of　chemicals　until　they　looked　like　some　strange　kind　of　two…part　fruit。　What　women　did　to　attract　men。。。　and　what　men　did　in　the　hope　of　seducing　them。　What　a　potential　energy　source；　Nomuri　thought；　as　he　turned　the　key　in　his　pany　Nissan。
　
　
　What　is　it　today；　Ben？〃　Ryan　asked　his　National　Security　Adviser。　〃CIA　is　trying　to　get　a　new　operation　underway　in　Beijing。　For　the　moment　it's　called　SORGE。〃
　〃As　in　Richard　SORGE？〃
　〃Correct。〃
　〃Somebody　must　be　ambitious。　Okay；　tell　me　about　it。〃
　〃There's　an　officer　named　Chester　Nomuri；　an　illegal；　he's　in　Beijing　covered　as　a　puter　salesman　for　NEC。　He's　trying　to　make　a　move　on　a　secretary；　female；　for　a　senior　PRC　minister；　a　guy　named　Fang　Gan　…〃
　〃Who　is？〃　Ryan　asked　over　his　coffee　mug。
　〃Sort　of　a　minister　without　portfolio；　works　with　the　Premier　and　the　Foreign　Minister。〃
　〃Like　that　Zhang　Han　San　guy？〃
　〃Not　as　senior；　but　yes。　Looks　like　a　very　high…level　go…fer　type。　Has　contacts　in　their　military　and　foreign　ministries；　good　ideological　credentials；　sounding　board　for　others　in　their　Politburo。　Anyway；　Nomuri　is　trying　to　make　a　move　on　the　girl。〃
　〃Bond；〃　Ryan　observed　in　a　studiously　neutral　voice；　〃James　Bond。　I　know　Nomuri's　name。　He　did　some　good　work　for　us　in　Japan　when　I　had　your　job。　This　is　for　information　only；　not　my　approval？〃
　〃Correct；　Mr。　President。　Mrs。　Foley　is　running　this　one；　and　wanted　to　give　you　a　heads…up。〃
　〃Okay；　tell　MP　that　I'm　interested　in　whatever　take　es　out　of　this。〃　Ryan　fought　off　the　grimace　that　came　from　learning　of　another　person's　private　…　well；　if　not　private；　then　his　sex　…　life。
　〃Yes；　sir。〃
　
　
　
　
　　CHAPTER　9
　　Initial　Results
　　
　Chester　Nomuri　had　learned　many　things　in　his　life；　from　his　parents　and　his　teachers　and　his　instructors　at　The　Farm；　but　one　lesson　he'd　yet　to　learn　was　the　value　of　patience；　at　least　as　it　applied　to　his　personal　life。　That　didn't　keep　him　from　being　cautious；　however。　That　was　why　he'd　sent　his　plans　to　Langley。　It　was　embarrassing　to　have　to　inform　a　woman　of　his　proposed　sex　life　…　MP　was　a　brilliant　field　spook；　but　she　still　took　her　leaks　sitting　down；　Nomuri　reminded　himself　…　but　he　didn't　want　the　Agency　to　think　that　he　was　an　alley　cat　on　the　government　payroll；　because　the　truth　was；　he　liked　his　job。　The　excitement　was　at　least　as　addictive　as　the　cocaine　that　some　of　his　college　chums　had　played　with。
　Maybe　that's　why　Mrs。　Foley　liked　him；　Nomuri　speculated。　They　were　of　a　kind。　Mary　Pat；　they　said　in　the　Directorate　of　Operations；　was　The　Cowgirl。　She'd　swaggered　through　the　streets　of　Moscow　during　the　last　days　of　the　Cold　War　like　Annie　Fucking　Oakley　packing　heat；　and　though　she'd　been　burned　by　KGB's　Second　Chief　Directorate；　she　hadn't　given　the　fuckers　anything；　and　whatever　operation　she'd　run　…　this　was　still　very；　very　secret　…　it　must　have　been　a　son　of　a　bitch；　because　she'd　never　gone　back　in　the　field　but　had　scampered　up　the　CIA　career　ladder　like　a　hungry　squirrel　up　an　oak　tree。　The　President　thought　she　was　smart；　and　if　you　wanted　a　friend　in　this　business；　the　President　of　the　United　States　was　right　up　there；　because　he　knew　the　spook　business。　Then　came　the　stories　about　what　President　Ryan　had　once　done。　Bringing　out　the　chairman　of　the　fucking　KGB？　MP　must　have　been　part　of　that；　the　boys　and　girls　of　the　DO　all　thought。　All　they　knew　even　within　the　confines　of　CIA　…　except；　of　course；　for　those　who　needed　to　know　（both　of　them；　the　saying　went）　…　was　what　had　been　published　in　the　press；　and　while　the　media　generally　knew　jack　shit　about　black　operations；　a　CNN　TV　crew　had　put　a　camera　in　the　face　of　a　former　KGB　chairman　now　living　in　Winchester；　Virginia。　While　he　hadn't　spilled　many　beans；　the　face　of　a　man　the　Soviet　government　had　declared　dead　in　a　plane　crash　was　bean　enough　to　make　a　very　rich　soup　indeed。　Nomuri　figured　he　was　working　for　a　couple　of　real　pros；　and　so　he　let　them　know　what　he　was　up　to；　even　if　that　meant　causing　a　possible　blush　for　Mary　Patricia　Foley；　Deputy　Director　（Operations）　of　the　Central　Intelligence　Agency。
　He'd　picked　a　Western…style　restaurant。　There　were　more　than　a　few　of　them　in　Beijing　now；　catering　both　to　the　locals　and　to　tourists　who　felt　nostalgic　for　the　taste　of　home　（or　who　worried　about　their　GI　systems　over　here　…　not　unreasonably；　Nomuri　thought）。　The　quality　wasn't　anything　close　to　a　real　American　restaurant；　but　it　was　considerably　more　appealing　than　the　deep…fried　rat　he　suspected　was　on　the　menu　of　many　Beijing　eateries。
　He'd　arrived　first；　and　was　relaxing　with　a　cheap　American　bourbon　when　Ming　came　through　the　door。　Nomuri　waved　in　what　he　hoped　was　not　an　overly　boyish　way。　She　saw　him　do　so；　and　her　resulting　smile　was　just　about　right；　he　thought。　Ming　was　glad　to　see　him；　and　that　was　step　one　in　the　plan　for　the　evening。　She　made　her　way