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I swore to defend the Constitution of the United States against all enemies, foreign and domestic, so help me God.
And if the Soviet Union isn’t a foreign enemy of the United States, who is?
And speaking of God, how does that go in “The Book of Common Prayer”? I’ve said it enough. But for the first time in my life, I know what it means . . .
“Almighty and most merciful Father,
“We have erred and strayed from Thy ways like lost sheep.
“We have followed too much the devices and desires of our own hearts.
“We have offended against Thy holy laws.
“We have left undone those things which we ought to have done . . .”
Guilty on all counts. And there’s nothing I can do about it.
Except for the last.
I am not going to leave undone those things I know have to be done.
I am going to protect Major Konstantin Orlovsky from getting shot and buried in an unmarked grave because that’s a convenient solution to the problem for Colonel Mattingly.
I am going to convince that NKGB sonofabitch that it’s his Christian duty to do what he can for his wife and children by turning.
I am going to get him on a plane to Argentina, and then I am going to make sure that General Gehlen does whatever he has to do to get Orlovsky’s family out of Russia.
And after that, what?
I don’t really give a damn. It doesn’t matter.
Back to the immediate problem: getting Rachel out of here without getting caught.
No. I got that wrong again.
First, getting Ole Willie to stand up and do his duty, which may be a hell of a problem, and then getting Rachel out of here without getting caught.
He wrapped a towel around himself and walked into the bedroom.
He looked for his Ike jacket, intending to hang it up, then saw it was hanging on the back of a chair, with his trousers and shorts folded neatly on top of it.
I guess Rachel did that to pass the time. Or just to be nice.
Rachel was in the bed, with a sheet drawn over her. Her clothing was neatly folded on a chaise longue.
“Did you ever play doctor when you were a little boy?” Rachel asked.
“Excuse me?”
“‘You show me yours and I’ll show you mine’?”
She threw the sheet off her.
He walked to the bed and dropped the towel.
She reached for him.
A few seconds later, another philosophical truism from his days at College Station came to him: A licked prick has no conscience.
