"Tim LaHaye & Jerry Jenkins - Left Behind Series 7 - The Indwelling" - читать интересную книгу автора (LaHaye Tim)

and out a side exit toward the small-craft hangars. The Gulfstream sat gleaming in
Hangar 3.
An armed guard doing double duty as manifest coordinator checked Marv Berry off
his list and said, “Wait a minute, there's something else I'm s'posed to ask. Ah, yeah,
flight plan reported to tower?”
“You bet,” Rayford said, “but they weren't happy with how slow the small craft
were being cleared, so I'd better keep you out of trouble by getting out of here
quick.”
“I 'predate that,” the guard said, clearly more comfortable with a gun than a pen.
“They expect lots of passengers on the big birds tonight and want to get the little
ones out of the way.”
“Understandable,” Rayford said. “I'll do my part.”
“Wish I'd a been in Jerusalem tonight,” the guard said as Rayford circled the
Gulfstream, doing a quick preflight.
“Yeah?”
“I'd a killed somebody, guilty or not.”
“That so?”
“Dang straight. Somebody'd pay for that. Who'd wanna go and kill our only hope?”
“I can't imagine.”
“You're American, right, Mr. Berry?”
“You could tell?”
“Sure, me too.”
“You don't say.”
“Colorado,” the young man said. “Fort Collins. You?”
“What're you doing here?”
“Wanted Gala duty. This is as close as I got. Hoped for potentate bodyguard, but I
guess that's all political.”
“Like everything else,” Rayford said, pulling open the Gulfstream's door and steps.
“Need some help there, Mr. Berry?”
“Got it, thanks.”
“Where'd you say you were from?”
I didn't, Rayford thought. “Kalamazoo,” he said, mounting the steps and tossing in
his bag.
“That's what, Midwest?”
Rayford hated the small talk, not to mention the delay, only slightly less than the
prospect of being detained and put to death. “Michigan!” he called out, pulling the
door.
“Hang on a second, sir,” the guard said. “Squawk box is for me.”
“I gotta go,” Rayford said. “Nice talking to you.”
“Just a minute, please,” the young man said with a smile. “Another minute won't
kill you, will it?”
It just might. “I've really got to go, son.”
“Wyatt.”
“Why?”
“Wyatt. That's my name.”
“Well, thanks, Wyatt, and good-bye.”
“Mr. Berry!”
“Yes, Wyatt.”
“I'm not gonna be able to hear the box here if you fire up. Can't you give me a
second?”