tc.thebearandthedragon-第5部分

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plague　that　had　threatened　the　nation　so　desperately　in　those　dark　days　…　〃Yes；　it　worked　in　this　particular　case；　but。。。！〃　　…　and　especially　to　criticize　his　politics；　which；　Jack　said　in　his　speeches；　weren't　politics　at　all；　but　plain　mon　sense。
　During　all　of　this；　Arnie　had　been　a　godsend；　preselecting　a　response　to　every　single　objection。　Ryan　was　wealthy；　some　said。　〃My　father　was　a　police　officer〃　had　been　the　answer。　〃I've　earned　every　penny　I　have　…　and　besides　＇going　on　with　an　engaging　smile＇；　now　my　wife　makes　a　lot　more　money　than　I　do。〃
　Ryan　knew　nothing　about　politics：　〃Politics　is　one　of　those　fields　in　which　everybody　knows　what　it　is；　but　nobody　can　make　it　work。　Well；　maybe　I　don't　know　what　it　is；　but　I　am　going　to　make　it　work！〃
　Ryan　had　packed　the　Supreme　Court：　〃I'm　not　a　lawyer；　either；　sorry〃　he'd　said　to　the　annual　meeting　of　the　American　Bar　Association。　〃But　I　know　the　difference　between　right　and　wrong；　and　so　do　the　justices。〃
　Between　the　strategic　advice　of　Arnie　and　the　preplanned　words　of　Callie　Weston；　he'd　managed　to　parry　every　serious　blow；　and　strike　back　with　what　was　usually　a　soft　and　humorous　reply　of　his　own　…　leavened　with　strong　words　delivered　with　the　fierce　but　quiet　conviction　of　someone　who　had　little　left　to　prove。　Mainly；　with　proper　coaching　and　endless　hours　of　preparation；　he'd　managed　to　present　himself　as　Jack　Ryan；　regular　guy。
　Remarkably；　his　most　politically　astute　move　had　been　made　entirely　without　outside　expertise。
　
　
　Morning；　Jack；〃　the　Vice　President　said；　opening　the　door　unannounced。
　〃Hey；　Robby。〃　Ryan　looked　up　from　his　desk　with　a　smile。　He　still　looked　a　little　awkward　in　suits；　Jack　saw。　Some　people　were　born　to　wear　uniforms；　and　Robert　Jefferson　Jackson　was　one　of　them；　though　the　lapel　of　every　suit　jacket　he　owned　sported　a　miniature　of　his　Navy　Wings　of　Gold。
　〃There's　some　trouble　in　Moscow；〃　Ryan　said；　explaining　on　for　a　few　seconds。
　〃That's　a　little　worrisome；〃　Robby　observed。
　〃Get　Ben　to　give　you　a　plete　brief…in　on　this。　What's　your　day　look　like？〃　the　President　asked。
　〃Sierra…square；　Delta…square。〃　It　was　their　personal　code：　SSDD　…　same　shit；　different　day。　〃I　have　a　meeting　of　the　Space　Council　across　the　street　in　twenty　minutes。　Then　tonight　I　have　to　fly　down　to　Mississippi　for　a　speech　tomorrow　morning　at　Ole　Miss。〃
　〃You　taking　the　wheel？〃　Ryan　asked。
　〃Hey；　Jack；　the　one　good　thing　about　this　damned　job　is　that　I　get　to　fly　again。〃　Jackson　had　insisted　on　getting　rated　on　the　VC…20B　that　he　most　often　flew　around　the　country　on　official　trips　under　the　code　name　〃Air　Force　Two。〃　It　looked　very　good　in　the　media；　and　it　was　also　the　best　possible　therapy　for　a　fighter　pilot　who　missed　being　in　control　of　his　aircraft；　though　it　must　have　annoyed　the　Air　Force　flight　crew。　〃But　it's　always　to　shit　details　you　don't　want；〃　he　added　with　a　wink。
　〃It's　the　only　way　I　could　get　you　a　pay　raise；　Robby。　And　nice　quarters；　too；〃　he　reminded　his　friend。
　〃You　left　out　the　flight　pay；〃　responded　Vice　Admiral　R。　J。　Jackson；　USN；　retired。　He　paused　at　the　door　and　turned。　〃What　does　that　attack　say　about　the　situation　over　there　in　Russia？〃
　Jack　shrugged。　〃Nothing　good。　They　just　can't　seem　to　get　ahead　of　things；　can　they？〃
　〃I　guess；〃　the　Vice　President　agreed。　〃Problem　is；　how　the　hell　do　we　help　them？〃
　〃I　haven't　figured　that　one　out　yet；〃　Jack　admitted。　〃And　we　have　enough　potential　economic　problems　on　our　horizon；　with　Asia　sliding　down　the　tubes。〃
　〃That's　something　I　have　to　learn；　this　economic　shit；〃　Robby　admitted。
　〃Spend　some　time　with　George　Winston；〃　Ryan　suggested。　〃It's　not　all　that　hard；　but　you　have　to　learn　a　new　language　to　speak。　Basis　points；　derivatives；　all　that　stuff　George　knows　it　pretty　good。〃
　Jackson　nodded。　〃Duly　noted；　sir。〃
　〃　'Sir'？　Where　the　hell　did　that　e　from；　Rob？〃

　〃You　still　be　the　National　mand　Authority；　oh　great　man；〃　Robby　told　him　with　a　grin　and　a　lower…Mississippi　accent。　〃I　just　be　da　XO；　which　means　Ah　gits　all　the　shit　details。〃
　〃So；　think　of　this　as　PCO　School；　Rob；　and　thank　God　you　have　a　chance　to　learn　the　easy　way。　It　wasn't　like　that　for　me　…〃
　〃I　remember；　Jack。　I　was　here　as　J…3；　remember？　And　you　did　okay。　Why　do　you　think　I　allowed　you　to　kill　my　career　for　me？〃
　〃You　mean　it　wasn't　the　nice　house　and　the　drivers？〃
　The　Vice　President　shook　his　head。　〃And　it　wasn't　to　be　a　first…black；　either。　I　couldn't　say　'no'　when　my　President　asks；　even　if　it's　a　turkey　like　you。　Later；　man。〃
　〃See　ya　at　lunch；　Robby；〃　Jack　said　as　the　door　closed。
　〃Mr。　President；　Director　Foley　on　Three；〃　the　speakerphone　announced。
　Jack　lifted　the　secure　phone　and　punched　the　proper　button。　〃Morning；　Ed。〃
　〃Hi；　Jack；　we　have　some　more　on　Moscow〃
　〃How'd　we　get　it？〃　Ryan　asked　first；　just　to　have　a　way　of　evaluating　the　information　he　was　about　to　receive。
　〃Intercepts；〃　the　Director　of　Central　Intelligence　answered；　meaning　that　the　information　would　be　fairly　reliable。　munications　intelligence　was　the　most　trusted　of　all；　because　people　rarely　lied　to　one　another　over　the　radio　or　telephone。　〃It　seems　this　case　has　a　very　high　priority　over　there；　and　the　militiamen　are　talking　very　freely　over　their　radios。〃
　〃Okay；　what　do　you　got？〃
　〃Initial　thinking　over　there　is　that　Rasputin　was　the　main　target。　He　was　pretty　big；　making　a　ton　of　money　with　his　female。。。　employees；〃　Ed　Foley　said　delicately；　〃and　trying　to　branch　out　into　other　areas。　Maybe　he　got　a　little　pushy　with　someone　who　didn't　like　being　pushed。〃
　
　
　You　think　so？〃　Mike　Reilly　asked。
　〃Mikhail　Ivan'ch；　I　am　not　sure　what　I　think。　Like　you；　I　am　not　trained　to　believe　in　coincidences；〃　replied　Lieutenant　Oleg　Provalov　of　the　Moscow　Militia。　They　were　in　a　bar　which　catered　to　foreigners；　which　was　obvious　from　the　quality　of　the　vodka　being　served。
　Reilly　wasn't　exactly　new　to　Moscow。　He'd　been　there　fourteen　months；　and　before　that　had　been　the　Assistant　Special　Agent　in　Charge　of　the　New　York　office　of　the　FBI　…　but　not　for　Foreign　Counter…Intelligence。　Reilly　was　an　OC…Organized　Crime…expert　who'd　spent　fifteen　busy　years　attacking　the　Five　Families　of　the　New　York　Mafia；　more　often　called　LCN　by　the　FBI；　for　La　Cosa　Nostra。　The　Russians　knew　this；　and　he'd　established　good　relations　with　the　local　cops；　especially　since　he'd　arranged　for　some　senior　militia　officers　to　fly　to　America　to　participate　in　the　FBI's　National　Academy　Program；　essentially　a　Ph。D。　course　for　senior　cops；　and　a　degree　highly　prized　in　American　police　departments。
　〃You　ever　have　a　killing　like　this　in　America？〃
　Reilly　shook　his　head。　〃No；　you　can　get　regular　guns　pretty　easy　at　home；　but　not　anti…tank　weapons。　Besides；　using　them　makes　it　an　instant　Federal　case；　and　they've　learned　to　keep　away　from　us　as　much　as　they　can。　Oh；　the　wiseguys　have　used　car　bombs；〃　he　allowed；　〃but　just　to　kill　the　people　in　the　car。　A　hit　like　this　is　a　little　too　spectacular　for　their　tastes。　So；　what　sort　of　guy　was　Avseyenko？〃
　A　snort；　and　then　Provalov　almost　spat　the　words　out：　〃He　was　a　pimp。　He　preyed　on　women；　had　them　spread　their　legs；　and　then　took　their　money。　I　will　not　mourn　his　passing；　Mishka。　Few　will；　but　I　suppose　it　leaves　a　vacuum　that　will　be　filled　in　the　next　few　days。〃
　〃But　you　think　he　was　the　target；　and　not　Sergey　Golovko？〃
　〃Golovko？　To　attack　him　would　be　madness。　The　chief　of　such　an　important　state　organ？　I　don't　think　any　of　our　criminals　have　the　balls　for　that。〃
　Maybe；　Reilly　thought；　but　you　don't　start　off　a　major　investigation　by　making　assumptions　of　any　kind；　Oleg　Gregoriyevich。　Unfortunately；　he　couldn't　really　say　that。　They　were　friends；　but　Provalov　was　thin…skinned；　knowing　that　his　police　department　did　not　measure　up　well　against　the　American　FBI。　He'd　learned　that　at　Quantico。　He　was　doing　the　usual　right　now；　rattling　bushes；　having　his　investigators　talk　to　Avseyenko's　known　associates　to　see　if　he'd　spoken　about　enemies；　disputes；　or　fights　of　one　sort　or　another；　checking　with　informants　to　see　if　anyone　in　the　Moscow　underworld　had　been　talking　about　such　things。
　The　Russians　needed　help　on　the　forensic　side；　Reilly　knew。　At　the　moment　they　didn't　even　have　the　dump　truck。　Well；　there　were　a　few　thousand　of　them；　and　that　one　might　have　been　stolen　without　its　owner/operator　even　knowing　that　it　had　been　missing。　Since　the　shot　had　been　angled　down；　according　to　eyewitnesses；　there　would　be　little　if　any　launch　signature　in　the　load　area　to　help　ID　the　truck；　and　they　needed　the　right　truck　in　order　to　recover　hair　and　fibers。　Of　course；　no　one　had　gotten　the　tag　number；　nor　had　anyone　been　around　with　a　camera　during　rush　hour　…　well；　so　far。　Sometimes　a　guy　would　show　up　a　day　or　two　later；　and　in　major　investigations　you　played　for　breaks　…　and　usually　the　break　was　somebody　who　couldn't　keep　his　mouth　shut。　Investigating　people　who　knew　how　to　stay　silent　was　a　tough　way　to　earn　a　living。　Fortunately；　the　criminal　mind　wasn't　so　circumspect　…　except　for　the　smart　ones；　and　Moscow；　Reilly　had　learned；　had　more　than　a　few　of　them。
　There　were　two　kinds　of　smart　ones。　The　first　was　posed　of　KGB　officers　cut　loose　in　the　series　of　major　reductions…in…force　…　known　to　Americans　as　RIFs　…　similar　to　what　had　happened　in　the　American　military。　These　potential　criminals　were　frightening；　people　with　real　professional　training　and　experience　in　black　operations；　who　knew　how　to　recruit　and　exploit　others；　and　how　to　function　invisibly　…　people；　as　Reilly　thought　of　it；　who'd　played　a　winning　game　against　the　FBI　despite　the　best　efforts　of　the　Bureau's　Foreign　Counter…Intelligence　Division。
　The　other　was　a　lingering　echo　of　the　defunct　munist　regime。　They　were　called　tolkachi　…　the　word　meant　〃pushers〃　…　and　under　the　previous　economic　system　they'd　been　the　grease　that　allowed　things　to　move。　They　were　facilitators　whose　relationships　with　everyone　got　things　done；　rather　like　guerrilla　warriors　who　used　unknown　paths　in　the　wilderness　to　move　products　from　one　place　to　another。　With　the　fall　of　munism　their　skills　had　bee　genuinely　lucrative　because　it　was　still　the　case　that　virtually　no　one　understood　capitalism；　and　the　abili