Red Rabbit - Tom Clancy [129]
"And we don't want the world to know that our rezident is making a highly important call on the man," the Foreign Minister added, teaching the KGB Chairman a little lesson in operational security, Colonel Rozhdestvenskiy noted.
"How long after that, Aleksey Nikolay'ch?" Andropov asked his aide,
"Several weeks, at least." He saw annoyance in his boss's eyes and decided to explain. "Comrade Chairman, selecting the right assassin will not be a matter of lifting a phone and dialing a number. Strokov will necessarily be careful in making his selection. People are not as predictable as machines, after all, and this is the most important—and most sensitive—aspect of the operation."
"Yes, I suppose that is so, Aleksey. Very well. Notify Bubovoy that a hand-delivered message is on the way."
"Now, Comrade Chairman, or after we have it signed and ready for dispatch?" Rozhdestvenskiy asked the question like a skilled bureaucrat, letting his boss know the best way without saying it out loud.
This colonel would go far, the Foreign Minister thought, taking note of his name for the first time.
"A good point, Colonel. Very well, I will let you know when the letter is ready to go."
"By your command, Comrade Chairman. Do you need me further?"
"No, that is all for now," Andropov answered, sending him on his way.
"Yuriy Vladimirovich, you have a good aide."
"Yes, there is so much for me still to learn here," Andropov admitted. "And he educates me every day."
"You are fortunate in having so many expert people."
"That is the truth, Andrey Andreyevich. That is the truth."
* * *
DOWN THE HALL in his office, Rozhdestvenskiy drew up the brief dispatch for Bubovoy. This was moving fast, he thought, but not fast enough for the Chairman of the KGB. He really wanted that priest dead. The Politburo certainly seemed fearful of political earthquakes, but Rozhdestvenskiy himself was doubtful of that. The Pope, after all, was just one person, but the colonel had tailored his advice to what his boss wanted to hear, like a good functionary, while also letting the Chairman know the things he needed to know. His job actually carried great power with it.
Rozhdestvenskiy knew that he could break the careers of officers whom he did not like and influence operations to a significant degree. If CIA ever tried to recruit him, he could be an agent of great value. But Colonel Rozhdestvenskiy was a patriot, and besides, the Americans probably had no idea who he was and what he did. The CIA was more feared than it deserved to be. The Americans didn't really have a feel for espionage. The English did, but KGB and its antecedents had enjoyed some success at infiltrating it in the past. Less so today, unfortunately. The young Cambridge communists of the 1930s were all old now, either in British prisons or drawing their government pensions in peace, or living out their years in Moscow, like Kim Philby, considered a drunk even by Muscovites. He probably drank because he missed his country—missed the place in which he'd grown up, the food and drink and football games, the newspapers with which he'd always philosophically disagree, but he'd miss them even so. What a terrible thing it must be to be a defector, Rozhdestvenskiy thought.
* * *
WHAT WILL I DO? Zaitzev asked himself. What will I ask for?
Money? CIA probably paid its spies very well—more money than he would ever be able to spend. Luxuries beyond his imagination. A videotape machine! They were just becoming available in Russia, mainly made in Hungary, patterned after Western machines. The bigger problem was in getting tapes—pornographic ones were particularly in demand. Some of his KGB coworkers spoke of such things. Zaitzev had never seen one himself, but he was curious, as any man might be. The Soviet Union was run by such conservative men. Maybe the Politburo members were just too old to enjoy sex, and so saw no need for younger citizens to indulge.
He shook his head. Enough! He had to decide what to tell the American in the metro. That was a task that he chewed on with his