tc.redrabbit-第94章

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he　knew　to　be　careful　for　the　next　part。　Bending　down；　he　flicked　his　lighter　again　and　lit　the　candle　wick　with　the　same　care　a　heart　surgeon　might　have　exercised　in　a　valve　replacement。　He　didn't　waste　a　second　leaving　the　room；　except　to　make　sure　the　door　was　properly　locked　and　the　do…not…disturb　card　hung　on　the　knob。
　　　〃Time　to　leave；　Robert；〃　Rodney　said　to　his　colleague；　and　in　thirty　seconds　they　were　out　the　side　door　and　off　to　the　street。　〃How　long　on　the　candle？〃　Small　asked　by　the　truck。
　　　〃Thirty　minutes　at　most；〃　the　Royal　Engineer　sergeant　answered。
　　　〃That　poor　little　girl…you　suppose？〃　he　almost　asked。
　　　〃People　die　in　house　fires　every　day；　mate。　They　didn't　do　it　special　for　this　lot。〃
　　　Small　nodded　to　himself。　〃I　reckon。〃
　　　Just　then　Tom　Trent　appeared　in　the　lobby。　They'd　never　found　the　camera　he　lost　in　an　upstairs　room；　but　he　tipped　the　desk　clerk　for　his　effort。　It　turned　out　that　he　was　the　only　employee　on　duty　until　five　in　the　morning。
　　　Or　so　the　chap　thinks；　Trent　told　himself；　getting　into　the　truck。
　　　〃Back　to　the　embassy；　lads；〃　the　spook　told　the　security　men。　〃There's　a　good　bottle　of　single…malt　Scotch　whiskey　waiting　for　us　all。〃
　　　〃Good。　I　could　use　a　dram；〃　Small　observed；　thinking　of　the　little　girl。　〃Or　two。〃
　　　〃Can　you　say　what　this　adventure　is　all　about？〃
　　　〃Not　tonight。　Perhaps　later；〃　Trent　replied。
　　　
　　　CHAPTER　28　…　BRITISH　MIDLANDS
　　　The　candle　burned　normally；　not　knowing　the　part　it　was　playing　in　the　night's　adventures；　consuming　wick　and　wax　at　a　slow　pace；　gradually　burning　down　to　the　still　surface　of　the　alcohol…soon　to　play　the　part　of　an　accelerant　in　an　arson　fire。　All　in　all；　it　took　thirty…four　minutes　before　the　surface　of　the　flammable　fluid　ignited。　What　started　then　is　called　a　class…B　fire　by　professionals…a　flammable…liquid　event。　The　alcohol　burned　with　an　enthusiasm　hardly　less　than　that　of　gasoline…this　was　why　the　Germans　had　used　alcohol　rather　than　kerosene　in　their　V…2　missile…and　rapidly　consumed　the　cardboard　of　the　milk　carton；　releasing　the　burning　quart　of　alcohol　onto　the　floor。　That　ignited　the　soaked　surface　of　the　hotel　room's　rug。　The　blue　wave　of　the　fire…front　raced　across　the　room's　floor　in　a　matter　of　seconds；　like　a　living　thing；　a　blue　line　followed　by　an　incandescent　white　mass　as　the　fire　reached　up　to　consume　the　available　oxygen　in　the　high…ceilinged　room。　Another　moment　and　both　beds　ignited　as　well；　enveloping　the　bodies　in　them　with　flames　and　searing　heat。
　　　The　Hotel　Astoria　was　an　old　one；　lacking　both　smoke　detectors　and　automatic　sprinklers　to　warn　of　danger　or　extinguish　the　blaze　before　it　got　too　dangerous。　Instead　the　flames　climbed　almost　immediately　to　the　water…stained　white　ceiling；　burning　off　paint　and　charring　the　underlying　plaster；　plus　attacking　the　cheap　hotel　furniture。　The　inside　of　the　room　turned　into　a　crematorium　for　three　human　beings　already　dead；　eating　their　bodies　like　the　carnivorous　animal　the　ancient　Egyptians　thought　a　fire　to　be。　The　worst　of　the　damage　took　just　five　minutes；　but　while　the　fire　died　down　somewhat　after　its　first　glut　of　consumption；　it　didn't　die　just　yet。
　　　The　desk　clerk　in　the　lobby　had　a　more　plex　job　than　one　might　have　expected。　At　two…thirty　every　morning；　he　placed　a　please…wait…back…in…a　few…minutes　sign　on　the　desk；　and　took　the　elevator　to　the　top　floor　to　walk　the　corridors。　He　found　the　usual…nothing　at　all　in　this　floor；　and　all　the　others；　until　getting　to　number　three。
　　　ing　down　the　steps；　he　noticed　an　unusual　smell。　That　perked　his　senses；　but　not　all　that　much　until　his　feet　touched　the　floor。　Then　he　turned　left　and　saw　a　wisp　of　smoke　ing　out　from　under　the　door　to　307。　He　took　the　three　steps　to　the　door；　and　touched　the　knob；　finding　it　hot；　but　not　painfully　so。　That　was　when　he　made　his　mistake。
　　　Taking　the　passkey　from　his　pocket；　he　unlocked　the　door；　and　without　feeling　the　wooden　portion　to　see　if　that　was　hot；　he　pushed　the　door　open。
　　　The　fire　had　largely　died　down；　starved　of　oxygen；　but　the　room　remained　hot；　the　hotel　walls　insulating　the　incipient　blaze　as　efficiently　as　a　barbecue　pit。　Opening　the　door　admitted　a　large　volume　of　fresh　air　and　oxygen　to　the　room；　and　barely　had　he　had　the　chance　to　see　the　horror　within　when　a　phenomenon　called　flashover　happened。
　　　It　was　the　next　thing　to　an　explosion。　The　room　reignited　in　a　blast　of　flame　and　a　further　intake　of　air；　sufficiently　strong　that　it　nearly　purled　the　clerk　off　his　feet　and　into　the　room　even　as　an　outward　blast　of　flame　pushed　him　the　other　way…and　saved　his　life。　Slapping　his　hands　to　his　flash…burned　face；　he　fell　to　his　knees　and　struggled　to　the　manual…pull　alarm　on　the　wall　next　to　the　elevator…without　pulling　307's　door　back　shut。　That　sounded　alarm　bells　throughout　the　hotel　and　also　reported　to　the　nearest　firehouse；　three　kilometers　away。　Screaming　with　pain；　he　walked；　or　fell；　down　the　stairs　to　the　lobby；　where　he　first　threw　a　glass　of　water　on　his　burned　face；　then　called　the　emergency　number　next　to　the　phone　to　report　the　fire　to　the　city　fire　department。　By　this　time　people　were　ing　down　the　stairs。　For　them；　getting　past　the　third　floor　had　been　harrowing；　and　the　clerk；　burned　as　he　〃was；　got　an　extinguisher　to　spray　on　them；　but　he　was　unable　to　climb　back　to　use　the　fire　hose　in　its　little　cabinet　on　the　involved　floor。　It　would　not　have　mattered　anyway。
　　　The　first　fire　truck　arrived　less　than　five　minutes　after　the　pull　alarm　had　sounded。　Hardly　needing　to　be　told…the　fire　was　visible　from　outside；　since　the　room's　windows　had　shattered　from　the　heat　of　the　renewed　blaze…they　forced　their　way　past　the　escaping　hotel　guests。　Within　a　minute　after　arriving；　the　first　seventy…millimeter　hose　was　spraying　water　into　the　room。　It　took　less　than　five　minutes　to　knock　the　fire　down；　and　through　the　smoke　and　horrid　smell；　the　firemen　forced　their　way　inside　to　find　what　they　feared…a　family　of　three；　dead　in　their　beds。
　　　The　fire　lieutenant　in　mand　of　the　first　responders　cradled　the　dead　child　in　his　arms　and　ran　down　and　out　onto　the　street；　but　he　could　see　it　was　a　waste。　The　child　had　roasted　like　a　piece　of　meat　in　an　oven。　Hosing　her　body　down　only　exposed　the　ghastly　effect　a　fire　has　on　a　human　body；　and　there　was　nothing　for　him　to　do　but　say　a　prayer　for　her。　The　lieutenant　was　the　brother　of　a　priest　and　a　devout　Catholic　in　this　Marxist　country；　and　he　prayed　to　his　God　for　mercy　for　the　little　girl's　soul；　not　knowing　that　the　very　same　thing　had　happened　over　four　thousand　miles　away　and　ten　days　earlier。
　　　The　rabbits　were　out　of　the　city　in　a　matter　of　minutes。　Hudson　drove　carefully；　within　the　posted　speed　limits；　lest　there　be　a　cop　around；　though　there　was　virtually　no　traffic　in　evidence；　merely　the　occasional　truck；　mercial　ones　with　canvas　sides；　carrying　who　knew　what　to　who　knew　where。　Ryan　was　in　the　right…front　seat；　half　turned　to　look　in　the　back。　Irina　Zaitzev　was　a　mask　of　tipsy　confusion；　not　prehending　enough　to　be　frightened。　The　child　was　asleep；　as　children　invariably　were　at　this　time　of　night。　The　father　was　trying　to　be　stoic；　but　the　edge　of　fear　was　visible　on　his　face；　even　in　the　darkness。　Ryan　tried　to　put　himself　in　his　place；　but　found　it　impossible　to　do　so。　To　betray　one's　country　was　too　great　a　leap　of　imagination　for　him。　He　knew　there　were　those　who　stabbed　America　in　the　back；　mainly　for　money；　but　he　didn't　pretend　to　understand　their　motivation。　Sure；　back　in　the　'30s　and　'40s　there　had　been　those　for　whom　munism　looked　like　the　leading　wave　of　human　history；　but　those　thoughts　were　all　as　dead　as　V。　I。　Lenin　was　today。　munism　was　a　dying　idea；　except　in　the　minds　of　those　who　needed　it　to　be　the　source　of　their　personal　power。。。And　perhaps　some　still　believed　in　it　because　they'd　never　been　exposed　to　anything　else；　or　because　the　idea　had　been　too　firmly　planted　in　their　distant　youth；　as　a　minister　or　priest　believed　in　God。　But　the　words　of　Lenin's　Collected　Works　were　not　Holy　Writ　to　Ryan　and　never　would　be。　As　a　new　college　graduate；　he'd　sworn　his　oath　to　the　Constitution　of　the　United　States　and　promised　to　〃bear　true　faith　and　allegiance　to　the　same〃　as　a　second　lieutenant　of　the　United　States　Marine　Corps；　and　that　was　that。
　　　〃How　long；　Andy？〃
　　　〃A　little　over　an　hour　to　Csurgo。　Traffic　ought　not　to　be　a　problem；〃　Hudson　answered。
　　　And　it　wasn't。　In　minutes；　they　were　outside　the　boundaries　of　Hungary's　capital；　and　then　the　lights　of　houses　and　businesses　just　stopped　as　though　someone　had　flipped　the　master　switch　for　electricity　to　the　region。　The　road　was　two…lane　blacktop；　and　none　too　wide　at　that。　Telephone　poles；　no　guardrails。　And　this　is　a　major　mercial　highway？　Ryan　wondered。　They　might　as　well　have　been　driving　across　central　Nevada。　Perhaps　one　or　two　lights　every　kilometer；　farmhouses　where　people　liked　to　have　one　on　to　help　find　their　way　to　the　bathroom。　Even　the　road　signs　looked　decrepit　and　not　very　helpful…not　the　mint…green　highway　signs　of　home　or　the　friendly　blue　ones　of　England。　It　didn't　help　that　the　words　on　them　were　in　Martian。　Otherwise　they　were　the　European　sort；　showing　the　speed　limit　in　black　numbers　on　a　white　disc　within　a　red　circle。
　　　Hudson　was　a　petent　driver；　puffing　away　on　his　cigars　and　driving　as　though　he　were　on　his　way　to　Covent　Garden　in　London。　Ryan　thanked　God　that　he'd　made　a　trip　to　the　head　before　walking　to　the　hotel…otherwise　he　might　lose　control　of　his　bladder。　Well；　probably　his　face　didn't　show　how　nervous　he　was；　Jack　hoped。　He　kept　telling　himself　that　his　own　life　wasn't　on　the　line；　but　those　of　the　people　in　the　back　were；　and　they　were　now　his　responsibility；　and　something　in　him；　probably　something　learned　from　his　policeman　father；　made　that　a　matter　of　supreme　importance。
　　　〃What　is　your　full　name？〃　Oleg　asked　him；　breaking　the　silence　unexpectedly。
　　　〃Ryan；　Jack　Ryan。〃
　　　〃What　sort　of　name　is　Ryan？〃　the　Rabbit　pressed　on。
　　　〃My　ancestry　is　Irish。　John　corresponds　to　Ivan；　I　think；　but　people　call　me　Jack；　like　Vanya；　maybe。〃
　　　〃And　you　are　in　CIA？〃
　　　〃Yes；　I　am。〃
　　　〃What　is　your　job　in　CIA？〃
　　　〃I　am　an　analyst。　Mostly　I　sit　at　a　desk　and　write　reports。〃
　　　〃I　also　sit　at　desk　in　Centre。〃
　　　〃You　are　a　munications　officer？〃
　　　A　nod。　〃Da；　that　is　my　job　in　Centre。〃　Then　Zaitzev　remembered　that　his　important　information　was　not　for　the　back　of　a　car；　and　he　shut　back　up。
　　　Ryan　saw　that。　He　had　things　to　say；　but　not　here；　and　that　was　fair　enough　for　the　moment。
　　　The　trip　went　smoothly。　Four　cigars　for　Hudson；　and　six　cigarettes　for　Ryan；　until　they　approached　the　town　of　Csurgo。
　　　Ryan　had　expected　something　more　than　this。　Csurgo　was　barely　a　wide　place　in　the　road；　with　not　even　a　gas　station　in　evidence；　and　surely　not　an　all…night　7…Eleven。　Hudson　turned　off　the　main　road　onto　a　dirt　track；　and　three　minutes　later　there　was　the　shape　of　a　mercial　truck。　It　was　a　big　Volvo；　he　saw　in　a　moment；　with　a　black　canvas　cover　on　the　back　and　two　men　standing　next　to　it；　both　smoking。　Hudson　pulled　around　it；　finding　concealment　behind　some　nondescript　sort　of　shed　a　few　yards　from　it；　and　stopped　the　Jaguar。　He　hopped　out；　and　motioned　to　the　rest　to　do　the　s