"Murphy, Warren - [Destroyer 060] - The End of the Game" - читать интересную книгу автора (Destroyer)

"Allah Akbar," chanted the young men. "God is great."

And then from the darkness of the Iranian night, from the cold sweeping winds, came a voice answering in English.

"God is great but you ragheads aren't."

The young men in the heavy wools looked around. Who had said that?

"This is the major leagues, lamb-breath," came the voice from the darkness again. "No jazzing yourselves up with chants so you can drive trucks into buildings where people are asleep. This is where real men work. In the night. By themselves."

"Who said that?"

The voice ignored the question. Instead, it replied: "Tonight, you will not be allowed to lie to yourself. Tonight, the chanting is over. The Mickey Mouse Ali Baba nonsense is over. Tonight you're in the majors and you're alone. You and me. Fun, isn't it?"

"Shoot him," yelled the leader. The sentries, numb with cold, saw no one. But they had been ordered to fire. The night crackled with little spurts from Kalishnikov barrels as ignorant farmboys performed the simple act of pulling triggers.

The sharp noise made the following silence seem even deeper and more profound. Now everyone heard the fire, but no one heard the man who had spoken from the dark.

The leader sensed he might be losing the group and he spoke out loudly.

"Cowards hide in the dark. Any fool can talk."

The younger men laughed. The leader knew he had them back. He had sent many men toward their end and he knew that to get a man to drive himself with a load of dynamite into a building, one had to be with him right up until the moment he climbed behind the steering wheel. One had to keep telling him about heaven. One had to help him put the prayer shawl around his shoulders and then one had to give him the kiss that showed that all true believers loved him. And then one had to stand back quickly as he drove away.

The leader had sent many hurtling toward heaven, taking with them the enemies of the Blessed Imam, the Ayatollah.

"Come out of the dark, coward," he called again. "Let us see you." His followers laughed. He told them: "You see, blessed ones. Only those with the kiss of heaven on their lips and Allah in their eyes can measure courage on this earth. You are invincible. You will be victorious."

The followers nodded. At that moment, each felt that he did not even need the warmth of the fire, so filled was he with the burning passion of righteousness.

"I tell you the voice itself may have been from Satan. And look how powerless it is now. Yet look how frightening it was, coming from the dark."

The young men nodded.

The leader said, "We alone are powerful. Satan only appears powerful, but like the night noise holds no meaning. Satan's power is an illusion, as slender a thing as the infidel's weak yearning for peace. There is but one peace. That is in heaven. On earth, there is another peace and that is the victory of Islam."

"Naaah, I don't think so." It was the voice, but it came from a vision. The vision in this cold night was pale of body, with high cheekbones and dark eyes. It had thick wrists and wore only a short-sleeved shirt and thin trousers. It did not shiver and it did not fear.

It spoke.

"I have very bad news for you kids. I am reality, sent from America without much love."

"Be gone, vision," said the leader.

Remo laughed. He moved into the reach of the fire so that their eyes followed him. Then he reached toward one Iranian fanatic and with a cupped motion of his palm under the chin brought the man back, away from the flames, and into the dark with him.

"See," the leader said. "A vision. Now it is gone."

But everyone heard a small wrenching sound like a pipe cracking inside a bag of water.