按键盘上方向键 ← 或 → 可快速上下翻页，按键盘上的 Enter 键可回到本书目录页，按键盘上方向键 ↑ 可回到本页顶部！
————未阅读完？加入书签已便下次继续阅读！
ies。 One other thing about being KGB was that you knew better than to believe what was in the papers。 Izvestia at least had stories about real people； some of which were even true； he thought。 But a Soviet train would； of course； carry only the most politically correct newspapers； and 〃Truth〃 was it； Zaitzev snorted。
Ryan maintained two plete sets of shaving and grooming things for the occasional exigencies of travel。 His Bean bag was hanging by its large brass hook in his closet； ready for whenever Sir Basil dispatched him to Budapest。 He looked at it while knotting his tie； wondering when he'd be going。 Then Cathy reentered the bedroom and got herself dressed。 Her white lab coat doubtless hung on a hook on her office door…both of them； probably； Hammersmith and Moorefields； with the appropriate name tags。
〃Cath？〃
〃Yeah？〃
〃Your office coat…did you keep your Hopkins name tag； or did you get new ones？〃 He'd never bothered to ask。
〃Local ones。 Too hard to explain it to every new patient who might notice。〃 But some asked about her accent anyway； or would ask why the name tag proclaimed her to be Lady Caroline Ryan； M。D。； FACS。 The 〃Lady〃 part appealed to her woman's vanity。 Jack watched her brush her hair out； something that always gave him pleasure。 She would have been an absolute knockout with somewhat longer hair； but she never let it grow； saying that the surgical caps ruined whatever set she might have gotten。 That would change the next time they got invited to a formal dinner。 They were due for one。 The Queen liked both of them； and so did the Prince of Wales； and they were on the local version of the A…list。 You had to accept such invitations； though Cathy had an excuse if she was doing surgery the next day。 Spooks； on the other hand； were expected to be delighted at the honor； even if it meant three short hours of sleep before the next day at work。
〃What's on the agenda for today？〃
〃Giving a lecture on the xenon…arc laser。 They're going to be buying one soon； and I'm the only person in London who knows how to use it right。〃
〃My wife； the laser jockey。〃
〃Well； at least I can talk about what I do；〃 she responded； 〃secret…agent man。〃
〃Yes； dear；〃 Ryan sighed。 Maybe I should pack my Browning today just to piss her off。 But if anyone on the train noticed； he'd at best be regarded as unclean； and at worst would be asked by a police constable what he was doing with such a thing on his person。 And even his diplomatic status would not entirely protect him from the resulting hassle。
Fifteen minutes later； Jack and Cathy were in their partment； heading northwest to London； she again reading her medical journals； and he going through the Telegraph。 John Keegan had a column on the inside and he was a historian for whom Ryan had considerable respect as an analyst of plex information。 Why Basil hadn't recruited him for Century House was a mystery to Jack。 Maybe Keegan was just doing too well as an historian； able to spread his ideas to the masses…well； at least the smart civilians out there。 That made sense。 Nobody ever got rich as a British civil servant； and the anonymity…well； it was nice once in a while to get a Pat on the head for doing something especially well。 Bureaucrats were denied that all over the world。
About the time their express train passed by the Elephant and Castle station； Flight 214 rolled to an early stop at Heathrow's Terminal Four。 It didn't e to a jetway。 Instead it came to a halt where the shuttle buses waited to take people to Immigration and Customs。 No sooner had the wheels been chocked than the cargo hatch came open。 The last two items loaded at Logan had been the two coffins； and they became the first items of baggage to be manhandled off。 The tags on one corner of each told the handlers where to send them； and two anonymous men from Century House were there to watch the process anyway。 Placed on a four…wheel cart…called a trolley in England…they were pulled off to an area for parked cars and small trucks； where the boxes were quickly loaded on a small four…wheeled truck with no marking on its sides at all。 The two men from SIS hopped aboard and drove off； easterly for London； entirely without a clue what this job was all about。 It was often that way。
The truck arrived at 100 Westminster Bridge Road forty minutes later。 There the boxes were removed and placed on another trolley for a ride to the freight elevator and a trip down to the second…level basement。
Two more men were waiting there。 The boxes were duly opened； and both men thanked fate that there was a goodly supply of dry ice inside and the bodies were not yet venting the particularly foul smell of dead and mortifying human tissue。 Wearing rubber gloves； they lifted the bodies…neither was especially heavy…and transferred them to stainless…steel tables。 Neither body was clothed and； in the case of the little girl； their job was particularly sad。
It would get more so。 paring the bodies with the Times…generated photograph； it was determined； unsurprisingly； that the child's face didn't match the picture。 The same was true of the grown woman； though her body mass and configuration were about right。 Her face was virtually untouched by the fire； the toxic gasses of which had ended her life。 And so both of them would have to be grossly disfigured to be usable for Operation BEATRIX。 This was done with propane blowtorches。 First； the senior of the two turned on the powerful exhaust fan in the ceiling。 Both then donned fire…protective coveralls and lit their torches。 These were heartlessly applied to both faces。 Hair color was wrong in both cases； and so that was burned off first of all。 Then the torches were applied at close range to both faces。 It went quickly； but not quickly enough for the two SIS employees。 The one doing the little girl breathed a series of prayers for her child's soul； knowing that she was wherever innocent children went。 That which remained was just cold meat； of no value to its previous owner； but of some value to the United Kingdom…and doubtless the United States of America as well； else they would not be doing such ghoulish work as this。 It was when the little girl's left eye exploded from internal pressure that her tormentor had to turn away and vomit。 But it had to be done。 Her eyes were the wrong color。
Hands and feet had to be well…charred； and both bodies were examined for tattoos； scars； or other distinguishing characteristics； but none were found； not even an appendectomy scar。
All in all； it took ninety minutes before they were satisfied with their work。 Then the bodies had to be dressed。 Clothing of Soviet origin was maneuvered onto the bodies； and then that had to be burned so that the fibers would be enmeshed with the surface burns。 With all this grisly work done； the bodies were reloaded into their transport boxes； and more dry ice was added to keep them cool enough to retard decay。 The boxes were set near a third identical such box in the corner of the room。 By then it was lunchtime； but neither of them cared much for food at the moment。 A few shots of whiskey were more what they needed； and there were plenty of pubs within walking distance。
〃Jack？〃 Sir Basil stuck his head through the door to find Ryan going over his documents； like a good analyst。
〃Yes； sir；〃 Ryan responded； looking up。
〃Are you packed？〃
〃My stuff is at home； but yes； sir。〃
〃Good。 You're on the BA flight from Heathrow Terminal Three at eight this evening。 We'll have a car to run you home to pick up your things…say； about three…thirty？〃
〃I haven't gotten my passport and visa yet；〃 Ryan told C。
〃You'll have it after lunch。 Your overt cover is as an auditor from the Foreign Office。 As I recall； you had an accountant's charter once upon a time。 Perhaps you can look over the books while you're there。〃 This was funny； Charleston thought。
Ryan tried to return the favor。 〃Probably more interesting than the local stock market。 Anyone going with me？〃
〃No； but you'll be met at the airport by Andy Hudson。 He's our Station Chief in Budapest。 Good man；〃 Sir Basil promised。 〃Stop in to see me before you head off。〃
〃Will do； sir。〃 And Basil's head vanished back into t