"Van Lustbader, Eric - Jake Maroc 01 Jian(eng)" - читать интересную книгу автора (Van Lustbader Eric)

"But"-Stallings raised a long forefinger-"an 'eye' can also be used for offensive purposes. When it is, it is called huo yan. That was the essence of Jake's raid."
"Yet it failed," Beridien pointed out.
Stallings nodded. "Obviously Jake was outplayed." He shrugged again. "Pity."
Wunderman's coarse-featured face was set in a frown. "We've got a somewhat more immediate problem," he said. When he was certain he had their attention, he turned his gaze on Beridien and said, "Jake Maroc's wife, Mariana, is missing."
From out of the hollow silence, Beridien's baritone rose. "What the fuck are you telling us? Missing? Goddammit, what do you mean, she's missing?"
"I think you'd better tell us all of it, Henry," Donovan said in his calm, unhurried voice.
Wunderman squared his shoulders and did as he was bade. "Mariana Maroc was at home in Hong Kong on the night of the chaos raid. Using Donovan's brainchild, the Random Intervention Surveillance Sweep, which we now keep on every active field operative's home base, the Janitors picked up a phone call to Maroc's apartment at 5:57, local time."
"Local or long distance?" Beridien wanted to know.
"Long distance. As you know, the RISS is meant as a trace, not as a recording device. Therefore we can pinpoint the origin of the call, but not who made it or what was said by either party."
"Go on," Beridien said.
"The call emanated from Japan. Tokyo, to be more specific."
"Maroc?" Beridien meant did Jake make the call.
"It's the most logical explanation, of course," Wunderman said. "But it doesn't hold. According to the ETA we've been able to piece together on the dantai, Jake would've been en route at 5:57. In the air, he would not have been able to reach her or anyone else by phone. All we know is that within fifteen minutes of that call, Mariana Maroc was gone."
"Gone where?" Donovan asked.
"We've been able to trace her as far as Tokyo."
"She or Maroc have any known friends there?" Beridien asked.
"Jake did but strictly on the business side," Wunderman answered. "As far as we know, Mariana knew no one there."
"How far is that?" Beridien barked.
"Far enough."
It was very quiet in the windowless room. Beridien's dark eyes bored into Wunderman's from across the table. "Do you have more specifics on the call's origin, Henry?"
"The Janitors are working on that now. As Rodger knows, there are still a couple of bugs in the system. They tell me, however, that we have a shot at narrowing it down to at least a district and possibly even the actual number."
There was a peculiar scent in the room, as if somewhere out of their sight a fire had been lit.
"Mrs. Maroc's disappearance may mean nothing," Donovan said. "I understand they were having some, er, difficulties lately."
"Missing is missing," Stallings said, "That kind of thing's always serious."
"The more so under these circumstances," Beridien said shrewdly.
"Meaning what?" Wunderman said.
"Meaning that I don't trust coincidences. Maybe the two-Maroc's chaos raid and his wife's disappearance-are connected."
"I don't see that," Wunderman said, and knew it was a mistake the minute the words were out of his mouth.
Beridien's primeval head swung around. "Oh? This-what did you call it, Gerry?-'movable eye' of Maroc's, it should have worked. It didn't. Maybe it's because Maroc isn't the operative he once was. Maybe Sumchun River has undermined his effectiveness. Or maybe, just maybe, Nichiren had some kind of inside information about the raid. If so, there could be only one source. No one within the Quarry knew about it. Only Maroc and his dantai. His flaming tigers."
"Are you suggesting that Mariana Maroc could have told Nichiren?" Wunderman was incredulous.
Antony Beridien's eyes seemed to pierce through him, pinning him to the wall. It was deliberate. Beridien did not like Wunderman possessing salient facts that he himself did not. "I am suggesting nothing, Henry, merely positing a train of thought. Because of Maroc's dangerously precipitous actions, we are now under pressure. The kind of pressure that can be, if it is not eliminated immediately, the most debilitating kind for us.
"Perhaps random chance has forced us into this position. If so, we will accept it and go on from there. But the possibility exists that what we are facing here is an iceberg: an inimical design of foreign manufacture. That would put us under attack. If that is the case, I put you all on notice that I mean to get to the bottom of this iceberg in the most expeditious manner. And, gentlemen, God help the man who gets in my way."


"All gods defecate on this weather," David Oh said in Cantonese. Outside, rain filled the Hong Kong streets to overflowing. His mood turned blacker; he slammed the heel of his hand against the windowsill, praying to Buddha that Jake wasn't going to do something stupid, like not wake up. All the tests had been made and analyzed. Physically, Jake had come away from the debacle at O-henro House with nothing more than multiple abrasions and contusions. The intervention of Mandy Choi's body between him and the blast had assured that.
Except there was concussion to think about. EEG readings found Jake's brain patterns undisturbed. Yet he had not regained consciousness. A matter of time, the doctors had said, shaking their heads. Gray rain as dark as David Oh's mood streaked the windowpanes, turning dust to grime.
On the fourth floor, he had stood for a time with his back against the closed door, as if wary of coming into the room itself. Shadows built a bizarre superstructure out of thin air. He heard the sound of breathing and was not certain whether it was his or Jake's.
He did not want to move, did not want to approach any closer, as if by this denial he could also deny what he knew he must eventually see.
David Oh wondered what Jake's breaking discipline would mean for Hong Kong Station. Nothing good, he was certain. He found himself afraid of that. Before Jake Maroc had joined the Quarry, Hong Kong Station had been nothing but a bunch of ill-trained errand boys scurrying about the Colony like so many ants. Without his force, it could so easily revert. Fornicate unnaturally those in Washington who control our future without taking any risks themselves, he thought. I'm sure they're bleeding inside for Jake, Mandy Choi, and the others.
At the bedside, he stared down. There was nothing much there to which he could relate. If this is what it leads to, why do any of us do this? he asked himself. But he already knew the answer. The risk was secondary to the objectives they were dedicated to accomplishing. Dedication, David Oh knew well, had many origins, but it was the one element that bound all of them in the Quarry together.
"Jake." The whisper was out before he knew it. It hung in the air, mingling with all the other shadows spun in the room, hovering peaked and angular.
There was movement from the shadows and David started. He peered into the gloom. He heard only the steady drumming of the rain. Then he recognized the figure.
"Formidable Sung," he said sharply. "What are you doing here?"
"Jake Maroc is a friend," the other man said, moving silently into the light. "I am showing my concern as I would toward any friend."
David Oh snorted derisively. "Oh, I get it. Your concern about whether you will get this month's payment, more likely."
The two men had a natural antipathy. David Oh was Shanghainese; Sung was Cantonese. The two did not mix well.
Formidable Sung's heavy moon face was as blank as a garden gate. "The protection we provide for you and all the members of the Quarry here at your residences demands remuneration. That cannot be so difficult to understand."
"Not at all," David said. "But let us not confuse business with friendship. Your money will be disbursed in the same manner as always."
"That is not why I came. If I had required such information, I would have contacted you at your office. As I said, it was Jake Maroc's condition that brought me."
David Oh had nothing more to say, so he turned away. Why did the Cantonese have to be here now at this moment? It had been Jake's idea to put his contacts to good use when he had been assigned here. Making his deal with Formidable Sung had been one of them, and it had proved an excellent one. David's relatives were rivals of Formidable Sung. David hated him for that. Or perhaps it was only the primitive railing of Shanghainese against Cantonese.