璇玑之心刃·冷血悍将-第180章

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ill　personally　drive　down　to　Pax　River；　personally　check　out　an　A…4；　and　personally　napalm　his　house。‘
‘You　should　let　me　do　that；　Dutch；‘　Cas　added　with　a　smile。　‘I‘ve　always　had　a　better　hand　for　dropping　things。　Besides；　I　have　six　hundred　hours　in　the　Scooter。‘
Greer　wondered　how　much　of　that　was　humor。
‘What　about　Kelly？‘　Maxwell　asked。
‘His　CIA　identity　is　"；Clark"；　now。　If　we　want　him　in；　we　can　utilize　him　better　as　a　civilian。　He‘d　never　get　over　being　a　chief；　but　a　civilian　doesn‘t　have　to　worry　about　rank。‘
‘Make　it　so；‘　Maxwell　said。　It　was　convenient；　he　thought；　to　have　a　naval　officer　seconded　to　CIA；　wearing　civilian　clothes　but　still　subject　to　military　discipline。
‘Aye　aye；　sir。　If　we　get　to　training；　where　will　it　be　done？‘
‘Quantico　Marine　Base；‘　Maxwell　replied。　‘General　Young　is　a　pal　from　the　old　days。　Aviator。　He　understands。‘
‘Marty　and　I　went　through　test…pilot　school　together；‘　Podulski　explained。　‘From　what　Kelly　says；　we　don‘t　need　that　many　troops。　I　always　figured　KINGPIN　was　overmanned。　You　know；　if　we　bring　this　off；　we　have　to　get　Kelly　his　Medal。‘
‘One　thing　at　a　time；　Cas。‘　Maxwell　set　that　aside；　looking　back　to　Greer　as　he　stood。　‘You　will　let　us　know　if　Angleton　finds　out　anything？‘
‘Depend　on　it；‘　Greer　promised。　‘If　there‘s　a　bad　guy　inside；　we‘ll　get　his　ass。　I‘ve　fished　with　the　guy。　He　can　pull　a　brook　trout　out　of　thin　air。‘　After　they　left　he　set　an　afternoon　meeting　with　Robert　Ritter。　It　meant　putting　Kelly　off；　but　Ritter　was　more　important　now；　and　while　there　was　a　rush　on　the　mission；　it　wasn‘t　all　that　great　a　rush。
Airports　were　useful　places；　with　their　bustling　anonymity　and　telephones。　Kelly　placed　his　call；　as　he　waited　for　his　baggage　to　appear　…　he　hoped　…　in　the　proper　place。
‘Greer；‘　the　voice　said。
‘Clark；‘　Kelly　replied；　smiling　at　himself。　It　seemed　so　James　Bond　to　have　a　cover　name。　‘I‘m　at　the　airport；　sir。　Do　you　still　want　me　in　this　afternoon？‘
‘No。　I‘m　tied　up。‘　Greer　flipped　through　his　daybook。　‘Tuesday。。。　three…thirty。　You　can　drive　in。　Give　me　your　car　type　and　license　number。‘
Kelly　did　that；　surprised　that　he‘d　been　bumped。　‘You　get　my　notes；　sir？‘
‘Yes；　and　you　did　a　fine　job；　Mr　Clark。　We‘ll　be　going　over　them　Tuesday。　We　are　very　pleased　with　your　work。‘
‘Thank　you；　sir；‘　Kelly　said　into　the　phone。
‘See　you　Tuesday。‘　The　line　clicked　off。
‘And　thanks　for　that；　too；‘　Kelly　said　after　he　hung　up。　Twenty　minutes　later　he　had　his　bags　and　was　walking　off　to　his　car。　About　an　hour　after　that　he　was　in　his　Baltimore　apartment。　It　was　lunchtime；　and　he　fixed　a　couple　of　sandwiches；　chasing　both　down　with　Coca…Cola。　He　hadn‘t　shaved　today；　and　his　heavy　beard　made　a　shadow　on　his　face；　he　saw　in　the　mirror。　He‘d　leave　it。　Kelly　headed　into　the　bedroom　for　a　lengthy　nap。
The　civilian　contractors　didn‘t　really　understand　what　they　were　up　to；　but　they　were　being　paid。　That　was　all　they　really　required；　since　they　had　families　to　feed　and　house　payments　to　make。　The　buildings　they　had　just　erected　were　well　to　the　right　of　spartan：　bare　concrete　block；　nothing　in　the　way　of　utilities；　built　to　odd　proportions；　not　like　American　construction　at　all　except　for　the　building　materials。　It　was　as　though　their　size　and　shape　had　been　taken　from　some　foreign　construction　manual。　All　the　dimensions　were　metric；　one　worker　noted；　though　the　actual　plans　were　noted　in　odd　numbers　of　inches　and　feet；　as　American　building　plans　had　to　be。　The　job　itself　had　been　simple　enough；　the　site　already　cleared　when　they‘d　first　arrived。　A　number　of　the　construction　workers　were　former　servicemen；　most　ex…Army；　but　a　few　Marines　as　well；　and　they　were　at　turns　pleased　and　unfortable　to　be　at　this　sprawling　Marine　base　in　the　wooded　hills　of　northern　Virginia。　On　the　drive　into　the　construction　site　they　could　see　the　morning　formations　of　officer　candidates　jogging　along　the　roads。　All　those　bright　young　kids　with　shaved　heads；　one　former　corporal　of　the　1st　Marines　had　thought　this　very　morning。　How　many　would　get　their　missions？　How　many　would　deploy　there？　How　many　would　e　home　early；　shipped　in　steel　boxes？　It　was　nothing　he　could　foresee　or　control；　of　course。　He‘d　served　his　time　in　hell　and　returned　unscratched；　which　was　still　remarkable　to　the　former　grunt　who‘d　heard　all　too　often　the　supersonic　crack　of　rifle　bullets。　To　have　survived　at　all　was　amazing　enough。
The　roofs　were　finished。　Soon　it　would　be　time　to　leave　the　site　for　good；　after　a　mere　three　weeks　of　well…paid　work。　Seven…day　weeks。　Plenty　of　overtime　on　every　working　day　he‘d　been　here。　Somebody　had　wanted　this　place　built　in　a　hurry。　Some　very　odd　things　about　it；　too。　The　parking　lot；　for　one。　A　hundred…slot　blacktopped　lot。　Someone　was　even　painting　the　lines。　For　buildings　with　no　utilities？　But　strangest　of　all　was　the　current　job　that　he‘d　drawn　because　the　site　foreman　liked　him。　Playground　equipment。　A　large　swing　set。　A　huge　jungle　gym。　A　sandbox；　plete　with　half　a　dump　truck‘s　load　of　sand。　All　the　things　that　his　two…year…old　son　would　someday　cavort　on　when　he　was　old　enough　for　kindergarten　in　the　Fairfax　County　Schools。　But　it　was　structural　work；　and　it　required　assembly；　and　the　former　Marine　and　two　others　fumbled　through　the　plans　like　fathers　in　a　backyard；　figuring　which　bolts　went　where。　Theirs　was　not　to　reason　why；　not　as　union　construction　workers　on　a　government　contract。　Besides；　he　thought；　there　was　no　understanding　the　Green　Machine。　The　Corps　operated　according　to　a　plan　that　no　man　really　figured　out；　and　if　they　wanted　to　pay　him　overtime　for　this；　then　that　was　another　monthly　house　payment　earned　for　every　three　days　he　came　here。　Jobs　like　this　might　be　crazy；　but　he　sure　liked　the　money。　About　the　only　thing　he　didn‘t　like　was　the　length　of　the　mute。　Maybe　they‘d　have　to　do　something　equally　crazy　at　Fort　Belvoir；　he　hoped；　finishing　the　last　item　on　the　jungle　gym。　He　could　drive　from　his　house　to　that　place　in　twenty　minutes　or　so。　But　the　Army　was　a　little　more　rational　than　the　Corps。　It　had　to　be。
‘So　what‘s　new？‘　Peter　Henderson　asked。　They　were　dining　just　off　The　Hill；　two　acquaintances　from　New　England；　one　a　Harvard　graduate；　the　other　from　Brown；　one　a　junior　aide　to　a　senator；　the　other　a　junior　member　of　the　White　House　staff。
‘It　never　changes；　Peter；‘　Wally　Hicks　said　resignedly。　‘The　peace　talks　are　going　nowhere。　We　keep　killing　their　people。　They　keep　killing　ours。　I　don‘t　think　there‘s　ever　going　to　be　peace　in　our　time；　you　know？‘
‘It　has　to；　Wally；‘　Henderson　said；　reaching　for　his　second　beer。
‘If　it　doesn‘t　…‘　Hicks　started　to　say　gloomily。
Both　had　been　seniors　at　the　Andover　Academy　in　October　1962；　close　friends　and　roommates　who　had　shared　class　notes　and　girlfriends。　Their　real　political　majority　had　e　one　Tuesday　night；　however；　when　they‘d　watched　their　country‘s　president　give　a　tense　national　address　on　the　black…and…white　television　in　the　dormitory　lounge。　There　were　missiles　in　Cuba；　they‘d　learned；　something　that　had　been　hinted　at　in　the　papers　for　several　days；　but　these　were　children　of　the　TV　generation；　and　contemporary　reality　came　in　horizontal　lines　on　a　glass　tube。　For　both　of　them　it　had　been　a　stunning　if　somewhat　belated　entree　into　the　real　world　for　which　their　expensive　boarding　school　ought　to　have　prepared　them　more　speedily。　But　theirs　was　the　fat　and　lazy　time　for　American　youth；　all　the　more　so　that　their　wealthy　families　had　further　insulated　them　from　reality　with　the　privilege　that　money　could　buy　without　imparting　the　wisdom　required　for　its　proper　use。
The　sudden　and　shocking　thought　had　arrived　in　both　minds　at　the　same　instant：　it　could　all　be　over。　Nervous　chatter　in　the　room　told　them　more。　They　were　surrounded　by　Targets。　Boston　to　the　southeast；　Westover　Air　Force　Base　to　the　southwest；　two　other　SAC　bases；　Pease　and　Loring；　within　a　hundred…mile　radius。　Portsmouth　Naval　Base；　which　housed　nuclear　submarines。　If　the　missiles　flew；　they　would　not　survive；　either　the　blast　or　the　fallout　would　get　them。　And　neither　of　them　had　even　gotten　laid　yet。　Other　boys　in　the　dorm　had　made　their　claims