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The driver shuddered。 〃Thank you； sir； but； no； thank you。〃
〃Jack just says that to make people throw up；〃 Cathy told the driver。 〃Besides； he's too much of a wuss to e watch any real surgery。〃
〃And properly so； mum。 Much better to cause surgery than to attend it。〃
〃Excuse me？〃
〃You're a former Marine？〃
〃That's right。 And you？〃
〃I was in the Parachute Regiment。 That's what they taught us： Better to inflict harm on the other bloke than to suffer it yourself。〃
〃Most Marines would agree with that one； pal；〃 Ryan agreed with a chuckle。
〃That's not what they taught us at Hopkins；〃 Cathy sniffed。
It was an hour later in Rome。 Colonel Goderenko； titularly the Second Secretary at the Soviet Embassy； had about two hours per day of diplomatic duties； but most of his time was taken up by his job as rezident； or Chief of Station for the KGB。 It was a busy posting。 Rome was a major information nexus for NATO； a city in which one could obtain all manner of political and military intelligence； and that was his main professional concern。 He and his six full… and part…time officers ran a total of twenty…three agents…Italian （and one German） nationals who fed information to the Soviet Union for political or pecuniary reasons。 It would have been better for him if their motivation was mainly ideological； but that was rapidly being a thing of the past。 The rezidentura in Bonn had a better atmosphere in which to work。 Germans were Germans； and many of them could be persuaded that helping out their co…linguists in the DDR was preferable to working with the Americans； British； and French who called themselves allies of the Fatherland。 For Goderenko and his fellow Russians； Germans would never be allies； whatever politics whey might claim to have； though the fig leaf of Marxism…Leninism could sometimes be a useful disguise。
In Italy； things were different。 The lingering memory of Benito Mussolini was pretty well faded now； and the local true…believer munists were more interested in wine and pasta than revolutionary Marxism； except for the bandits of the Red Brigade…and they were dangerous hooligans rather than politically reliable operatives。 Vicious dilettantes more than anything else； though not without their uses。 He occasionally saw to their trips to Russia； where they studied political theory and； more to the point； learned proper fieldcraft skills that at least had some tactical use。
On his desk was a pile of overnight dispatches； topmost of which was a message flimsy from Moscow Centre。 The header told him it was important； and the cipher book： 115890。 This was in his office safe； in the credenza behind his desk。 He had to turn in his swivel chair and half…kneel to dial in the bination to open the door； after first deactivating the electronic alarm that was wired to the dial。 That took a few seconds。 Atop the book was his cipher wheel。 Goderenko cordially hated using one…time pads； but they were as much a part of his life as using the toilet。 Distasteful； but necessary。 Decryption of the dispatch took him ten minutes。 Only when it was done did he grasp the actual message。 From the Chairman himself？ he thought。 As with any mid…level government official across the world； it was like being called to the principal's office。
The Pope？ Why the hell does Yuriy Vladimirovich care a rat's ass about getting close to the Pope？ Then he thought for a second。 Oh； of course。 It's not about the head of the Catholic Church。 It's about Poland。 You can take the Polack out of Poland； but you can't take Poland out of the Polack。 It's political。 That made it important。
But it did not please Goderenko。
〃Ascertain and report means of getting physically close to the pope；〃 he read again。 In the professional language of the KGB； that could only mean one thing。
Kill the Pope？ Goderenko thought。 That would be a political disaster。 As Catholic as Italy was； the Italians were not a conspicuously religious people。 La dolce vita； the sweet life…that was the religion of this country。 The Italians were the most profoundly disorganized people in the world。 How they had ever been allies to the Hitlerites boggled the imagination。 For the Germans； everything was supposed to be in Ordnung； properly arranged； clean and ready for use at all times。 About the only things the Italians kept in proper order were their kitchens and perhaps their wine cellars。 Aside from that； everything was so casual here。 To a Russian； ing to Rome was a culture shock； akin to being bayoneted in the chest。 The Italians had no sense of discipline。 You only had to observe their traffic to see that； and driving in it was what flying a fighter plane must be like。
But the Italians were all born with a sense of style and propriety。 There were some things one could not do here。 Italians had a collective sense of beauty that was difficult for any man to fault； and to violate that code could have the most serious of consequences。 For one thing； it could promise his intelligence sources。 Mercenaries or not。。。 Even mercenaries would not work against their very religion； would they？ Every man had some scruples； even…no； he corrected himself； especially…here。 So the political consequences of something like this potential mission could adversely affect the productivity of his rezidentura and would seriously impact recruitment。
So； what in hell do I do now？ he asked himself。 A senior colonel in the KGB's First Chief Directorate and a highly successful rezident； he had a certain degree of flexibility in his actions。 He was also a member of a huge bureaucracy； and the easiest thing for him to do was what all bureaucrats did。 He would delay； obfuscate； and obstruct。
There was some degree of skill required for this； but Ruslan Borissovich Goderenko knew all he needed to know about that。
CHAPTER 6 … BUT NOT TOO CLOSE
New things are always interesting； and that was true for surgeons； too。 While Ryan read his paper； Cathy looked out the train window。 It was another bright day； with a sky as blue as his wife's pretty eyes。 For his part； Jack had the route pretty well memorized； and boredom invariably made him sleepy。 He slumped in the corner of the seat and found his eyelids getting heavy。
〃Jack； are you going to sleep？ What if you miss the stop？〃
〃It's a terminal；〃 her husband explained。 〃The train doesn't just stop there； it ends there。 Besides； never stand up when you can sit down； and never sit down when you can lie down。〃
〃Who ever told you that？〃
〃My gunny；〃 Jack said； from behind closed eyes。
〃Who？〃
〃Gunnery Sergeant Phillip Tate； United States Marine Corps。 He ran my platoon for me until I got killed in that chopper crash…ran it after I left； too； I suppose。〃 Ryan still sent him Christmas cards。 Had Tate screwed up； that 〃killed〃 might not have been the limp joke he pretended it was。 Tate and a Navy Hospital Corpsman Second Class named Michael Burns had stabilized Ryan's back； at the very least preventing a permanent crippling injury。 Burns got a Christmas card； too。
About ten minutes to Victoria； Ryan rubbed his eyes and sat up straight。
〃Wele back；〃 Cathy observed dryly。
〃You'll be doing it by the middle of next week。〃
She snorted。 〃For an ex…Marine； you sure are lazy。〃
〃Honey； if there's nothing to do； you might as well use the time productively。〃
〃I do。〃 She held up her copy of The Lancet。
〃What have you been reading up on？〃
〃You wouldn't understand；〃 she replied。 It was true。 Ryan's knowledge of biology was limited to the frog he'd disassembled in high school。 Cathy had done that； too； but she'd probably put it together again and watched it hop back to its lily pad。 She could also deal cards like a Vegas cardsharp； a talent that flat amazed her husband every time she demonstrated it。 But she wasn't worth a damn with a pistol。 Most physicians probably weren't； and here guns were regarded as unclean objects； even by the cops； some of whom were allowed to carry them。 Funny country。
〃How do I get to the hospital？〃 Cathy asked； as the train slowed for its last stop。
〃Take a cab the first time。 You can take the tube； too；〃 Jack suggested。 〃It's a new city。 Takes time to learn your way around。〃
〃How's the neighborhood？〃 she asked。 It came from growing up in New York and working in Baltimore's inner city； where you did well to keep your eyes open。
〃Damned sight better than the one around Hopkins。 You won't be seeing too much gunshot trauma in the ER。 And the people are as nice as they can be。 When they figure out that you're an American； they practically give you the joint。〃
〃Well； they were nice to us in the grocery store yesterday；〃 Cathy allowed。 〃But； you know； they don't have grape juice here。〃
〃My God； no civilization at all！〃 Jack exclaimed。 〃So get Sally some of the local bitter。〃
〃You moron！〃 she laughed。 〃Sally likes her grape juice； remember； and Hi…C cherry。 All they have here is black…currant juice。 I was afraid to buy it。〃
〃Yeah； and she's going to learn to spell funny； too。〃 Jack didn't worry about his little Sally。 Kids were the most adaptable of creatures。 Maybe she'd even learn the rules for cricket。 If so； she could explain the inprehensible game to her daddy。
〃My God； everybody smokes here；〃 Cathy observed as they pulled into Victoria Station。
〃Honey； think of it as a future ine source for all the docs。〃
〃It's an awful and a dumb way to die。〃
〃Yes； dear。〃 Whenever Jack smoked a cigarette； there was hell to pay in the Ryan house。 One more cost of being married to a doc。 She was right； of course； and Jack knew it； but everyone was entitled to at least one vice。 Except Cathy。 If she had one； she concealed it with great skill。 The train slowed to a halt； allowing them to stand and open the partment door。
They stepped out into the arriving rush of office workers。 Just like Grand Central Terminal in New York； Jack thought； but not quite as crowded。 London had a lot of stations； laid out like the legs of an octopus。 The platform was agreeably wide； and the rush of people politer than New York would ever be。 Rush hour was rush hour everywhere； but the English city had a patina of gentility that was hard not to like。 Even Cathy would soon be admiring it。 Ryan led his wife to the outside； where a rank of cabs waited。 He walked her to the first one in line。
〃Hammersmith Hospital；〃 he told the driver。 Then he kissed his wife good…bye。
〃See you tonight； Jack。〃 She always had a smile for him。
〃Have a good one； babe。〃 And Ryan made his way to the other side of the building。 Part of him hated the fact that Cathy had to work。 His mom never had。 His father； like all men of his generation； had figured that it was the man's job to put food on the table。 Emmet Ryan had liked the fact that his son had married a physician； but his chauvinistic attitude about a woman's place had somehow or other carried over to his son despite the fact that Cathy made a lot more than Jack did； probably because ophthalmologists were more valuable to society than intelligence analysts。 Or the marketplace thought so； anyway。 Well； she couldn't do what he did； and he couldn't do what she did； and that was that。
At Century House； the uniformed security guard recognized him with a wave and a smile。
〃Good morning； Sir John。〃
〃Hey； Bert。〃 Ryan slid his card into the slot。 The light blinked green； and Jack transited the security gate。 From there； it was just a few steps to the elevator。
Simon Harding was just arriving； too。 The usual greeting： 〃Morning； Jack。〃
〃Hey；〃 Jack grunted in reply on the way to his desk。 There was a manila envelope waiting for him。 The cover tag said it had been messengered over from the U。S。 Embassy in Grosvenor Square。 He ripped the top open to see that it was the report from Hopkins on Mikhail Suslov。 Jack flipped through the pages and saw something he'd forgotten。 Bernie Katz； ever the thorough doc； had evaluated Suslov's diabetes as dangerously advanced； and predicted that his longevity was going to be limited。
〃Here； Simon。 Says here the head mie's sicker than he looks。〃
〃Pity；〃 Harding observed； taking it as he fumbled with his pipe。 〃He's not a very nice chap； you know。〃
〃So I've heard。〃
Next in Ryan's pil