"Rohan,.Michael.Scott.-.Steve.Fisher.2.-.1992.-.The.Gates.of.Noon" - читать интересную книгу автора (Rohan Michael Scott)

If you purchased this book without a cover, you should be aware that this book is stolen property. It was reported as "unsold and destroyed" to the publisher, and neither the author nor the publisher has received any payment for this "stripped book."
For Marise, Philip and Lucy
AVON BOOKS
A division of
The Hearst Corporation
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New York, New York 10019
Copyright © 1992 by Michael Scott Rohan Cover illustration by Dorian Vallejo Published by arrangement with the author Library of Congress Catalog Card Number: 93-20295 ISBN: 0-380-71718-2
All rights reserved, which includes the right to reproduce this book or portions thereof in any form whatsoever except as provided by the U.S. Copyright Law. For information address Avon Books.
First AvoNova Printing: May 1994
First Morrow/AvoNova Hardcover Printing: July 1993
AVONOVA TRADEMARK REG. U.S. PAT. OFF. AND IN OTHER COUNTRIES. MARCA REGISTRADA. HECHO EN U.S.A.
Printed in U.S.A.
RA 10 987654321
BetuventhepedestakofNightandMornmg, Between red death and radiant destre With not one sound of triumph or of warnmg Stands the great sentry onthe Bridge of Ftre...
Flecker, The Bridge of Fire
Too angry to wait for the creaky elevator, I went clattering down the dusty stairs, so fast that I outpaced Dave. I stalked across the little lobby, ignoring the receptionist's soft-voiced courtesies, and barged straight out into the sunshine before I stopped to take a deep breath. This wasn't the best idea. Rumour awarded the atmosphere here one of the world's lowest oxygen counts, and beyond the air-conditioned shade of the shipping offices the sunlight beat down on it with the brassy intensity of a gong. The roar of the city enveloped me, the growl of cars mingled with the deeper cough of the buses, the high-pitched fizz of the little tuk-tuk taxi-rickshaws and the flatulent mopeds. A thousand stinks smote my nostrils: smoke, exhausts, spices, street filth, sweat and all the other statenesses of humanity. Round here they were pretty considerable, these offices being in a low-rent district not far from the riverside wharves. Just the kind of one-horse outfit who'd normally be falling over themselves for the business of a worldwide agency like ours.
Normally.
I was actually trembling with rage and resentment. I was fed up with this place. I just wanted to walk, to get away to somewhere less hot and stinking and uncooperative. I turned on my heel and plunged away through the counterflowing crowd. A sea of heads hardly reached my shoulder; 1 had to fight the feeling that I ought to be swimming. But for all the crush and hubbub, the eternal plastic pop blaring from Japanese blasters, there was none of Hong Kong's earsplitting jabber, nor the barging you'd find in Western crowds. By and large this was a quiet-spoken, courteous people; only their children and their rock bands screeched above the traffic. On the other hand, 1 became aware of nimble fingers
probing my jacket now and again, and was glad I'd zipped away everything in inside pockets. But that was just this part of town. The crush cleared a tittle, and Dave caught up. 'All right/1 said heavily. 'You told me so. Anywhere else? Or is that the lot?'
'Nowhere else/ he said, just as heavily. 'Look, I only wanted you to see for yourself, that's all, okay? Fro new in the job, I didn't want you of all people to think I couldn't handle it. You're sort of a hard act to follow—'specially when it's you I'm reporting to.*
1 stormed on, still too angry to appreciate the compliment. Pounding the pavements suited my temper. 'Damn it, Dave! It's an everyday deal, this. Just a simple set of consignments to Indonesia, that's all!'
'Yeah, so simple nobody wants it.'
'But in god's name, why not?* We skipped back as a string of mopeds ran a light, spattering debris from the gutter, then we plunged across with the human barrier before any more broke through. *I mean, we couldn't make it any bloody easier, could we? One or two shipments at most for any big carrier, but we can feed it through one container at a time if we have to. So how come none of 'em want it? Not the big boys, not the little boys - not the absolute bloody dregs back there! Air, sea, land—no matter how we finagle it, this is the nearest we get. That's hard enough; but from here it's just like running into a bloody wall!' I glared at him. 'I know damn well just how much pull we used to have around here! So how come you've somehow managed to lose it in a week?'
'That's unfair,' said Dave quietly. He flicked his gold-topped Zippo under a cigarette, shielding it between dark fingers, then slid the lighter carefully back into an inner pocket he could fasten. It underlined a point; he was no stranger here, either. 'Look, I'm slipping shipments through points East all the time, no sweat—as you'd know if you'd read my this month's sheets. Contracts all nitt and tiddy. Never a bother. It's just this one. And a pretty penny-ante job at that - or so you say. So why all the fuss? Not doing a little dealing on the side, are we, already? Arms? Nose candy?*
'For Christ's sake, Dave! You know damn well I*d never —'I caught the jibe, and reined in my temper. 'Look, I'm sorry, right? I know you can handle things okay, you're doing at least as good a job at Contracts as I ever did. That's why I found it hard to believe you could run into such a foul-up over this one — penny-ante, at
8
you say. Even when you'd flown out personally. So that's why I came myself.'
'Yeah. When I couldn't fix it. And now neither can you. So you might as well spill it. What's so important about this pipsqueak account, anyhow, that it brings our new assistant managing director out and running?*
'Well... *
*Oh, c'mon. I work for you, remember? Why're you so interested - personally, 1 mean?'
I shrugged, and jammed my hands hard into the pockets of my tight silk suit. 'Look, it's nothing like— nothing big, all right? It's just a favour. A Good Cause one of my political cronies talked me into. Kind of millstone you have to take on now and again, good for street cred. You know! Could be awkward if it flops. Bad PR. That's all.'
There was a short silence. Only between us; the roar of business as usual in Bangkok, that concrete lump dropped into the belly of Asia, filled in the gap.
'We're old mates, remember?* Dave informed me, reverting to his would-be streetwise manner. He blew a casual jet of smoke back at the street. 'C'mon, you're not fooling me, Fisher. I know you — workwise, anyhow. I know just how much trouble you'd take over any given punter - normally, that is. And just how much temper you'd lose, which is not much. This is something you want to go right, and not just because of your precious political buddies, either. Something you care about. And it's just like you to be embarrassed as hell about that, too.' He shrugged. 'Oh, don't worry. I like that. I like seeing you forget you're made of wheels and clockwork and cryonic chips, and getting involved with the human race now and again. It suits you.'
As so often with Dave, I was slightly taken aback. 'Well... I wouldn't say it like that. Making me out as some kind of altruist or something.'
*Sure. Could ruin your rep.*
'Thank you. I mean, this just fell into my lap - at a Rotary do, in fact. Someone suggesting we might be able to help out a foundation they were involved in - friend of a friend, that kind of thing. So I looked into it a bit further, and it son of ... caught my imagination. Barry and 1 agreed. Right in our field, dead simple, the sort of thing we could pass through in ten minutes before tea, so why not? At cost. No skin off our noses.'
*So you send a contracts manager letting halfway round the world, then come chasing after him yourself? Boy, you sure are ruthless. But don't worry, I won't spill your secret - if you ever get around to spilling it to me!*
I hesitated. Not because I didn't want to tell him, but because he'd touched that same old sore point, asking a question I'd been asking myself for some time now. Why was I so interested? Not just because it was a good cause. Every business gets swamped with those and soon learns to be hard-hearted; if we responded to them all we'd be bankrupt in a month, and doing nobody any favours. So why this one, especially? I'd never come up with an answer - unless, as I suspected, it was one particular thing 1 didn't want to admit. Not even to myself.
My furious progress was cut short. Even with my eyes closed I'd have baulked at the sudden wall of stench that rose before me, riper even than all the other city stinks put together. Dave wrinkled his nostrils. 'Wow. Try charging across that crossing and you'd really be in deep -'
The street ended in one of the narrower klongs, the famous city canals that still serve as home, highway, water supply and sanitation — not necessarily in that order — for a chunk of the poorer population. A tour boat raised a churning wake, its cargo of tourists filming the uninhibited behaviour of the dwellers in stilt-borne shacks along the bank; and it said a lot for the dwellers that they didn't summarily drown the tourists, and even grinned curiously at the all-devouring lenses as they buzzed past. For us, too, they had grins, though they were inclined to stare askance at Dave; Africans were pretty rare in these parts, let alone Oxbridge-accented Africans in raw silk suits. Dave chucked his gilt cigarette-end into the turbid brown water, which swallowed it with a faint greasy belch.
'Yuk,* he observed.
'Yuk it is,' I agreed. 'But all the same, that's what it's all about, here or anywhere. Water.'
'You call that water?'
To a lot of places it'd be lifeblood. Might even be glad to have it in California, these days. And Bali. You know, the island—'
'Which just happens to be our consignment destination, right. One more lush tropical paradise I never get sent to.'
'I haven't been there either. Not yet. Anyhow, you were born in
one.
10
'The Kano suburbs are a tropical paradise? Oi.'