"Ludlum, Robert - Covert One 2 - The Cassandra Compact" - читать интересную книгу автора (Ludlum Robert)

Klein always used his Pentagon ID when traveling abroad. If he was going to meet a contact, he made sure it would be in a public place, at a secure location. Official functions at a U.S. embassy were the best choices. But Vector Six was nowhere near an embassy. He was on the run.

"Smith," Klein said at last. "Get him on the line, please, Maggie."

__________

Smith was dreaming of Sophia when the insistent beep of the telephone intruded. He was watching the two of them sitting on a riverbank, in the shadows of immense triangular structures. In the distance was a great city. The air was hot, filled with the attar of roses and of Sophia. Cairo... They were at the pyramids of Giza, outside Cairo.

The secure line...

Smith sat up fast on the couch where he had fallen asleep, fully dressed, after coming home from the cemetery. Beyond the windows streaked with rain, the wind moaned as it drove heavy clouds across the sky. A former combat internist and battlefield surgeon, Smith had developed the gift of waking up fully alert. That ability had served him well during his time at USAMRIID, where sleep was often snatched between long, grueling hours of work. It served him well now.

Smith checked the time at the bottom right-hand corner of the monitor: almost nine o'clock. He had been asleep for two hours. Emotionally spent, his mind still filled with images of Sophia, he had driven himself home, heated up some soup, then stretched out on the couch and listened to the rain churn overhead. He had not intended to fall asleep, but was grateful that he done so. Only one man could call him on that particular line. Whatever message he had could signal the beginning of a day of infinite hours.

"Good evening, Mr. Klein."

"Good evening to you too, Jon. I hope I'm not disturbing your dinner."

"No, sir. I ate earlier on."

"In that case, how soon can you get out to Andrews Air Force base?"

Smith took a deep breath. Klein usually had a calm, businesslike demeanor. Smith had seldom found him curt or abrupt.

Which means there's trouble--- and it's closing fast.

"About forty-five minutes, sir."

"Good. And Jon? Pack for a few days."

Smith stared at the dead phone in his hand. "Yes, sir."

Smith's drill was so ingrained that he was hardly aware of going through the motions. Three minutes for a shower and shave; two minutes to dress; two more to double-check and add a few things to the ready bag in the walk-in closet. On his way out, he set the security system for the house; once he had the sedan out in the driveway, he armed the garage using the remote.

The rain made the ride to Andrews Air Force base longer than usual. Smith avoided the main entry and turned in at the supply gate. A poncho-covered guard examined his laminated ID, checked his name against those on the list of approved personnel, and waved him through.

Smith had flown out of Andrews often enough to know his way around. He had no trouble finding the hangar housing the fleet of executive jets that, most times, ferried around the brass. He parked in a designated area well away from the aircraft taxi lanes, grabbed his ready bag from the trunk, and splashed his way into the immense hangar.

"Good evening, Jon," Klein said. "Crappy night. It'll probably get worse."

Smith set down his bag. "Yes, sir. But only for the navy."

The age-old joke didn't get a grin out of Klein this time.

"I'm sorry to have dragged you out on a night like this. Something's come up. Walk with me."

Smith looked around as he followed Klein to the coffee station. There were four Gulfstream jets in the hangar, but no maintenance personnel. Smith guessed that Klein had ordered them out to ensure privacy.

"They're fueling a bird with long-range tanks," Klein said, glancing at his watch. "Should be ready in ten minutes."