The Ghost(英文版)- 第41部分

　　“Tell　me　what　you’ve　found　out。”

　　Even　I　was　too　canny　for　that。　I　hemmed　and　hawed。

　　“Perhaps　you　could　tell　me　about　McAra　first；”　I　said。

　　“If　you　like。”　Rycart　shrugged。　“What　can　I　say？　Mike　was　the　consummate　professional。　If　you’d　pinned　a　rosette　to　that　suitcase　over　there　and　told　him　it　was　the　party　leader；　he’d　have　followed　it。　Everyone　expected　Lang　would　fire　him　when　he　became　leader　and　bring　in　his　own　man。　But　Mike　was　too　useful。　He　knew　the　party　inside　out。　What　else　do　you　want　to　know？”

　　“What　was　he　like；　as　a　person？”

　　“What　was　he　likeas　a　person？　”　Rycart　gave　me　a　strange　look；　as　if　it　were　the　oddest　question　he’d　ever　heard。　“Well；　he　had　no　life　outside　politics；　if　that’s　what　you　mean；　so　you　could　say　that　Lang　was　everything　to　him—wife；　kids；　friends。　What　else？　He　was　obsessive；　a　detail　man。　Almost　everything　Adam　wasn’t；　Mike　was。　Maybe　that　was　why　he　stayed　on；　right　through　Downing　Street　and　all　the　way　out　again；　long　after　the　others　had　all　cashed　in　and　gone　to　make　some　money。　No　fancy　corporate　jobs　for　our　Mike。　He　was　very　loyal　to　Adam。”

　　“Not　that　loyal；”　I　said。　“Not　if　he　was　in　touch　with　you。”

　　“Ah；　but　that　was　only　right　at　the　very　end。　You　mentioned　a　photograph。　Can　I　see　it？”

　　When　I　fetched　the　envelope；　his　face　had　the　same　greedy　expression　as　Emmett’s；　but　when　he　saw　the　picture；　he　couldn’t　hide　his　disappointment。

　　“Is　this　it？”　he　said。　“Just　a　bunch　of　privileged　white　kids　doing　a　song…and…dance　act？”

　　“It’s　a　bit　more　interesting　than　that；”　I　said。　“For　a　start；　why’s　your　number　on　the　back　of　it？”

　　Rycart　gave　me　a　sly　look。　“Why　exactly　should　I　help　you？”

　　“Why　exactly　shouldI　helpyou　？”

　　We　stared　at　one　another。　Eventually　he　grinned；　showing　large；　polished　white　teeth。

　　“You　should　have　been　a　politician；”　he　said。

　　“I’m　learning　from　the　best。”

　　He　bowed　modestly；　thinking　I　meant　him；　but　actually　it　was　Lang　I　had　in　mind。　Vanity；　that　was　his　weakness；　I　realized。　I　could　imagine　how　deftly　Lang　would　have　flattered　him；　and　what　a　blow　his　sacking　must　have　been　to　his　ego。　And　now；　with　his　lean　face　and　his　prow　of　a　nose　and　those　piercing　eyes；　he　was　as　hell…bent　on　revenge　as　any　discarded　lover。　He　got　to　his　feet　and　went　over　to　the　door。　He　checked　the　corridor　up　and　down。　When　he　returned　he　loomed　over　me；　pointing　a　tanned　finger　directly　at　my　face。

　　“If　you　double…cross　me；”　he　said；　“you’ll　pay　for　it。　And　if　you　doubt　my　willingness　to　hold　a　grudge　and　eventually　settle　the　score；　ask　Adam　Lang。”

　　“Fine；”　I　said。

　　He　was　too　agitated　now　to　sit　still；　and　that　was　something　else　I　only　realized　at　that　moment：　the　pressure　he　was　under。　You　had　to　hand　it　to　Rycart。　It　did　take　a　certain　nerve　to　drag　your　former　party　leader　and　prime　minister　in　front　of　a　war　crimes　tribunal。

　　“This　ICC　business；”　he　said；　patrolling　up　and　down　in　front　of　the　bed；　“it’s　only　hit　the　headlines　in　the　past　week；　but　let　me　tell　you　I’ve　been　pursuing　this　thing　behind　the　scenes　foryears　。　Iraq；　rendition；　torture；　Guantánamo—what’s　been　done　in　this　so…called　war　on　terror　is　illegal　under　international　law；　just　as　much　as　anything　that　happened　in　Kosovo　or　Liberia。　The　only　difference　is　we’re　the　ones　doing　it。　The　hypocrisy　is　nauseating。”

　　He　seemed　to　realize　he　was　starting　on　a　speech　he’d　already　made　too　many　times　before　and　checked　himself。　He　took　a　sip　of　water。　“Anyway；　rhetoric　is　one　thing　and　evidence　is　another　thing　entirely。　I　could　sense　the　political　climate　changing；　that　was　helpful。　Every　time　a　bomb　went　off；　every　time　another　soldier　was　killed；　every　time　it　became　a　little　bit　clearer　we’d　started　another　Hundred　Years’　War　without　a　clue　how　to　end　it；　things　shifted　farther　my　way。　It　was　no　longer　inconceivable　that　a　Western　leader　could　wind　up　in　the　dock。　The　worse　the　mess　he’d　left　behind　him　got；　the　more　people　were　willing　to　see　it；　wanted　to　see　it。　What　I　needed　was　just　one　piece　of　evidence　that　would　meet　the　legal　standard　of　proof—a　single　document　with　his　name　on　it　would　have　been　enough—and　I　didn’t　have　it。

　　“And　then　suddenly；　just　before　Christmas；　there　it　was。　I　had　it　in　my　hands。　It　just　came　through　the　post。　Not　even　a　covering　letter。　‘Top　Secret：　Memorandum　from　the　Prime　Minister　to　the　Secretary　of　State　for　Defence。’　It　was　five　years　old；　written　back　in　the　days　when　I　was　still　foreign　secretary；　but　I’d　no　idea　it　even　existed。　A　smoking　gun　if　ever　there　was　one—Christ；　the　barrel　was　still　hot！　A　directive　from　the　British　prime　minister　that　these　four　poor　bastards　should　be　snatched　off　the　streets　in　Pakistan　by　the　SAS　and　handed　over　to　the　CIA。”

　　“A　war　crime；”　I　said。

　　“A　war　crime；”　he　agreed。　“A　minor　one；　okay。　But　so　what？　In　the　end；　they　could　only　get　Al　Capone　for　tax　evasion。　It　didn’t　mean　Capone　wasn’t　a　gangster。　I　carried　out　a　few　discreet　checks　to　make　sure　the　memo　was　authentic；　then　I　took　it　to　The　Hague　in　person。”

　　“You’d　no　idea　who　it　came　from？”

　　“No。　Not　until　my　anonymous　source　called　and　told　me。　And　just　you　wait　till　Lang　hears　who　it　was。　This　is　going　to　be　the　worst　thing　of　all。”　He　leaned　in　close　to　me。　“Mike　McAra！”

　　Looking　back；　I　suppose　I　already　knew　it。　But　suspicion　is　one　thing；　confirmation　another；　and　to　see　Rycart’s　exultation　at　that　moment　was　to　appreciate　the　scale　of　McAra’s　treachery。

　　“Hecalledme　！　Can　you　believe　that？　If　anyone　had　predicted　I’d　ever　be　given　help　by　Mike　McAra；　of　all　people；　I’d　have　laughed　at　him。”

　　“When　did　he　call？”

　　“About　three　weeks　after　I　first　got　the　document。　The　eighth　of　January？　The　ninth？　Something　like　that。　‘Hello；　Richard。　Did　you　get　the　present　I　sent　you？’　I　almost　had　a　heart　attack。　Then　I　had　to　shut　him　up　quickly。　Because　of　course　you　know　that　the　phone　lines　at　the　UN　are　all　bugged？”

　　“Are　they？”　I　was　still　trying　to　absorb　everything。

　　“Oh；　completely。　The　National　Security　Agency　monitors　every　word　that’s　transmitted　in　the　western　hemisphere。　Every　syllable　you　ever　utter　on　a　phone；　every　email　you　ever　send；　every　credit　card　transaction　you　ever　make—it’s　all　recorded　and　stored。　The　only　problem　is　sorting　through　it。　At　the　UN；　we’re　briefed　that　the　easiest　way　to　get　round　the　eavesdropping　is　to　use　disposable　mobile　phones；　try　to　avoid　mentioning　specifics；　and　change　our　numbers　as　often　as　possible—that　way　we　can　at　least　keep　a　bit　ahead　of　them。　So　I　told　Mike　to　stop　right　there。　Then　I　gave　him　a　brand…new　number　I’d　never　used　before　and　asked　him　to　call　me　straight　back。”

　　“Ah；”　I　said。　“I　see。”　And　I　could。　I　could　visualize　it　perfectly。　McAra　with　his　phone　wedged　between　shoulder　and　ear；　grabbing　his　cheap　blue　Bic。　“He　must　have　scribbled　the　number　on　the　back　of　the　photograph　he　was　holding　at　the　time。”

　　“And　then　he　called　me；”　said　Rycart。　He　had　stopped　pacing　and　was　looking　at　himself　in　the　mirror　above　the　chest　of　drawers。　He　put　both　hands　to　his　forehead　and　smoothed　his　hair　back　over　his　ears。　“Christ；　I’m　shattered；”　he　said。　“Look　at　me。　I　was　never　like　this　when　I　was　in　government；　even　when　I　was　working　eighteen　hours　a　day。　You　know；　people　get　it　all　wrong。　It　isn’t　having　power　that’s　exhausting—it’snot　having　it　that　wears　you　out。”

　　“What　did　he　say　when　he　called？　McAra？”

　　“The　first　thing　that　struck　me　was　that　he　didn’t　sound　his　usual　self　at　all。　You　were　asking　me　what　he　was　like。　Well；　he　was　a　pretty　tough　operator；　which　of　course　is　what　Adam　liked　about　him：　he　knew　he　could　always　rely　on　Mike　to　do　the　dirty　work。　He　was　sharp；　businesslike。　You　could　almost　say　he　was　brutal；　especially　on　the　phone。　My　private　office　used　to　call　him　McHorror：　‘The　McHorror　just　rang　for　you；　Foreign　Secretary…’　But　that　day；　I　remember；　his　voice　was　completely　flat。　He　sounded　broken；　actually。　He　said　he’d　just　spent　the　past　year　in　the　archives　in　Cambridge；　working　on　Adam’s　memoirs；　going　over　our　whole　time　in　government；　and　just　getting　more　and　more　disillusioned　with　it　all。　He　said　that　that　was　where　he’d　found　the　memorandum　about　Operation　Tempest。　But　the　real　reason　he　was　calling；　he　said；　was　that　that　was　just　the　tip　of　the　iceberg。　He　said　he’d　just　discovered　something　much　more　important；　something　that　made　sense　of　everything　that　had　gone　wrong　while　we　were　in　power。”

　　I　could　hardly　breathe。　“What　was　it？”

　　Rycart　laughed。　“Well；　oddly　enough；　I　did　ask　him　that；　but　he　wouldn’t　tell　me　over　the　phone。　He　said　he　wanted　to　meet　me　to　discuss　it　face…to…face：　it　was　that　big。　The　only　thing　he　would　say　was　that　the　key　to　it　could　be　found　in　Lang’s　autobiography；　if　anyone　bothered　to　check；　that　it　was　all　there　in　the　beginning。”

　　“Those　were　his　exact　words？”

　　“Pretty　much。　I　made　a　note　as　he　was　talking。　And　that　was　it。　He　said　he’d　call　me　in　a　day　or　two　to　fix　a　meeting。　But　I　heard　nothing；　and　then　about　a　week　later　it　was　in　the　press　that　he　was　dead。　And　nobody　else　ever　called　me　on　that　phone；　because　nobody　else　had　that　number。　So　you　can　imagine　why　I　was　so　excited　when　it　suddenly　started　ringing　again。　And　so　here　we　are；”　he　said；　gesturing　to　the　room；　“the　perfect　place　to　spend　a　Thursday　night。　And　now　I　think　you　should　tell　me　exactly　what　the　hell　is　going　on。”

　　“I　will。　Just　one　more　thing；　though。　Why　didn’t　you　tell　the　police？”

　　“You　are　joking；　are　you？　Discussions　at　The　Hague　were　at　a　very　delicate　stage。　If　I’d　told　the　police　that　McAra　had　been　in　contact　with　me；　naturally　they’d　have　wanted　to　know　why。　Then　it　would　have　been　bound　to　get　back　to　Lang；　and　he　would　have　been　able　to　make　some　kind　of　preemptive　move　against　the　war　crimes　court。　He’s　still　a　hell　of　an　operator；　you　know。　That　statement　he　put　out　against　me　the　day　before　yesterday—‘The　international　struggle　against　terror　is　too　importan