Red Rabbit - Tom Clancy [26]
There was interest in his eyes now: "No. Is it any good?"
"One of the things I've learned being married to a doc is that I listen to what she says about people. I'd damned sure listen to Bernie. It's worth reading. There's a universal tendency for people to talk straight to surgeons and, like I said, docs are good for seeing things that most of us miss. They said Suslov was smart, courteous, businesslike, but underneath he was the sort of guy you wouldn't trust with a gun in his hand—or more likely a knife. He really didn't like the fact that he needed Americans to save his sight for him. It didn't tickle his fancy that no Russians were able to do what he needed done. On the other hand, they said that the hospitality was Olympic-class once they did the job. So they're not complete barbarians, which Bernie halfway expected—he's Jewish, family from Poland, back when it belonged to the czar, I think. Want me to have the Agency send that one over?"
Harding waved a match over his pipe. "Yes, I would like to see that. The Russians—they're a rum lot, you know. In some ways, wonderfully cultured. Russia is the last place in the world where a man can make a decent living as a poet. They revere their poets, and I rather admire that about them, but at the same time… you know, Stalin himself was reticent about going after artists—the writing sort, that is. I remember one chap who lived years longer than one would have expected… Even so, he eventually died in the Gulag. So, their civilization has its limits."
"You speak the language? I never learned it."
The Brit analyst nodded. "It can be a wonderful language for literature, rather like Attic Greek. It lends itself to poetry, but it masks a capacity for barbarism that makes the blood run cold. They are a fairly predictable people in many ways, especially their political decisions, within limits. Their unpredictability lies in playing off their inherent conservatism against their dogmatic political outlook. Our friend Suslov is seriously ill, heart problems—from the diabetes, I suppose—but the chap behind him is Mikhail Yevgeniyevich Alexandrov, equal parts Russian and Marxist, with the morals of Lavrenti Beria. He bloody hates the West. I expect he counseled Suslov—they are old, old friends—to accept blindness rather than submit to American physicians. And if this Katz chap is Jewish, you said? That would not have helped, either. Not an attractive chap at all. When Suslov departs—a few months, we think—he'll be the new ideologue on the Politburo. He will back Yuriy Vladimirovich on anything he wishes to do, even if it means a physical attack on His Holiness."
"You really think it could go that far?" Jack asked.
"Could it? Possibly, yes."
"Okay, has this letter been sent to Langley?"
Harding nodded. "Your local Station Chief came over to collect it today. I would expect your chaps have their own sources, but there's no sense taking chances."
"Agreed. You know, if Ivan does anything that extreme, there's going to be hell to pay."
"Perhaps so, but they do not see things in the same way we do, Jack."
"I know. Hard to make the full leap of imagination, however."
"It does take time," Simon agreed.
"Does reading their poetry help?" Ryan wondered. He'd only seen a little of it, and only in translation, which was not how one read poetry.
Harding shook his head. "Not really. That's how some of them protest. The protests have to be sufficiently roundabout that the more obtuse of their readers can just enjoy the lyrical tribute to a particular girl's figure without noticing the cry for freedom of expression. There must be a whole section of KGB that analyzes the poems for the hidden political content, to which no one pays particular attention until the Politburo members notice that the sexual content is a little too explicit.