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apart； which was the world's standard； and which incongruously dated back to the two…horse chariots used by the Romans。 But the Russian train gauge was five feet； or 1；524 millimeters…for some reason no one remembered。 The solution to that here was to lift the train bodies off the Russian tracks…the wheel sets…and lower them onto a different set。 That took about an hour； but it was efficiently done； for all that。 It utterly fascinated Svedana； and it even impressed her father that the task was performed so routinely。 An hour and twenty minutes later； they were moving almost due north on narrower tracks behind a new electric lootive； crossing the rich agricultural soil of Hungary。 Almost at once； Svetlana chirped at the sight of men in local dress riding horses； which struck both parents and child as quite exotic。
The aircraft was a fairly new Boeing 737 and； for this trip； Ryan decided to take a friend。 He bought a pack of cigarettes at the airport and lit one up at once on the concourse。
The good news was that he'd been give a first…class window seat； 1…A。 The scenery up in the sky was the only good part of flying； with the additional bonus that nobody could see the fear in your face； except maybe the stewardess； because like doctors they could probably also smell fear。 But up front the booze was free； and so Ryan tried to order whiskey； only to find that the selection was Scotch （which he didn't like）； vodka （which he didn't like）； or gin （which he could not stand in his presence）。 It was the wrong airline for Jack Daniel's； but the wine list was okay； and； climbing to cruise altitude； the no…smoking light dinged off； and Ryan lit up another smoke。 Not as good as a nice bourbon； but better than nothing at all。 At least it enabled him to lean back and pretend to relax behind closed eyes； occasionally looking out to see if the stuff under the aircraft was green or blue。 The flight was agreeably smooth； with only a few bumps to make him grab for the armrests； and three glasses of a decent French white helped smooth his anxiety out。 About halfway there； over Belgium； he got back to thinking。 How many people hated flying？ Maybe a third； maybe half？ How many of them detested it as much as he did？ Half of those？ So； probably； he wasn't alone。 Fearful people tried to hide it； and a look around showed faces much the same as his probably was。 So at least he probably wasn't the only wimp on the airplane。 And the wine was nice and fruity。
And if the ULA hadn't been able to punch his ticket with Uzis right in his home on the Chesapeake Bay； then random chance was probably on his side as well。 So he might as well relax and enjoy the ride…he was stuck here one way or another； after all； and the Boeing cruised along at 500 knots or so。
There were a few bumps in the descent； but for Ryan this was the one part of the flight during which he felt safe…when the aircraft was returning to earth。 Intellectually； he knew that this was actually the most dangerous part； but somehow his gut didn't see it that way。 He heard the whine of various servos； and then the whooshing sound that announced the open landing…gear doors； and then felt safe enough to see the ground rushing toward him。 The landing was bumpy； but Jack weled it。 He was back on the ground； where you could stand up and ambulate all by yourself at a reasonably safe speed。 Good。
They were in another train yard； packed with boxcars and cattle cars； and their train car jostled back and forth through switches and turns。 Once more； zaichik had her nose against the glass； and finally they passed under a glass roof and the train jerked to a stop in Eastern Station。 Semi…uniformed and rather scruffy…looking porters drew up by the baggage car。 Zaichik practically leaped off the car to look around； almost outracing her mother； who fumbled after her with their carry…on bags。 Oleg walked to the baggage car and oversaw the transfer of his bags to the two…wheel hand truck。 They walked away from the train； through the old and rather seedy ticket room； and from there outside to the cabstand。 There were a lot of cabs； all of them Russian…made Ladas…the Soviet version of an old Fiat…and all the same color； which might have been beige under the dirt。 Zaitzev tipped the porter one econ ruble and supervised the loading of their bags into the car。 The trunk of the diminutive taxicab was far too small。 Three bags went to the front seat； and Svetlana would have to sit in her mother's lap for the ride to the hotel。 The cab pulled away； made a swift and legally dubious U…turn； and then raced at breakneck speed down what appeared to be a major shopping street。
The Astoria Hotel was only four minutes from the station。 It seemed to be an impressive structure； looking almost like a grand hotel of another age。 The lobby was modest in size； though not in appointments； and much carved oak was in evidence。 The desk clerk expected them； and greeted them with a smile。 Soon after giving Zaitzev the room key； he pointed across the street to the Soviet…Hungarian Culture and Friendship Center； which was so obviously a KGB operation that it might as well have had a statue of Iron Feliks in front。 The bellman led them to the tiny elevator and then to the third floor； turning right for Room 307； a corner room that would be their home for the next ten days； or so everyone but Oleg thought。 He also got a ruble for his trouble and withdrew； leaving the family in a room little larger than the bined space of their train acmodations； and with only a single bathroom； albeit one with a bath/shower； which all three of them needed。 Oleg let his wife and daughter go first。
As shabby as the room was by Western standards； however； by Soviet ones it was almost palatial。 There was a chair by the window； and Zaitzev sat down and surveyed the streets for a CIA officer。 That； he knew； was a fool's errand； but he could hardly resist the temptation。
The men he was looking for were not Americans at all； but rather Tom Trent and Chris Morton； both of whom worked for Andy Hudson。 Both had dark hair and hadn't washed that day so that they could appear to be working…class Hungarians。 Trent had staked out the train station and spotted them ing in； while Morton had camped out in the hotel。 With good photographic prints provided by the Times photographer in Moscow； identifying the Zaitzev family had been simplicity itself。 As a final check； Morton； who spoke flawless Russian； walked to the reception desk and verified his 〃old friend's〃 room number at the desk； in return for a twenty…florint banknote and a wink。 Then he wandered down to the bar； while surveying the hotel's ground floor for future reference。 So far； they decided on the subway ride back to the embassy； things were going remarkably well。 The train had arrived late； but their information on the hotel had been bang…on for once。
Andy Hudson was a man of average height and appearance； except his sandy hair marked him as a foreigner in a land where everyone looked pretty much alike。 Certainly at the airport they all did； Ryan thought。
〃Can we talk？〃 Ryan asked on the way away from the airport。
〃Yes； the car is clean。〃 Like all such vehicles； it was regularly swept and parked in a secure location。
〃How sure are you of that？〃
〃The opposition doesn't break the rules of diplomatic conduct。 Strange； but true。 And besides； the car has a very sophisticated alarm。 Not sure I could fiddle it myself； as a matter of fact。 In any case； wele to Budapest； Sir John。〃 He pronounced the city's name as Byudapesht； as opposed to the way Ryan thought it was spoken。
〃So； you know who I am？〃
〃Yes； I was home in London last March。 I was in town when you performed your heroics…bloody fool； you ought to have gotten yourself killed； except for the stupid bloody Irish。〃
〃I've said that to myself many times； Mr。 Hud…〃
〃Andy；〃 Hudson suggested at once。
〃Fine。 My name is Jack。〃
〃Good flight？〃
〃Any flight you walk off of is a good one； Andy。 So； tell me about the mission and how you're going to go about it。〃
〃Entirely routine。 We observe the Rabbit and his family…we'll keep them under intermittent surveillance…and when the time is right； we'll whisk them out