tc.thebearandthedragon-第94部分

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　〃They're　good　troops；　General；〃　Ding　said。　〃Their　basic　skills　are　there。　They're　in　superb　physical　condition；　and　they're　smart。　All　they　need　is　familiarization　with　their　new　weapons；　and　some　more　directed　training　that　we'll　set　up　for　them。　And　after　that；　they'll　be　training　the　rest　of　your　forces；　right？〃
　〃Correct；　Major。　We　will　be　establishing　regional　special…operations　and　counterterror　forces　throughout　the　country。　The　men　you　train　this　week　will　be　training　others　in　a　few　months。　The　problem　with　the　Chechens　came　as　a　surprise　to　us；　and　we　need　to　pay　serious　attention　to　terrorism　as　a　security　threat。〃
　Clark　didn't　envy　Kirillin　the　mission。　Russia　was　a　big　country　containing　too　many　leftover　nationalities　from　the　Soviet　Union…and　for　that　matter　from　the　time　of　the　czars…many　of　whom　had　never　particularly　liked　the　idea　of　being　part　of　Russia。　America　had　had　the　problem　once；　but　never　to　the　extent　that　the　Russians　did；　and　here　it　wouldn't　be　getting　better　anytime　soon。　Economic　prosperity　was　the　only　sure　cure…prosperous　people　don't　squabble；　it's　too　rough　on　the　china　and　the　silverware…but　prosperity　was　a　way　off　in　the　future　yet。
　〃Well；　sir；〃　Chavez　went　on；　〃in　a　year　you'll　have　a　serious　and　credible　force；　assuming　you　have　the　funding　support　you're　going　to　need。〃
　Kirillin　grunted。　〃That　is　the　question　here；　and　probably　in　your　country　as　well；　yes？〃
　〃Yeah。〃　Clark　had　himself　a　laugh。　〃It　helps　if　Congress　loves　you。〃
　〃You　have　many　nationalities　on　your　team；〃　the　Russian　general　observed。
　〃Yeah；　well；　we're　mainly　a　NATO　service；　but　we're　used　to　working　together。　Our　best　shooter　now　is　Italian。〃
　〃Really？　I　saw　him；　but…〃
　Chavez　cut　him　off。　〃General；　in　a　previous　life；　Ettore　was　James　Butler　Hickock。　Excuse　me；　Wild　Bill　Hickock　to　you。　That　son　of　a　bitch　can　sign　his　name　with　a　handgun。〃
　Clark　refilled　the　vodka　glasses。　〃Yuriy；　he's　won　money　off　all　of　us　at　the　pistol　range。　Even　me。〃
　〃Is　that　a　fact？〃　Kirillin　mused；　with　the　same　look　in　his　eyes　that　Clark　had　had　a　few　weeks　earlier。　John　punched　him　on　the　arm。
　〃I　know　what　you're　thinking。　Bring　money　when　you　have　your　match　with　him；　rade　General；〃　John　advised。　〃You'll　need　it　to　pay　off　his　winnings。〃
　〃This　I　must　see；〃　the　Russian　announced。
　〃Hey；　Eddie！〃　Chavez　waved　his　number…two　over。
　〃Yes；　sir？〃
　〃Tell　the　general　here　how　good　Ettore　is　with　a　pistol。〃
　〃That　fucking　Eyetalian！〃　Sergeant　Major　Price　swore。　〃He's　even　taken　twenty　pounds　off　Dave　Woods。〃
　〃Dave's　the　range…master　at　Hereford；　and　he's　pretty　good；　too；〃
　Ding　explained。　〃Ettore　really　ought　to　be　in　the　Olympics　or　something…maybe　Camp　Perry；　John？〃
　〃I　thought　of　that；　maybe　enter　him　in　the　President's　Cup　match　next　year　。　。　。〃　Clark　mused。　Then　he　turned。　〃Go　ahead；　Yuriy。　Take　him　on。　Maybe　you　will　succeed　where　all　of　us　failed。〃
　〃All　of　you；　eh？〃
　〃Every　bloody　one　of　us；〃　Eddie　Price　confirmed。　〃I　wonder　why　the　Italian　government　gave　him　to　us。　If　the　Mafia　want　to　go　after　him；　I　wish　the　bastards　luck。〃
　〃This　I　must　see；〃　Kirillin　persisted；　leading　his　visitors　to　wonder　how　smart　he　was。
　〃Then　you　will　see　it；　Tovarisch　General；　〃Clark　promised。
　Kirillin；　who'd　been　on　the　Red　Army　pistol　team　as　a　lieutenant　and　a　captain；　couldn't　conceive　of　being　beaten　in　a　pistol　match。　He　figured　these　NATO　people　were　just　having　fun　with　him；　as　he　might　do　if　the　situation　were　reversed。　He　waved　to　the　bartender　and　ordered　pepper　vodka　for　his　own　next　round。　But　all　that　said；　he　liked　these　NATO　visitors；　and　their　reputation　spoke　forcefully　for　itself。　This　Chavez；　a　major…he　was　really　CIA；　Kirillin　knew；　and　evidently　a　good　spy　at　that；　according　to　his　briefing　from　the　SVR…had　the　look　of　a　good　soldier；　with　confidence　won　in　the　field；　the　way　a　soldier　ought　to　win　his　confidence。　Clark　was　much　the　same…and　also　very　capable；　so　the　book　on　him　read…with　his　own　ample　experience　both　as　a　soldier　and　a　spy。　And　his　spoken　Russian　was　superb　and　very　literate；　his　accent　of　St。　Petersburg；　where　he　probably　could…and　probably　once　or　twice　had；　Kirillin　reflected…pass　for　a　native。　It　was　so　strange　that　such　men　as　these　had　once　been　his　sworn　enemies。　Had　battle　happened；　it　would　have　been　bloody；　and　its　oute　very　sad。　Kirillin　had　spent　three　years　in　Afghanistan；　and　had　learned　firsthand　just　how　horrid　a　thing　bat　was。　He'd　heard　the　stories　from　his　father；　a　much…decorated　infantry　general；　but　hearing　them　wasn't　the　same　as　seeing；　and　besides；　you　never　told　the　really　awful　parts　because　you　tended　to　edit　them　out　of　your　memory。　One　did　not　discuss　seeing　a　friend's　face　turn　to　liquid　from　a　rifle　bullet　over　a　few　drinks　in　a　bar；　because　it　was　just　not　the　sort　of　thing　you　could　describe　to　one　who　didn't　understand；　and　you　didn't　need　to　describe　it　to　one　who　did。　You　just　lifted　your　glass　to　toast　the　memory　of　Grisha　or　Mirka；　or　one　of　the　others；　and　in　the　munity　of　arms；　that　was　enough。　Did　these　men　do　it？　Probably。　They'd　lost　men　once；　when　Irish　terrorists　had　attacked　their　own　home　station；　to　their　ultimate　cost；　but　not　without　inflicting　their　own　harm　on　highly　trained　men。
　And　that　was　the　essence　of　the　profession　of　arms　right　there。　You　trained　to　skew　the　odds　your　way；　but　you　could　never　quite　turn　them　all　the　way　in　the　direction　you　wished。
　
　Yu　Chun　had　experienced　a　thoroughly　vile　day。　In　the　city　of　Taipei　to　look　after　her　aged　and　seriously　ill　mother；　she'd　had　a　neighbor　call　urgently；　telling　her　to　switch　on　her　TV；　then　seen　her　husband　shot　dead　before　her　blinking　eyes。　And　that　had　just　been　the　first　hammer　blow　of　the　day。
　The　next　one　involved　getting　to　Beijing。　The　first　two　flights　to　Hong　Kong　were　fully　booked；　and　that　cost　her　fourteen　lonely　and　miserable　hours　sitting　in　the　terminal　as　an　anonymous　face　in　a　sea　of　such　faces；　alone　with　her　horror　and　additional　loneliness；　until　she　finally　boarded　a　flight　to　the　PRC　capital。　That　flight　had　been　bumpy；　and　she　had　cowered　in　her　last…row　window　seat；　hoping　that　no　one　could　see　the　anguish　on　her　face；　but　hiding　it　as　well　as　she　might　conceal　an　earthquake。　In　due　course；　that　trial　had　ended；　and　she　managed　to　leave　the　aircraft；　and　actually　made　it　through　immigration　and　customs　fairly　easily　because　she　carried　virtually　nothing　that　could　conceal　contraband。　Then　it　started　all　over　again　with　the　taxi　to　her　home。
　Her　home　was　hidden　behind　a　wall　of　policemen。　She　tried　to　pass　through　their　line　as　one　might　wiggle　through　a　market　checkout；　but　the　police　had　orders　to　admit　no　one　into　the　house；　and　those　orders　did　not　include　an　exception　for　anyone　who　might　actually　live　there。　That　took　twenty　minutes　and　three　policemen　of　gradually　increasing　rank　to　determine。　By　this　time；　she'd　been　awake　for　twenty…six　hours　and　traveling　for　twenty…two　of　them。　Tears　did　not　avail　her　in　the　situation；　and　she　staggered　her　way　to　the　nearby　home　of　a　member　of　her　husband's　congregation；　Wen　Zhong；　a　man　who　operated　a　small　restaurant　right　in　his　home；　a　tall　and　rotund　man；　ordinarily　jolly；　liked　by　all　who　met　him。　Seeing　Chun；　he　embraced　her　and　took　her　into　his　home；　at　once　giving　her　a　room　in　which　to　sleep　and　a　few　drinks　to　help　her　relax。　Yu　Chin　was　asleep　in　minutes；　and　would　remain　that　way　for　some　hours；　while　Wen　figured　he　had　his　own　things　to　do。　About　the　only　thing　Chun　had　managed　to　say　before　collapsing　from　exhaustion　was　that　she　wanted　to　bring　Fa　An's　body　home　for　proper　burial。　That　Wen　couldn't　do　all　by　himself；　but　he　called　a　number　of　his　fellow　parishioners　to　let　them　know　that　their　pastor's　widow　was　in　town。　He　understood　that　the　burial　would　be　on　the　island　of　Taiwan；　which　was　where　Yu　had　been　born；　but　his　congregation　could　hardly　bid　their　beloved　spiritual　leader　farewell　without　a　ceremony　of　its　own；　and　so　he　called　around　to　arrange　a　memorial　service　at　their　small　place　of　worship。　He　had　no　way　of　knowing　that　one　of　the　parishioners　he　called　reported　directly　to　the　Ministry　of　State　Security。
　
　Barry　Wise　was　feeling　pretty　good　about　himself。　While　he　didn't　make　as　much　money　as　his　colleagues　at　the　other　so…called　〃major〃　networks…CNN　didn't　have　an　entertainment　division　to　dump　money　into　news…he　figured　that　he　was　every　bit　as　well　known　as　their　（white）　talking　heads；　and　he　stood　out　from　them　by　being　a　serious　newsie　who　went　into　the　field；　found　his　own　stories；　and　wrote　his　own　copy。　Barry　Wise　did　the　news；　and　that　was　all。　He　had　a　pass　to　the　White　House　press　room；　and　was　considered　in　just　about　every　capital　city　in　the　world　not　only　as　a　reporter　with　whom　you　didn't　trifle；　but　also　as　an　honest　conveyor　of　information。　He　was　by　turns　respected　and　hated；　depending　on　the　government　and　the　culture。　This　government；　he　figured；　had　little　reason　to　love　him。　To　Barry　Wise；　they　were　fucking　barbarians。　The　police　here　had　delusions　of　god…hood　that　evidently　devolved　from　the　big　shots　downtown　who　must　have　thought　their　dicks　were　pretty　big　because　they　could　make　so　many　people　dance　to　their　tune。　To　Wise；　that　was　the　sign　of　a　little　one；　instead；　but　you　didn't　tell　them　that　out　loud；　because；　small　or　not；　they　had　cops　with　guns；　and　the　guns　were　certainly　big　enough。　But　these　people　had　huge　weaknesses；　Wise　also　knew。　They　saw　the　world　in　a　distorted　way；　like　people　with　astigmatism；　and　assumed　that　was　its　real　shape。　They　were　like　scientists　in　a　lab　who　couldn't　see　past　their　own　theories　and　kept　trying　to　twist　the　experimental　data　into　the　proper　result…or　ended　up　ignoring　the　data　which　their　theory　couldn't　explain。
　But　that　was　going　to　change。　Information　was　getting　in。　In　allowing　free…market　merce；　the　government　of　the　PRC　had　also　allowed　the　installation　of　a　forest　of　telephone　lines。　Many　of　them　were　connected　to　fax　machines；　and　even　more　were　connected　to　puters；　and　so　lots　of　information　was　circulating　around　the　country　now。　Wise　wondered　if　the　government　appreciated　the　implications　of　that。　Probably　not。　Neither　Marx　nor　Mao　had　really　understood