tc.thebearandthedragon-第62部分

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y　were　trained　to　think　through　everything；　even　taking　a　leak。。；　it　was　remarkable；　then；　that　he'd　been　turned　so　stupidly。　By　a　hooker　who'd　gone　through　his　things　while　he　was　sleeping　off　an　orgasm。　Well；　some　men；　no　matter　how　smart；　thought　with　their　dicks。。。。　Reilly　turned　again。。。；　one　of　the　Chinese　men　at　the　distant　table　excused　himself　and　stood；　heading　for　the　men's　room。　Reilly　thought　to　do　the　same　at　once；　but。。；　no。　If　it　were　prearranged；　such　a　thing　could　spook　it。。。　Patience；　Mishka；　he　told　himself；　turning　back　to　look　at　the　principal　subject。　Koniev/Suvorov　set　down　his　drink　and　stood。
　〃Oleg。　I　want　you　to　point　me　toward　the　men's　room；〃　the　FBI　agent　said。　〃In　fifteen　seconds。〃
　Provalov　counted　out　the　time；　then　extended　his　arm　toward　the　main　entrance。　Reilly　patted　him　on　the　shoulder　and　headed　that　way。
　The　Prince　Michael　of　Kiev　restaurant　was　nice；　but　it　didn't　have　a　bathroom　attendant；　as　many　European　places　did；　perhaps　because　Americans　were　uneasy　with　the　custom；　or　maybe　because　the　management　thought　it　an　unnecessary　expense。　Reilly　entered　and　saw　three　urinals；　two　of　them　being　used。　He　unzipped　and　urinated；　then　rezipped　and　turned　to　wash　his　hands；　looking　down　as　he　did　so　。　。　。　and　just　out　of　the　corner　of　his　eye；　he　saw　the　other　two　men　share　a　sideways　look。　The　Russian　was　taller。　The　men's　room　had　the　sort　of　pull…down　roller　towel　that　America　had　largely　done　away　with。　Reilly　pulled　it　down　and　dried　his　hands；　unable　to　wait　too　much　longer。　Heading　toward　the　door；　he　reached　in　his　pocket　and　pulled　his　car　keys　part　of　the　way　out。　These　he　dropped　just　as　he　pulled　the　door　open；　with　a　muttered；　〃Damn；〃　as　he　bent　down　to　pick　them　up；　shielded　from　their　view　by　the　steel　divider。　Reilly　picked　them　off　the　tile　floor　and　stood　back　up。
　Then　he　saw　it。　It　was　well　done。　They　could　have　been　more　patient；　but　they　probably　both　discounted　the　importance　of　the　American；　and　both　were　trained　professionals。　They　scarcely　touched　each　other；　and　what　touching　and　bumping　there　was　happened　below　the　waist　and　out　of　sight　to　the　casual　observer。　Reilly　wasn't　a　casual　observer；　however；　and　even　out　of　the　corner　of　his　eyes；　it　was　obvious　to　the　initiated。　It　was　a　classic　brush…pass；　so　well　done　that　even　Reilly's　experience　couldn't　determine　who　had　passed　what　to　whom。　The　FBI　agent　continued　out；　heading　back　to　his　seat　at　the　bar；　where　he　waved　to　the　barkeep　for　the　drink　he　figured　he'd　just　earned。
　
　〃Yes？〃
　〃You　want　to　identify　that　Chinaman。　He　and　our　friend　traded　something　in　the　shitter。　Brush…pass；　and　nicely　done；〃　Reilly　said；　with　a　smile　and　a　gesture　at　the　brunette　down　the　bar。　Good　enough；　in　fact；　that　had　Reilly　been　forced　to　sit　in　a　witness　stand　and　describe　it　to　a　jury；　a　week…old　law…school　graduate　could　make　him　admit　that　he　hadn't　actually　seen　anything　at　all。　But　that　told　him　much。　That　degree　of　skill　was　either　the　result　of　a　totally　chance　encounter　between　two　entirely　innocent　people…　the　purest　of　coincidences…or　it　had　been　the　effort　of　two　trained　intelligence　officers　applying　their　craft　at　a　perfect　place　in　a　perfect　way。　Provalov　was　turned　the　right　way　to　see　the　two　individuals　leave　the　men's　room。　They　didn't　even　notice　each　other；　or　didn't　appear　to　acknowledge　the　presence　of　the　other　any　more　than　they　would　have　greeted　a　stray　dog…exactly　as　two　unrelated　people　would　act　after　a　happenstance　encounter　with　a　total　stranger　in　any　men's　room　anywhere。　But　this　time　as　Koniev/Suvorov　resumed　his　seat　at　the　bar；　he　tended　to　his　drink　and　didn't　have　his　eyes　interrogate　the　mirror　regularly。　In　fact；　he　turned　and　greeted　the　girl　to　his　left；　then　waved　for　the　bartender　to　get　her　another　drink；　which　she　accepted　with　a　warm；　mercial　smile。　Her　face　proclaimed　the　fact　that　she'd　found　her　trick　for　the　night。　The　girl　could　act；　Reilly　thought。
　〃Well；　our　friend's　going　to　get　laid　tonight；〃　he　told　his　Russian　colleague。
　〃She　is　pretty；〃　Provalov　agreed。　〃Twenty…three；　you　think？〃
　〃Thereabouts；　maybe　a　little　younger。　Nice　hooters。〃

　〃Hooters？〃　the　Russian　asked。
　〃Tits；　Oleg；　tits；〃　the　FBI　agent　clarified。　〃That　Chinaman's　a　spook。　See　any　coverage　on　him　around？〃
　〃No　one　I　know；〃　the　lieutenant　replied。　〃Perhaps　he　is　not　known　to　be　an　intelligence　officer。〃
　〃Yeah；　sure；　your　counterintelligence　people　have　all　retired　to　Sochi；　right？　Hell；　guy；　they　trail　me　every　so　often。〃
　〃That　means　I　am　one　of　your　agents；　then？〃　Provalov　asked。
　A　chuckle。　〃Let　me　know　if　you　want　to　defect；　Oleg　Gregoriyevich。〃
　〃The　Chinese　in　the　light　blue　suit？〃
　〃That's　the　one。　Short；　about　five…four；　one　fifty…five；　pudgy；　short　hair；　about　forty…five　or　so。〃
　Provalov　translated　that　to　about　163　centimeters　and　seventy　kilos；　and　made　a　mental　note　as　he　turned　to　look　at　the　face；　about　thirty　meters　away。　He　looked　entirely　ordinary；　as　most　spies　did。　With　that　done；　he　headed　back　to　the　men's　room　to　make　a　phone　call　to　his　agents　outside。
　And　that　pretty　much　ended　the　evening。　Koniev/Suvorov　left　the　restaurant　about　twenty　minutes　later　with　the　girl　on　his　arm；　and　drove　straight　back　to　his　apartment。　One　of　the　men　who'd　stayed　behind　walked　with　the　Chinese　to　his　car；　which　had　diplomatic　plates。　Notes　were　written　down；　and　the　cops　all　headed　home　after　an　overtime　day；　wondering　what　they'd　turned　up　and　how　important　it　might　be。
　
　
　
　
　CHAPTER　20
　Diplomacy
　
　Well？〃　Rutledge　took　his　notes　back　from　Secretary　Adler。
　〃It　looks　okay；　Cliff；　assuming　that　you　can　deliver　the　message　in　an　appropriate　way'　SecState　told　his　subordinate。
　〃Process　is　something　I　understand。〃　Then　he　paused。　〃The　President　wants　this　message　delivered　in　unequivocal　terms；　correct？〃
　Secretary　Adler　nodded。　〃Yep。〃
　〃You　know；　Scott；　I've　never　really　landed　on　people　this　hard　before。〃
　〃Ever　want　to？〃
　〃The　Israelis　a　few　times。　South　Africa；〃　he　added　thoughtfully。
　〃But　never　the　Chinese　or　Japanese？〃
　〃Scott；　I've　never　been　a　trade　guy　before；　remember？〃　But　he　was　this　time；　because　the　mission　to　Beijing　was　supposed　to　be　high…profile；　requiring　a　higher…level　diplomat　instead　of　someone　of　mere　ambassadorial　rank。　The　Chinese　knew　this　already。　In　their　case　negotiations　would　be　handled　publicly　by　their　Foreign　Minister；　though　they　would　actually　be　run　by　a　lesser…ranked　diplomat　who　was　a　foreign…trade　specialist；　and　who　had　experienced　a　good　run　of　luck　dealing　with　America。　Secretary　Adler；　with　President　Ryan's　permission；　was　slowly　leaking　to　the　press　that　the　times　and　the　rules　might　have　changed　a　little　bit。　He　worried　that　Cliff　Rutledge　wasn't　exactly　the　right　guy　to　deliver　the　message；　but　Cliff　was　the　on…deck　batter。
　〃How　are　you　working　out　with　this　Gant　guy　from　Treasury？〃
　〃If　he　were　a　diplomat；　we'd　be　at　war　with　the　whole　damned　world；　but　I　suppose　he　does　know　numbers　and　puters；　probably；〃　Rutledge　allowed；　not　troubling　to　hide　his　distaste　for　the　Chicago…born　Jew　with　his　nouveau…riche　ways。　That　Rutledge　had　been　of　modest　origins　himself　was　long　forgotten。　A　Harvard　education　and　a　diplomatic　passport　help　one　forget　such　distasteful　things　as　having　grown　up　in　a　row　house；　eating　leftovers。
　〃Remember　that　Winston　likes　him；　and　Ryan　likes　Winston；　okay？〃　Adler　warned　his　subordinate　gently。　He　decided　not　to　concern　himself　with　Cliff's　WASP…ish　anti…Semitism。　Life　was　too　short　for　trivialities；　and　Rutledge　knew　that　his　career　rested　in　Scott　Adler's　hands。　He　might　make　more　money　as　a　consultant　after　leaving　the　State　Department；　but　being　fired　out　of　Foggy　Bottom　would　not　enhance　his　value　on　the　free…agent　market。
　〃Okay；　Scott；　and；　yeah；　I　need　backup　on　the　monetary　aspects　of　this　trade　stuff。〃　The　acpanying　nod　was　almost　respectful。　Good。　He　did　know　how　to　grovel　when　required。　Adler　didn't　even　consider　telling　Rutledge　about　the　intelligence　source　in　his　pocket；　courtesy　of　POTUS。　There　was　something　about　the　career　diplomat　that　failed　to　inspire　trust　in　his　superior。
　〃What　about　munications？〃
　〃The　Embassy　in　Beijing　has　TAPDANCE　capability。　Even　the　new　phone　kind；　same　as　the　airplane。〃　But　there　were　problems　with　it；　recently　fielded　by　Fort　Meade。　The　instruments　had　trouble　linking　up　with　each　other；　and　using　a　satellite　lash…up　didn't　help　at　all。　Like　most　diplomats；　Rutledge　rarely　troubled　himself　with　such　trivialities。　He　often　expected　the　intelligence　to　appear　as　if　by　MAGIC；　rarely　wondering　how　it　had　been　obtained；　but　always　questioning　the　motives　of　the　source；　whoever　that　might　be。　All　in　all；　Clifford　Rutledge　II　was　the　perfect　diplomat。　He　believed　in　little　beyond　his　own　career；　some　vague　notions　of　international　amity；　and　his　personal　ability　to　make　it　e　about　and　to　avoid　war　through　the　sheer　force　of　his　brilliance。
　But　on　the　plus　side；　Adler　admitted　to　himself；　Rutledge　was　a　petent　diplomatic　technician　who　knew　how　the　banter　worked；　and　how　to　present　a　position　in　the　gentlest　possible　but　still　firm　terms。　The　State　Department　never　had　enough　of　those。　As　someone　had　once　remarked　of　Theodore　Roosevelt；　〃The　nicest　gentleman　who　ever　slit　a　throat。〃　But　Cliff　would　never　do　that；　even　to　advance　his　own　career。　He　probably　shaved　with　an　electric　razor；　not　for　fear　of　cutting　himself　so　much　as　fear　of　actually　seeing　blood。
　〃When's　your　plane　leave？〃　EAGLE　asked　his　subordinate。
　
　Barry　Wise　was　already　packed。　He　was　an　expert　at　it；　as　well　he　might　be；　because　he　traveled　about　as　much　as　an　international　airline　pilot。　At　fifty…four；　the　black　exMarine　had　worked　for　CNN　since　its　beginnings　more　than　twenty　years　before；　and　he'd　seen　it　all。　He'd　covered　the　contras　in　Nicaragua；　and　the　first　bombing　missions　in　Baghdad。　He'd　been　there　when　mass　graves　were　excavated　in　Yugoslavia；　and　done　live　mentary　over　Rwanda's　roads　of　death；　simultaneously　wishing　that　he　could　and　thanking　God　that　he　could　not　broadcast　the　ghastly　smells　that　still　haunted　his　dreams。　A　news　professional；　Wise　regarded　his　mission　in　life　to　be　this：　to　transmit　the　truth　from　where