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rsion of urban renewal； but Poland right now was a very tight place due to its internal political troubles； and the easiest exit point； Gdansk； was now as tightly guarded as the Russian…Polish border。 It hadn't helped that the Brits had arranged for the purloining of a new Russian T…72 main battle tank there。 Mary Pat hoped the stolen tank was useful to somebody； but some idiot in London had bragged about it to the newspapers and the story had broken； ending Gdansk's utility as a port of exit for the next few years。 The DDR； perhaps？ But few Russians cared a rat's ass about Germany； and there was little there for them to want to see。 Czechoslovakia？ An interesting city supposedly； landmarked with imperial architecture； and a good cultural life。 Their symphonies and ballet were almost on a class with the Russians' own； and the art galleries were supposedly excellent。 But the Czech…Austrian border was also very tightly guarded。
That left。。。 Hungary。
Hungary； she thought。 Budapest was also an old imperial city； once ruled sternly by the Austrian Hapsburg dynasty； conquered by the Russians in 1945 after a nasty； prolonged battle with the German SS； probably rebuilt to whatever former glory it had enjoyed a hundred years before。 It was not enthusiastically munist； as they'd demonstrated in 1956； before being harshly put down by the Russians； at Khrushchev's personal orders； and then under Andropov's stewardship as USSR Ambassador reestablished as a happy socialist brotherhood； though one more loosely governed after the brief and bloody rebellion。 The head rebels had all been hanged； shot； or otherwise disposed of。 Forgiveness had never been a Marxist…Leninist virtue。
But a lot of Russians took the train to Budapest。 It was the neighbor of Yugoslavia； the munist San Francisco； a place where Russians could not go without permission； but Hungary traded freely with Yugoslavia； and so Soviet citizens could purchase VCRs； Reebok running shoes； and Fogal pantyhose there。 Typically； Russians went there with one suitcase full and two or three empty； and a shopping list for all their friends。
Soviets could travel there with reasonable freedom； because they had econ rubles； which all socialist countries were required to honor by the socialist Big Brother in Moscow。 Budapest was； in fact； the boutique of the Eastern Bloc。 You could even get X…rated tapes for the tape machines that were manufactured there…rip…offs of Japanese designs； reverse…engineered and made in their own fraternal socialist factories。 The tapes were smuggled in from Yugoslavia and copied…everywhere； everything from The Sound of Music to Debbie Does Dallas。 Budapest had decent art galleries and historical sites； good orchestras； and the food was supposed to be pretty good。 An entirely plausible place for the Rabbit to go； with every ostensible intention of going back to his beloved Rodina。
That's the beginning of a plan； Mary Pat thought。 That was also enough lost sleep for one night。
〃So； what happened？〃 the Ambassador asked。
〃An AVH spook was having coffee one table away from where my agent made a drop；〃 Szell explained in the Ambassador's private office。 It was located on the top floor； in the corner…in fact； in the quarters once occupied by Jozsef Cardinal Mindszenty during his lengthy residency at the U。S。 Embassy。 A beloved figure both in the eyes of the American staffers and the Hungarian people； he'd been imprisoned by the Nazis； released by the arriving Red Army； and promptly returned to prison for not being enthusiastic enough over the advent of the New Faith of Russia； though； technically； he'd been imprisoned on the far…fetched charges of being a raging royalist who wished to return the House of Hapsburg to imperial rule。 The local munists hadn't been overly strong on creative writing。 Even at the turn of the twentieth century； the Hapsburgs had been about as popular in Budapest as a bargeload of plague rats。
〃Why were you doing it； Jim？〃 Ambassador Peter 〃Spike〃 Ericsson asked。 He'd have to reply to the venomous； but entirely predictable； munique that had arrived with the Station Chief； which was now sitting in the center of his desk。
〃Bob Taylor's wife…she's pregnant； remember？…had some plumbing problems； and they flew 'em both off to Second Army General Hospital up at Kaiserslauten to get checked out。〃
Ericsson grunted。 〃Yeah； I forgot。〃
〃Anyway； the short version is； I blew it；〃 Szell had to admit。 It just wasn't his way to cover things up。 It would cause a major hiccup in his CIA career； but that couldn't be helped。 Damned sure it was a lot rougher right now for that poor clumsy bastard who'd screwed up the transfer。 The Hungarian State Security Authority…Allavedelmi Hatosag； or AVH…officers who'd interrogated him evidently hadn't had a good gloat in some time； and had made a point of telling him how easily he'd been bagged。 Fucking amateurs； Szell raged。 But the end of the game was that he was now PNG'd； declared persona non grata by the Hungarian government； and requested to leave the country in forty…eight hours…preferably； with his tail tucked firmly between his legs。
〃Sorry to lose you； Bob； but there's nothing much I can do。〃
〃And I'm pretty useless to the team now anyway。 I know。〃 Szell let out a long and frustrated breath。 He'd been here long enough to set up a pretty good little spy shop； providing fairly good political and military information…none of it overly important； because Hungary was not an overly important country； but you just never knew when something of interest would happen； even in Lesotho…which might well be his next posting； Szell reflected。 He'd have to buy some sunblock and a nice bush jacket。。。 At least he'd get to catch the World Series back at home。
But for now； Station Budapest was out of business。 Not that Langley would really miss it； Szell consoled himself。
The signal about this would go to Foggy Bottom via embassy telex…encrypted； of course。 Ambassador Ericsson drafted his reply to the Hungarian Foreign Ministry； rejecting out of hand the absurd allegation that James Szell； Second Secretary to the Embassy of the United States of America； had done anything inconsistent with his diplomatic status； and lodging an official protest in the name of the U。S。 Department of State。 Perhaps in the next week； Washington would send some Hungarian diplomat back…whether he was a sheep or a goat would be decided in Washington。 Ericsson thought it would be a sheep。 Why let on that the FBI had ID'd a goat； after all？ Better to let the goat continue to munch away in whatever garden it had invaded…under close observation。 And so the game went on。 The Ambassador thought it a stupid game； but every member of his staff played it with greater or lesser enthusiasm。
The message about Szell； it turned out； was sufficiently under the radar so that when it was forwarded to CIA headquarters； it was tucked into routine traffic as not worthy of interfering with the DCI's weekendJudge Moore got a morning brief every single day anyway； of course； and this item would wait until 8：00 A。M。 Sunday； the watch officers collectively decided； because judges liked an orderly life。 And Budapest wasn't all th