"Higgins, Jack - Prayer For The Dying" - читать интересную книгу автора (Higgins Jack)

him. He turned as if to leave. Kristou said quickly, "There is a way." Fallon hesitated. "And what would that be?" "Your passport, a berth on a cargo boat leaving Hull for

Australia, Sunday night." He paused. "And two thousand

pounds in your pocket to give you a fresh start." Fallon said incredulously. "What do I have to do? Kill

somebody?" "Exactly," the old man answered.

Fallon laughed softly. "You get better all the time, Kristou. You really do."

He reached for the whiskey bottle, emptied Kristou's cup on the floor and filled it again. The old man watched him, waiting. Rain tapped against a window as if somebody was trying to get in. Fallon walked across and peered down into the empty street.

A car was parked in the entrance to an alley on his left. No lights - which was interesting. The foghorn sounded again, farther downriver this time.

"A dirty night for it." He turned. "But that's appropriate."

"For what, Martin?" Kristou asked.

"Oh, for people like you and me."

He emptied the cup at a swallow, walked back to the table and put it down in front of Kristou very carefully.

"All right," he said, "Fm listening."

Kristou smiled. "Now you're being sensible." He opened a manila folder, took out a photo and pushed it across the table. "Take a look at that."

Fallon picked it up and held it under the light. It had ob-viously been taken in a cemetery and in the foreground there was a rather curious monument. A bronze figure of a woman in the act of rising from a chair as if to go through the door which stood partly open between marble pillars behind her. A man in a dark overcoat, head bare, knelt before her on one knee.

"Now this." Kristou pushed another photo across.

The scene was the same except for one important fact. The man in the dark overcoat was now standing, facing the camera, hat in hand. He was massively built, at least six foot two or three, with chest and shoulders to match. He had a strong sly face with high flat cheekbones and narrow eyes.

"He looks like a good man to keep away from," Fallon said.

"A lot of people would agree with you."

"Who is he?"

"His name's Krasko - Jan Krasko."

"Polish?"

"Originally - but that was a long time ago. He's been here since before the war."

"And where's here?"

"Up North. You'll be told where at the right time."

"And the woman in the chair?"