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The other two each had a smile and a head shake at that。 Bostock spoke first。 Like all DO people； he had his doubts about members of the far more numerous DI。
〃Probably not as fortable as he is at his desk with his fy swivel chair。〃
〃He'll do fine； gentlemen；〃 Greer assured them； hoping he was right。
〃I wonder what this fellow has for us。。。？〃 Moore breathed。
〃We'll know in a week；〃 Bostock assured them。 He was always the optimist。 And three out of four constituted betting odds； so long as your own ass wasn't on the line。
Judge Moore looked at his desk clock and added six hours。 People would be asleep in Budapest now； and almost there in London。 He remembered his own adventures in the field； mostly posed of waiting for people to show up for meets or filling out contact reports for the at…home bureaucrats who still ran things at CIA。 You just couldn't get free of the fact that the Agency was a government operation； subject to all of the same restrictions and inefficiencies that attended that sad reality。 But this time； for this BEATRIX operation； they were making things happen speedily for once。。。 only because this Rabbit person said that government munications were promised。 Not because he'd said he had information about an innocent life that might be lost。 The government had its priorities； and they did not always correspond to the needs of a rational world。 He was Director of Central Intelligence； supposedly…and by federal law…in mand of the entire intelligence…gathering and analysis operations of the government of the United States of America。 But getting this bureaucracy to operate efficiently was the functional equivalent of beaching a whale and manding it to fly。 You could scream all you wanted； but you couldn't fight gravity。 Government was a thing made by men； and so it ought to be possible for men to change it； but in practice that just didn't happen。 So； three chances out of four； they'd get their Russian out and get to debrief him in a fortable safe house in the Virginia hills； pick his brain clean； and maybe they'd find out some important and useful things； but the game wouldn't change and neither； probably； would CIA。
〃Anything we need to say to Basil？〃
〃Nothing es to mind； sir；〃 Bostock answered。 〃We just sit as still as we can and wait for his people to carry out the mission。〃 〃Right；〃 Judge Moore conceded。
Despite the three pints of dark British beer； Ryan did not sleep well。 He couldn't think of anything that he might be missing。 Hudson and his crew seemed petent enough； and the Rabbit family had looked ordinary enough on the street the previous morning。 There were three people； one of whom really wanted out of the USSR； which struck Ryan as something entirely reasonable。。。 though the Russians were some of the most rabidly patriotic people in all the world。 But every rule had exceptions； and evidently this man had a conscience and felt the need to stop。。。 something。 Whatever it was； Jack didn't know； and he knew better than to guess。 Speculation wasn't analysis； and good analysis was what they paid him his meager salary for。
It would be interesting to find out。 Ryan had never spoken directly with a defector。 He'd read over their stuff； and had sent written questions to some of them to get answers to specific inquiries； but he'd never actually looked one in the eye and watched his face when he answered。 As in playing cards； it was the only way to read the other guy。 He didn't have the ability at it that his wife had…there was something to be said for medical training…but neither was he a three…year…old who'd believe anything。 No； he wanted to see this guy； talk to him； and pick his brain apart； just to evaluate the reliability of what he said。 The Rabbit could be a plant； after all。 KGB had done that in the past； Ryan had heard。 There'd been one defector who'd e out after the assassination of John Kennedy who'd proclaimed to the very heavens that KGB had taken no part in that act。 It was； in fact； sufficient to make the Agency wonder if maybe KGB had done precisely that。 KGB could be tricky； but like all clever； tricky people； they inevitably overplayed their hand sooner or later…and the later they did it； the worse they overplayed it。 They understood the West and how its people really thought things through。 No； Ivan wasn't ten feet tall； and neither was he a genius at everything； despite what the frightmongers in Washington…and even some at Langley…thought。
Everyone had the capacity for making mistakes。 He'd learned that from his father； who'd made a living catching murderers； some of whom thought themselves very clever indeed。 No； the only difference between a wise man and a fool was in the magnitude of his mistakes。 To err was human； and the smarter and more powerful you were； the greater the scope of your screwup。 Like LBJ and Vietnam； the war Jack had barely avoided due to his age…a colossal screwup foisted on the American people by the most adroit political tactician of his age； a man who'd thought his political abilities would translate to international power politics； only to learn that an Asian munist didn't think the same way that a senator from Texas did。 All men had their limitations。 It was just that some were more dangerous than others。 And while genius knew it had limits； idiocy was always unbounded。
He lay in his bed； smoking a cigarette and looking at the ceiling； wondering what would e tomorrow。 Another manifestation of Sean Miller and his terrorists？
Hopefully not； Jack thought； still wondering why Hudson wouldn't have a gun close by for the ing adventures。 Had to be some European thing； he decided。 Americans on hostile soil liked to have at least one friend around。
CHAPTER 27 … RABBIT RUN
One more day in a strange city； Zaitzev thought； as the sun began to rise in the east； two hours earlier than in Moscow。 At home he'd still be sleeping； Oleg Ivan'ch told himself。 In due course； he hoped； he'd be waking up somewhere else； in an altogether different time zone yet again。 But for now he just lay still； savoring the moment。 There was virtually no sound outside； perhaps a few delivery trucks on the streets。 The sun was not quite yet above the horizon。 It was dark； but no longer night； brightening up； but not yet morning； the middle part of the early day。 It could be a pleasant moment。 It was a time children could like； a magical time when the world belonged only to those few who were awake； and all others were still unseen in their beds； and the kids could walk around like little kings； until their mothers caught them and dragged them back into their beds。
But Zaitzev just lay there； hearing the slow breathing of his wife and daughter； while he was now fully awake； free to think entirely alone。
When would they contact him？ What would they say？ Would they change their minds？ Would they betray his trust？
Why was he so goddamned uneasy about everything？ Wasn't it time to trust the CIA just a little bit？ Wasn't he going to be a huge asset to them？
Would he not be valuable to them？ Even KGB； as stingy as a child with the best toys； gave fort and prestige to its defectors。 All the alcohol Kim Philby could drink。 All the zhopni