"Alistair MacLean - Time Of The Assassins" - читать интересную книгу автора (Maclean Alistair)

Bernard dug his hands into the pockets of his dressing-gown and moved to the window where he stared across the lawn at the empty swimming pool. He finally turned back to Barak. 'Who recognized me?'

'An American, Russell Laidlaw.'

Bernard pondered the name then shook his head. 'I don't know him. Who is he? A journalist?'

Barak shook his head. 'He used to be with Delta. He lives here now. But he's not your problem. There was another man with him, Mike Graham. He offered me ten-thousand dollars to find you for him. This has got something to do with the murder of his family, hasn't it? Were you involved?'

Bernard ignored the questions. 'Where's he staying?'

'He didn't say. I'm to contact Laidlaw if I come up with anything.'

Bernard took a cigarette from the pack on the table and lit it. He exhaled thoughtfully then sat in the armchair in the corner of the room. 'Tell Graham you've made some enquiries and that you've come up with something. Arrange to meet him at your house later tonight.'

'My house?' Barak stammered. 'I don't want to get involved -'

'You're already involved,' Bernard cut in sharply. He smiled coldly. 'Don't worry, I won't kill Graham there. I can't have the police finding any clues at your house. You don't have the guile to talk your way out of it.'

Barak knew it would be futile to argue. 'What time?' he asked with a resigned sigh.

'Midnight. That gives me plenty of time to make the necessary arrangements. But don't call him until eleven thirty. That way it will look as if you've been asking around about me.'

Barak rubbed his hands together nervously. 'What about the extra five-thousand dollars Graham would have paid me?'

Bernard stubbed out the cigarette and got to his feet. 'Everything you do has to have a price, doesn't it?'

Barak stepped backwards, his eyes flickering between Bernard and the floor. 'I have to make a living...'

'You make more money than most people in this town,' Bernard snapped.

Barak swallowed nervously. 'I think I should go now. We can discuss the money another time.'

Bernard grabbed the front of Barak's shirt and slammed him up against the wall. 'You're paid a retainer every month to keep me informed on developments in and around Beirut. I don't know how you negotiate your other deals, nor do I want to, but you can be sure you're not going to get another cent out of me. Is that understood?'

Barak nodded his head vigorously and Bernard let go of his shirt. Barak dabbed his face with a dirty handkerchief, his eyes wide with fear.

'And don't even think about trying to double-cross me. You know what Hezbollah would do to you if anything were to happen to me?'

'I would never double-cross you, Mr Bernard - ' 'Devereux!' Bernard snapped angrily. 'How many times must I tell you? Jean-Jacques Bernard is dead. I'm now Alain Devereux.' 'I'm sorry, Mr Devereux. It's just force of habit.' Bernard gestured towards the door. 'Get out.' Barak left the room, leaving the door ajar in his haste to get out of the house.

Bernard took another cigarette from the packet and lit it. He had always known that Graham would find him again one day. It had been inevitable. But now he had the advantage, and he intended to use it...

'I still say I should go in with you,' Laidlaw urged after he had parked the car outside Barak's house.

Graham shook his head. 'We've been through this already. Barak gave specific instructions that I was to go in alone. I've got to play by his rules. He's my only chance of finding Bernard.'

'It could be a trap.'

'Don't you think that's crossed my mind? It's a chance I've got to take.'