Without remorse - Tom Clancy [308]
'They are our fraternal socialist allies.'
'Yes, and we have bulwarks of democracy all over Latin America, too. Did you come here for a quick course in political philosophy?'
'The nice thing about enemies is that you know where they stand. This is not always true of friends,' Voloshin admitted. That also explained the comfort level of his government with the current American president. A bastard, perhaps, but a known bastard. And, no, Voloshin admitted - to himself - he had little use for the Vietnamese. The real action was in Europe. Always had been. Always would be. That was where the course of history had been set for centuries, and nothing was going to change that.
'Call it an unconfirmed report, check up on it, maybe? Delay? Please, General, the stakes here are too high for that. If anything happens to those men, I promise you, we will produce your officer. The Pentagon knows, Sergey, and they want those men back, and they don't care a rat-fuck about detente.' The profanity showed what Ritter really thought.
'Do you? Does your Directorate?'
'It sure will make life a lot more predictable. Where were you in '62, Sergey?' Ritter asked - knowing and wondering what he'd say.
'In Bonn, as you know, watching your forces go on alert because Nikita Sergeyevich decided to play his foolish game.' Which had been contrary to KGB and Foreign Ministry advice, as both men knew.
'We're never going to be friends, but even enemies can agree to rules for the game. Isn't that what this is about?'
A judicious man, Voloshin thought, which pleased him. It made for predictable behavior, and that above all things was what the Russians wanted of the Americans. 'You are persuasive, Bob. You assure me that our allies do not know their man is missing?'
'Positive. My offer for you to meet your man is still open,' he added.
'Without reciprocal rights?' Voloshin tried.
'For that I need permission from upstairs. I can try if you ask me to, but that also would be something of a complication.' He dumped his empty drink cup in a bin.
'I ask.' Voloshin wanted that made clear.
'Very well. I'll call you. And in return?'
'In return I will consider your request.' Voloshin walked off without another word.
Gotcha! Ritter thought, heading towards where his car was parked. He'd played a careful but inventive game. There were three possible leaks on boxwood green. He'd visited each of them. To one he'd said that they actually had gotten a prisoner out, who had died of wounds. To another, that the Russian was badly wounded and might not survive. But Ritter had saved his best piece of bait for the most likely leak. Now he knew. That narrowed it to four suspects. Roger MacKenzie, that prep-school-reject aide, and two secretaries. This was really an FBI job, but he didn't want any additional complications, and an espionage investigation of the Office of the President of the United States was about as complicated as things could be. Back in his car, he decided to meet with a friend in the Directorate of Science and Technology. Ritter had a great deal of respect for Voloshin. A clever man, a very careful, methodical man, he'd run agents all over Western Europe before being assigned to the Washington rezidentura. He'd keep his word, and to make sure he didn't get into any trouble about it, he'd play everything strictly by the exacting rules of his parent agency. Ritter was gambling big on that. Pull this one off in addition to the other coup in the works, and how much higher might he rise? Better yet, he'd be earning his way up, not some fair-haired political payoff, but the son of a Texas Ranger who'd waited tables to get his degree at Baylor. Something Sergey would have appreciated, in good Marxist-Leninist fashion, Ritter told himself, pulling onto Connecticut Avenue. Working-class kid makes good.
It was an unusual way to gather information, something he'd never done before, and pleasant enough that he might even get used to it. He sat at a corner booth in Mama Maria's, working slowly through his second course -