[ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]

earlier, but could also export a hefty surplus -- freeing lots of
intellectuals to write in comfort on the evils of production and to campaign
for the civil rights of the malaria virus while treating people as pollution.
Consequently, after putting up with years of harassment from inquisitorial
regulators and political activists seeking to ban everything from fertilizers
to farm mechanization, Malcolm sold out and moved the family to California,
where he invested the proceeds in an agricultural-machinery business that
provided a reasonable living. Throughout Lewis's teenage years, Malcolm had
continued to rage about "corporate socialism" -- by which he meant the
agribusiness giant that had bought the land in Iowa -- as much as Julia warned
against collectivism. It no more represented the spirit of America, he used to
fume, than the liberal-socialist element in Washington, and had played as
great a part in bringing about the economic mess and cultural negativism of
the seventies.
Thus, one of Lewis's parents was a refugee from a tyranny that had destroyed
the worth of a lifetime's labor; the other had been a victim of legalized
witch-hunting in the name of ideology. Reflection on these things produced a
deep sense of resentment and injustice in Lewis as a youth. He concluded that
there were no such things as inalienable "natural" rights. The only rights
that meant anything were those that could be defended -- by custom, by law,
and, if necessary, by force.
McCain graduated from UCLA at twenty-two with BA degrees in Political
History and Modern Languages. These qualifications, along with his innate
skepticism and desire to preserve his individuality, added up to a good
grounding for work in the intelligence community. Hence, when, desperate to
escape from the tedium of California farm-country life, he attended on-campus
interviews for entry into the armed services, a recruiter from another
department of the government pounced on him instead. So, he'd ended up back at
school, this time with the UDIA at its training center in Maryland. Upon
completion of the course he went to its headquarters to work as an
administrative assistant, which he fondly assumed would be a cover title for
more exciting and glamorous things. But the job turned out to be just what it
said -- clerk -- and for two boring years he proved his loyalty by shuffling
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papers, filling in forms, sorting incoming material, and checking facts... and
checking them again, and then re-checking them. The experience turned out to
be vital to becoming an effective agent.
Since then he'd spent some years in Europe with NATO intelligence, which was
followed by six months back in the US for intensive training on such things as
codes and communications, observation, security, concealment and evasion,
weapons and self-defense, breaking and entering, lock picking, safe cracking,
wiretaps, bugs, and other noble arts. After that he'd gone back to
Europe to be introduced to counterintelligence directed against Soviet
espionage into NATO weaponry, and then back to the States for courses in
Eastern languages and advanced Russian -- he'd spoken Czech and German, which
Julia and Ralph had often conversed in, since he was a boy. From there he'd
been sent on a series of assignments in the Far East, beginning with a
position at the US embassy in Tokyo. His last job before being recalled to
Washington for the Pedestal mission was developing a network of intelligence
contacts and sources in Peking. And through all of it, everything he'd seen
reinforced his original conviction that the Western way wasn't such a bad way
to live. Yet there were lots of people out there who for one reason or
another, real or imagined, were ready to bring the West down if they got the
chance.
The key sounded in the door, and McCain sat up. It was too early for lunch,
Protbornov entered, accompanied by a major called Uskayev. Behind them was a
guard carrying a canvas bag. Protbornov looked around, his dark eyes moving
casually beneath their heavy lids. He took a blue pack of Russian cigarettes
from one of the pockets of his tunic, selected one, and almost as if it were
an afterthought offered the pack to McCain. McCain shook his head.
"You must be feeling almost at home here by now," Protbornov rumbled, "Well,
how would you say we have treated you? Not unfairly, I trust?"
"It could be worse," McCain agreed neutrally.
Protbornov lit his cigarette and lifted one of the books from the shelf to
inspect its title, "A pity that it requires so much to convince you that we
really are not so uncivilized. You do have an extraordinarily suspicious
nature, you know, Mr. Earnshaw -- an impediment for a journalist, I would have
thought. Your female companion thinks so, too. I'd imagine that many people
you've met in life have said the same. Have you ever thought about that? Is it
possible, do you think, that you could be wrong on some things, and that the
consensus of others might have some merit?" He flipped casually through the
pages of the book, and then, either accidentally or making the motion appear
so, ran a finger down the edge of the back cover. From the corner of an eye
McCain saw Uskayev watching him closely, and forced himself to suppress any
flicker of reaction.
"I don't think it's a good idea to be too influenced by other people's
opinions," McCain said.
"Your Air Force scientist friend would agree with you on that,"
Protbornov replied, searching McCain's face as he spoke. "A most obstinate
woman. But be that as it may, she recognizes the importance of the present
situation and its relevance to world security, and she has agreed to cooperate
responsibly by making a public statement of the kind we have requested."
Protbornov gestured in the air with his cigarette and shrugged indifferently.
"So now you don't matter to us so much. The only issue you need concern
yourself with is your own fate. If you adopted a more reasonable attitude than
the one you've been showing, well, anything is possible. If not..." he
shrugged again, "what happens then will be up to the Kremlin. But as I said,
it is no longer of primary importance to us."
McCain looked at him almost contemptuously. "I expected something better than
that. Don't tell me you're slipping."
Protbornov seemed to have been prepared for as much. "Policy decisions are not
my concern," he said. "My job is simply to carry them out. For whatever
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reason, orders have come through for you to be moved to another location. You
should find it more congenial -- at least you will have company... and the
opportunity for more stimulating conversations than ours tend to be." He
indicated the bag that the guard had placed on the table. [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]