"MacLean, Alistair - The Golden Rendezvous" - читать интересную книгу автора (Maclean Alistair)a smooth red face that no amount of sun could ever tan, and a clear blue
eye that- no amount of whisky could ever dim. He looked at the quayside, the hold, and then at me, all with the same impartial disfavour. "Well, Mister," he said heavily. "How's it going? Miss Beresford giving you a hand, eh?" when he was in a bad mood, it was invariably "Mister"; in a neutral mood, it was "First"; and when in a good temper-which, to be fair, was most of the time it was always "Johnny-me-boy." but to-day it was "Mister." I took my guard accordingly and ignored the implied reproof of time-wasting. He would be gruffly apologetic the next day. He always was. "Not too bad, sir. Bit slow on the dockside." I nodded to where a group of men, some bearded, all wearing denim trousers and vaguely military-looking shirts, were struggling to attach chain slings to a crate that must have been at least eighteen feet in length by six square. "I don't think the Carracio stevedores are accustomed to handling such heavy lifts." he took a good look. "They couldn't handle a damned wheelbarrow," he snapped eventually. "Never seen such fumble-handed incompetence in my blasted life. First time in this stinking flea-ridden hellhole - Carracio was actually one of the cleanest and most picturesquely beautiful ports in the caribbean"and I hope to heaven it's the last. Can you manage it by six, Mister?" six o'clock was an hour past the top of the tide, and we had to clear the harbour -entrance sand bar by then or wait another ten hours. "I think so, sir," and then, to take his mind off his troubles, and also because I was curious, I asked, "what are in those crates? motorcars?" whitewashed jumble of the little town and the dark green of the steeply rising forested hills behind. "This lot couldn't build a rabbit hutch for export, far less a motorcar. Machinery. So the bills of lading say. Dynamos, generators, refrigerating, air-conditioning, and refueling machinery. For New York." "Do you mean to tell me," I said, carefully, "that the generalIssimo, having successfully completed the confiscation of all the American sugar-refining mills, is now dismantling them and selling the machinery back to the Americans? barefaced theft like that?" "Jetty larceny on the part of the individual is theft," captain Bullen said morosely. "When governments engage in grand larceny, it's economics. But, it'll be all perfectly legal, i've no doubt, but it still doesn't make me feel less of a contraband runner. But if we don't do it, someone else will. And the freight rate's double the normal." "Which makes the generalIssimo and his government pretty desperate for money?" "What do you think?" Bullen growled. "No one knows how many were killed in the capital and a dozen other towns in Tuesday's hunger riots. Jamaican authorities reckon the number in hundreds. Since they turfed out most foreigners and closed down or confiscated nearly all foreign businesses they haven't been able to earn a penny abroad. The coffers of the revolution are as empty as a drum. Ban's completely desperate for money." he turned away and stood staring over the harbour, big hands wide-spaced on the guardrail, his back ramrod-stiff. He seemed in |
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