"Clancy, Tom - Jack Ryan 03 - The Cardinal of the Kremlin" - читать интересную книгу автора (Clancy Tom)

"Our organs of State security do what they are told," Golovko assured him.
Right, Ryan told himself. "In our country, if the President decides that he likes an arms treaty, and he thinks he can ge it through the Senate, it doesn't matter what the CIA am Pentagon thinkЧ"
"But your military-industrial complexЧ" Golovko cut Jac
off.
"God, you guys really love to beat on that horse, don' you? Sergey Nikolayevich, you should know better."
But Golovko was a military intelligence officer, and migl not, Ryan remembered too late. The degree to which Amer ica and the Soviet Union misunderstood each other was a one and the same time amusing and supremely dangerous Jack wondered if the intelligence community over here triei to get the truth out, as CIA usually did now, or merely to! its masters what they wanted to hear, as CIA had done a too often in the past. Probably the latter, he thought. Th Russian intel agencies were undoubtedly politicized, just a CIA used to be. One good thing about Judge Moore was tha he'd worked damned hard to put an end to that. But th Judge had no particular wish to be President; that made hii different from his Soviet counterparts. One director of th KGB had made it to the top over here, and at least one othe tried to. That made KGB a political creature, and that a fected its objectivity. Jack sighed into his drink. The problem between the two countries wouldn't end if all the false pel ceptions were laid to rest, but at least things could be moi manageable.
Maybe. Ryan admitted to himself that this might be as fals a panacea as all the others; it had never been tried, after al
"May I make a suggestion to you?"
"Certainly," Golovko answered.
"Let's drop the shop talk, and you tell me about this rooi while I enjoy the champagne." It'll save us both a lot oftim
when we write up our contact reports tomorrow.
"Perhaps I could get you some vodka?"
"No, thanks, this bubbly stuff is great. Local?"
"Yes, from Georgia," Golovko said proudly. "I think it is better than the French."
"I wouldn't mind taking a few bottles home," Ryan allowed.
Golovko laughed, a short bark of amusement and power. "I will see to it. So. The palace was finished in 1849, at the cost of eleven million rubles, quite a sum at the time. It's the last grand palace ever built, and, I think, the best ..."
Ryan wasn't the only one touring the room, of course. Most of the American delegation had never seen it. Russians bored with the reception led them around, explaining as they went. Several people from the embassy tagged along, keeping a casual eye on things.
"So, Misha, what do you think of American women?" Defense Minister Yazov asked his aide.
"Those coming this way are not unattractive, Comrade Minister," the Colonel observed.
"But so skinnyЧah, yes, I keep forgetting, your beautiful Elena was also thin. A fine woman she was, Misha."
"Thank you for remembering, Dmitri Timofeyevich."
"Hello, Colonel!" one of the American ladies said in Russian.
"Ah, yes, Mrs. ..."
"Foley. We met at the hockey game last November."
"You know this lady?" the Minister asked his aide.
"My nephewЧno, my grand-nephew Mikhail, Elena's sister's grandsonЧplays junior-league hockey, and I was invited to a game. It turned out that they allowed an imperialist on the team," he replied with a raised eyebrow.
"Your son plays well?" Marshal Yazov asked.
"He is the third-leading scorer in the league," Mrs. Foley replied.
r "Splendid! Then you must stay in our country, and your json can play for Central Army when he grows up." Yazov grinned. He was a grandfather four times over. "What do jyou do here?"
; "My husband works for the embassy. He's over there, shep-jherding the reporters aroundЧbut the important thing is, I |ot to come here tonight. I've never seen anything like this pi my whole life!" she gushed. Her glistening eyes spoke of r
several glasses of something. Probably champagne, the Mini ister thought. She looked like the champagne type, but she-was attractive enough, and she had bothered to learn the language reasonably well, unusual for Americans. "These floors are so pretty, it seems a crime to walk on them. We don't have anything like this at home."
"You never had the czars, which was your good fortune,' Yazov replied like a good Marxist. "But as a Russian I mus admit that I am proud of their artistic sense."
"I haven't seen you at any other games, Colonel," she said turning back to Misha.
"I don't have the time."
"But you're good luck! The team won that night, and Eddii got a goal and an assist."
The Colonel smiled. "All our little Misha got was two pen alties for high-sticking."
"Named for you?" the Minister asked.
"Yes."
"You didn't have those on when I saw you." Mrs. Pole pointed to the three gold stars on his chest.
"Perhaps I didn't take off my topcoatЧ"
"He always wears them," the Marshal assured her. "On always wears his Hero of the Soviet Union medals."
"Is that the same as our Medal of Honor?"
"The two are roughly equivalent," Yazov said for his aid< Misha was unaccountably shy about them. "Colonel Filito is the only man living who has ever won three in battle."
"Really? How does someone win three!" ;
"Fighting Germans," the Colonel said tersely.
"Killing Germans," Yazov said even more bluntly. Whi Filitov had been one of the Red Army's brightest stars, he! been a mere lieutenant. "Misha is one of the best tank office who ever lived."
Colonel Filitov actually blushed at that. "I did my duty, did many soldiers in that war."
"My father was decorated in the war, too. He led tvf missions to rescue people from prison camps in the Philip pines. He didn't talk about it very much, but they gave hiit a bunch of medals. Do you tell your children about trios bright stars of yours?"
Filitov went rigid for a moment. Yazov answered for hint "Colonel Filitov's sons died some years ago." f