Katherine sat on the sofa with her legs curled up, staring at the ceiling. Abrams strode impatiently around the study, glancing at her from time to time and looking at his watch. He wondered what was keeping Van Dorn.
The telephone on the desk rang and someone in another part of the house answered it, then buzzed the study. Abrams picked it up quickly. “Tony Abrams.”
“Well?”
“Spinelli? Did you get my message?”
“No, I just dialed a number at random and got you.”
“Where are you?”
“Where you asked me to call from—the squad room. I drove all the fuck the way in from Jersey on my day off to call you from this phone. Now, why am I here?”
“I’ll get to that. Listen, what do you see from the window?”
“Hold on.”
Abrams could hear the venetian blinds rattling. He glanced at Katherine and forced a wan smile. She returned a somewhat brighter smile.
Spinelli came back on the line. “Well, I’ll be damned, Abrams. Did you know that the Russian Mission to the UN was right across the street from the Nineteenth Precinct? I never knew that.”
Abrams ignored the ill temper in Spinelli’s voice. He said, “Are the buses out there?”
“Only the big gray bus.”
“How about the minibuses?”
“They’re either in the garage, or they haven’t come in from Glen Cove yet.”
Abrams pictured in his mind the twelve-story white brick apartment building on East 67th Street that housed the Russians’ United Nations offices as well as the entire staff. He said, “Do you see anything that doesn’t look kosher?”
“Look, Abrams, Russian-watching was your line, not mine.”
“Well, pretend you’re as sharp as me. What do you see?”
Spinelli stared down from the second-story squad room. “Okay—the street is relatively quiet. A few pedestrians. The police booth is manned. Three squad cars parked half on the sidewalk. Routine. Looks peaceful.”
Abrams saw the familiar scene in his mind’s eye: the partly residential street, the Russian building with the cement awning, the forbidding fence in front, and the three remote television cameras sweeping the street. Directly across the street was the firehouse and the Nineteenth Precinct, where Abrams had worked out of the Red Squad. Abrams knew every square foot of that block between Third Avenue and Lexington Avenue. He knew the street’s routine better than he knew his own block in Brooklyn. He said, “How’s the building look?”
Spinelli replied, “The garage door is closed, front doors are closed, first three floors are dark. Residence floors are pretty well lit, blinds drawn, but I can see some shadows passing by. Ambassador’s suite on the top is lit. What’s up, kid? Should I get the Bomb Squad on the horn?”
Abrams thought, If they can defuse falling H-bombs, call them. He said, “Where are the FBI guys tonight?”
“Not here. They may be at the firehouse. Better coffee there.”
Abrams said, “Dom, can you connect me with the FBI watch? Or the CIA?” Abrams knew the CIA kept several apartments next door to the Russian building and listened through the walls. They also had a third-floor apartment in the building next to the Nineteenth, from which they videotaped the Russian building, day and night, an endless film-record of the building and sidewalk.
“No. I don’t want to owe them any favors.”
“Then connect me with the police booth. You can listen in.”
“Oh, may I?” Spinelli grumbled a string of obscenities.
Abrams heard the phone click, then a female voice said, “Police Officer Linder speaking.” Spinelli identified himself, then said, “Okay, Abrams, you’re on.”
Abrams introduced himself briefly, then asked, “Is this your regular duty, officer?”
“Yes, sir, on and off for about six months.”
“Okay, first question—did you see the gray bus unload?”
The policewoman replied, “Yes, sir. Mostly luggage, as usual. A few men on board helped the porters carry the luggage through the service door in the right of the building. That was over an hour ago.”
Abrams thought a moment, then said, “How much luggage?”
She hesitated, then said, “About the same.”
Abrams did not want to lead the witness, he wanted Officer Linder to report what she’d seen, not what Abrams would have liked her to see. Abrams asked, “Can you tell me if anything struck you as unusual tonight? Anything that was not normal for the last night of a weekend?”
Officer Linder was silent for some time, then replied, “Well . . . no . . . no, sir. Could you be more specific?”
Abrams said, “Why don’t you just recount to me what happened since you came on duty. That would be four P.M., correct?”
“Yes, sir.” She thought, then said, “Well, it’s been pretty quiet since this afternoon. About an hour ago the black Ford Fairlane arrived with the ambassador, his wife, three kids, and a driver.”
“How did they look?”
She understood he was looking for her impression. She answered, “The wife and kids looked all right. The wife was smiling and nodded to the cops as she usually does. He looked a little . . . I can’t say exactly . . . just not himself.”
“Okay, I understand. Were there any more cars?”
“No, sir. Not tonight. Sometimes there’s only one, though.”
“Okay, how about the minibuses?”
Linder answered, “Yes, they arrived. Pulled into the garage.”
“How many? How were they spaced?”
Linder replied, “They came in two groups, as usual. The first group arrived about forty-five minutes ago. Six or seven buses. That was the bigger group, so that would be the kids, I guess.”
Abrams nodded to himself. Unless the procedure had changed, the six or seven buses would have left the Pioneers camp in Oyster Bay and made a stop at the estate in Glen Cove. The exact purpose of this stop was unknown, but it probably was an administrative routine to pick up adult monitors, or do a head count. When it came to kids, Russians were not much different from everyone else.
In any event, thought Abrams, the buses always pulled into the walled service court, where any loading and unloading could not be observed with usual snooping devices. Abrams thought that if tonight was in fact different from all other weekend nights, then the children had been unloaded from the buses at the Glen Cove estate and escorted into the basement. He spoke into the phone, “How about the buses with the adults?”
Linder said, “They arrived maybe fifteen minutes after the kids’ buses. There were four buses in that group. They also pulled right into the garage.”
Abrams pictured the large iron overhead garage door. As the buses drew up to the building, the door would open, and the buses would cross the sidewalk and disappear down the ramp into the underground garage. The police booth where Linder stood was less than ten feet from the garage opening. Abrams said, “Were the buses full?”
She replied, “They have one-way glass.”
“I know. Listen, Officer Linder, you’ve been watching these buses pull in and out for a while. Now, think a moment. Were they full?”
Linder replied almost immediately. “No. No, they were not full.” She added, “I think they were almost empty.”
Abrams let her continue without prompting.
She said with growing certainty, “Something struck me as odd when they pulled in, and it sort of stuck in my mind. And now that you ask—when they moved across, the sidewalk toward the garage . . .”
“Yes?”
“Well, all the buses bounced like they were pretty light. Do you know what I mean?”
“Yes.”
She added, “And as they pulled into the garage, the clearance on the top was very tight.” She repeated, “Tight. Close.”
Abrams said nothing.
Officer Linder spoke tentatively, as though she realized she’d stuck her neck out. “Is . . . is there anything else?”
Abrams said softly, “No, no. That’s fine. Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.” The phone clicked, and Spinelli said, “Well?”
“Well, Spinelli, you heard it.”
“Yeah. I heard it. So maybe the ambassador looked a little out of it. Maybe he has hemorrhoids. Maybe the buses did arrive empty. Maybe the ambassador gave them all another day out in the country.”
“Could be,” said Abrams. “Why should they have to work on a Tuesday after a three-day weekend? Why not just send their baggage back to town on the big gray bus, and send a dozen minibuses in empty?”
“Well, we don’t know the buses were empty, Abrams.”
“She knew.”
“Yeah. . . . Okay, so maybe most of the Russkies are hiding out in Glen Cove. Okay, they want everybody to think they’re all back at ground zero here. So, okay, when does la bomba drop, Abrams?”
Abrams remained silent for some time, then said, “Am I being paranoid?”
Spinelli, too, let some time pass before he answered in a subdued tone, “No. This stinks. I’ll make a quick verbal report. Anything else new besides World War Three?”
“No, that’s about it. Slow night. How about you, Dom?”
“Well, I have a few things for you . . . I don’t know how important they are anymore.”
Abrams could hear a definite edge of anxiety in his voice. “Go on, Dom.”
Spinelli cleared his throat. “Well, this guy West did a vanish. Two-dozen fucking people watching his ass and he’s gone. This guy O’Brien is still missing. Autopsy on the pilot shows the back of his skull fractured, probably with a rubber club. What else . . . ? Oh, Arnold Brin’s death. The ME says murder. And you’re still alive.”
“Right.” Abrams looked at Katherine. She made no pretense of not listening; there was no reason to feign polite disinterest when the subject was Armageddon and the time was now.
Spinelli added, “Also, you called for a book at the main library. The Odyssey. I didn’t know you read Greek, much less owned a library card. You want to tell me about that?”
“It’s by Homer.”
“Who gives a shit?” Spinelli could be heard drawing on a cigar, then said, “Look, Abrams, I can see this is out of my league. I can’t get anywhere with the FBI, CIA, State Department intelligence, or even you. Everybody is asking me things, but nobody is telling me anything. So who cares?” Spinelli let out a long breath. “Look, if there’s anything I can do, call me. See you later, Abrams.”
“Right.” He hesitated, then said, “It’s not as bad as it sounds, Dom. Thanks.” He hung up, then turned slowly to Katherine, who was looking at him attentively.
She said, “I caught the drift of that.”
Abrams nodded.
“They’re all next door.”
“Most of them. A few sacrifices went back to Manhattan.”
“My God. . . .” She stood and walked quickly to him, putting her hands on his shoulders. She said softly, “I wish Pat O’Brien were here.”
Abrams replied, “I think O’Brien would be the first to say we’d done all we could.”
“Yes, I think we are past the time for planning, development, and intelligence gathering. We’re in the operations stage, whether we’re ready or not. I think perhaps it’s time for Marc Pembroke. I think it’s time we paid a visit next door.”
译文:
第五十三章
Katherine蜷曲着双腿坐在沙发上，凝视着天花板。Abrams不耐烦地大步在书房内来回走动，不时地扫她一眼，再看看手表。他想知道Van Dorn在忙什么？
这时，桌上的电话响了，被房子另一处的某人接起，继而转入了书房。Abrams迅速地拎起听筒。“我是Tony Abrams”。
“喂？”
“Spinelli吗?你收到我的留言了吗？”
“没有，我只是随便拨了个号就转到你这儿来了。”
“你在哪儿？”
“你让我给你打电话的地方——警卫室。我他妈的在休息日也得一路上驱车从Jersey那儿往回赶，才赶上打电话给你。你让我到这里干什么？”
“知道了。听着，透过窗子，你看到什么？”
“等着。”
Abrams能听到软百叶窗沙沙作响。他瞄了眼Katherine挤出个勉强的微笑。她则回他一个明朗点儿的微笑。
Spinelli回到了线上。“唉，糟透了，Abrams。你能知道俄国驻联合国使节团就住在第十九区的马路对过吗？我压根儿就不知道。”
Abrams没有理会Spinelli声音中带出的坏脾气。他说，“外面有车子吗？”
“只有那辆灰色的大巴。”
“那面包车呢？”
“它们不是在车库，就是还没从Glen Cove回来。”
Abrams在脑海中勾勒着位于东大街67号上的那幢十二层的白色砖砌公寓建筑，那就是俄国驻联合国的所在地，里面住着俄国使节团的官员。他说，“你看到什么异常吗？”
“哎，Abrams，监视俄国人是你擅长的，我可不行。”
“好吧，假设你和我一样敏锐。看到什么？”
Spinelli从二层的警卫室往下细看。“好吧——街上是比较安静的，行人不多，警察亭有人值岗，三辆巡逻车停在人行道一半的位置上。一切如常，看上去平和。”
Abrams脑海中浮现出相应的画面：这部分住街，带水泥遮篷的俄国建筑物，前面的禁入栏，以及三个正扫视街面的远程电视摄像头。横穿街道的是消防队和第十九区，Abrams已经从那里的红色纵队离职了。Abrams熟知介于第三大道和Lexington大道间的那块街区的每一处。相比自己位于Brooklyn的街区，他更熟悉该街的常貌。他说，“那幢房子看上去如何？”
Spinelli回答到，“车库门关着，前门也都关着，底三层楼面黑着。住人的楼层灯都亮着，虽然百叶窗帘拉上了，但我能看到一些影子掠过。最顶层的大使套房灯亮着。嘿，怎么了？我应该让拆弹专家准备行动吗？”
Abrams思索着，如果他们能够拆除落下的氢弹的雷管，召集他们。他说，“美国联邦调查局的人今晚在哪儿？”
“不在这儿。他们可能在消防队。那儿的咖啡更好些。”
Abrams说到，“Dom，你能给我接通美国联邦调查局的监视人吗？或者中央情报局？”Abrams清楚中央情报局就驻在几间与俄国建筑相邻的公寓，透过墙壁即可监听。他们在这所邻近第十九区的建筑物内也有一个三层公寓房，他们就从那儿给俄国建筑录像，夜以继日，不停顿地记录着这幢建筑物和人行道。
“不。我不想欠他们人情。”
“那就给我接警察亭。你可以一起听。”
“唔，我吗？”Spinelli牢骚了一通下流话。
随后，Abrams听到了电话铃声，跟着一位女士的声音响起，“警察局，我是Linder。”Spinelli亮明身份后说，“现在，Abrams，该你上场了。”
Abrams在做了简要的自我介绍后问到，“警官，你在这儿任全职吗？”
“是的，先生，我在这大约六个月了。”
“好吧，第一个问题——你见到过灰色大巴卸货吗？”
女警官回答说，“是的，先生。经常见到，大多数时候是卸行李。几个人站在车栏板上协助搬运工从大楼右侧的安全门搬行李。一个多小时前刚卸过。”
Abrams想了一会儿，然后问到，“多少件行李？”
她犹豫了下，答到，“件数差不多的。”
Abrams不想引导这名目击者，他需要Linder警官据实反馈，而不是他需要她看到的东西。Abrams问到，“你能告诉我，今晚是否有什么如常但却给你留下印象的事情发生吗？在周末的最后一晚有任何不寻常的事情吗？”
Linder警官沉默了一会儿，说到，“嗯……没有……确实没有，先生。您能说得具体些吗？”
Abrams说到，“索性你向我叙述一下自你上岗后发生的一切吧。应该是在下午四点，对吗？”
“是的，先生。”她想了一下答到，“嗯，今天下午以来这里就一直特别安静。大约一个小时前，黑人Ford Fairlane和大使先生、大使夫人、他们的三个孩子，还有一名司机一同抵达了这里。”
“他们看上去怎么样？”
Linder明白他正在启发她回忆。她回答说，“大使夫人和孩子们看上去不错，夫人一如既往得微笑着并向警察们点头示意。大使先生看上去就有点……我说不准……判若两人。”
“好吧，我知道了。还有若干轿车吗？”
“没有，先生。不是今晚。可是有时仅有一辆。”
“好的，面包车呢？”
Linder回复到，“嗯，它们也来了，开进了车库。”
“多少辆？它们时间间隔如何？”
Linder回答，“如常，它们分两批抵达。第一批大约四十五分钟前抵达这里，六七辆吧，那是较大的一批，因此可能载的是孩子们，我猜的。”
Abrams点点头。除非流程已经变更了，否则这六七辆面包车应该已经驶离了在Oyster Bay的先锋营地，期间在Glen Cove做次停留。这趟停留的确切目的是不为人知的，但它可能是次行政性的例行公事，为了接成年监护人，或为了点人数。当涉及到孩子们的事情时，俄国人与别国的人就没太大差异了。
在任何情形下，Abrams想，这些面包车总是开进用墙壁围起来的装卸区，在那里，任何装货及卸货的行为都无法用常规的窃探设备观测到。他还想到，如果今晚确实有别于以往所有其它周末的晚上，那么孩子们在车停Glen Cove时就已经下车并被护送至地下室了。他对着电话筒讲到，“载有大人们的面包车呢？”
Linder说到，“他们的车子可能比孩子们的车晚到一刻钟。第二批车有四辆。它们也开进了车库。”
Abrams脑海中浮现出车库门顶上的那个大铁块。当那些面包车队驶到楼房前，门将打开，车子将穿过人行道，驶入地下车库。Linder职守的警察亭距车库的门不到十英尺。他问，“面包车都是满载的吗？”
她回答到，“它们装的是单向可视玻璃。”
“我明白。听着，Linder警官，你已经看这些车子进出有些时候了。现在，回想一下，它们满载吗？”
Linder几乎是脱口而出，“不，不，它们不满。”她补充到，“我想它们差不多是空载的。”
Abrams没做提示，让她继续。
她越发肯定地说，“当车队开进来时，我就感觉有什么不对劲，刚才我还能记得。现在你问到了——它们开过来，穿过走道，然后开进车库……”
“是吗？”
“嗯，所有的车都上下颠簸彷佛车身很轻。你明白我的意思吗？”
“明白。”
她补充到，“而且当它们驶进车库后，车顶的缝隙是非常紧的。”她重复到，“紧且密封着。”
Abrams什么也没说。
Linder警官试探性地说，彷佛她意识到自己已经涉险了。“还有……还有什么事吗？”
Abrams轻声地说，“不，没有了，就这些。谢谢。”
“不用谢。”电话挂断了，Spinelli说，“怎样？”
“嗯，Spinelli，你都听到了。”
“嗯。我听到的。那么大使先生可能看上去有点不对劲。可能他长痔疮了，可能车子抵达时确实空着，可能大使先生给他们放假在乡下多休息一天。”
“也许吧，”Abrams说到。“为什么在一个三天长的周末后，他们还不得不在周二工作？为什么不用那辆灰色大巴把行李运回镇里，并让一打面包车空载呢？”
“嗳，我们并不知道面包车是空的，Abrams。”
“但Linder警官知道。”
“噢……就算是吧，所以可能大多数的俄国人正躲在Glen Cove。唔，他们想让所有人都以为他们全部回到了这儿。那么，好吧，什么时候扔炸弹，Abrams?”
Abrams沉默了好大会儿，说到，“我是在恣意妄想吗？”
Spinelli也沉默了，他过了好大会儿才用屈服的语调回答，“不是。这情形真糟糕，我马上去做个口头汇报。除了第三次世界大战外还有别的新鲜事吗？”
“没了，就这些。真是个漫长的夜晚。Dom，你觉得吗？”
“嗯，我还有事要告诉你……但我认为它们已不再那么重要了。”
Abrams能听出他声音中的疑虑。“说吧，Dom。”
Spinelli清了清嗓音。“哎，West这家伙消失了。两打的死人，居然被他从眼皮底下跑掉了。O’Brien么，依然玩失踪。飞行员的尸检显示他后脑头骨断裂，可能是根橡胶棍造成的。还有什么……哦，关于Arnold Brin的死因，验尸官的结论是谋杀，而你还活着。”
“好的。”Abrams看看Katherine。她没有掩饰自己正在倾听；当话题是关于哈米吉多顿（译者注：出自《圣经》，是世界末日善恶决战的战场）且就发生在当下的时候，就不必出于礼貌而假装不在乎了。
Spinelli补充到，“另外，你要我在主要图书馆找一本书，《奥德赛》（译者注：古希腊史诗）。我不知道你还懂希腊语，更没想到你还有一张图书借阅卡。你想谈谈吗？”
“它的作者是荷马。”
“谁在乎啊？”Spinelli抽着雪茄烟，说到，“瞧，Abrams，我明白这东西超出了我的能力。智力方面我根本比不上美国联邦调查局、中央情报局和国务院的人，或者甚至比不上你。从那些情报部门，我什么都打探不到，甚至从你那里也没得到消息，人们总在向我问这问那，却什么也不告诉我，切，无所谓啊。” Spinelli深吸了口气。“哎，如果还有什么事情需要我，给我电话。再见，Abrams。”
“好的。”Abrams停顿了一下，说到，“事情不象听上去那么糟，Dom。很感谢你。”他挂上电话，慢慢转向Katherine，她正专注地看着他。
她说，“我明白他所说的了。”
Abrams点点头。
“他们都相邻吗？”
“大部分是。只有少数几个打算为国捐躯的回了曼哈顿。”
“我的上帝……”她站起身快步走向他，把两只手搭在他的双肩上。轻轻地说，“我真希望Pat O’Brien在这里。”
Abrams回答说，“我想O’Brien会第一个说我们已经尽力了。”
“会的，我想我们已经错过了计划、了解事态发展和收集情报的时机。不管是否准备好，我们已经进入了行动阶段。我想该Marc Pembroke出场了。我想我们该去拜访他们了。”