"Van Lustbader, Eric - Linnear 04 - The Kaisho" - читать интересную книгу автора (Van Lustbader Eric)

'She isn't dead,' Do Duc said. 'But she will be if you don't do as I say.'
Margarite whirled. 'Yes, yes. Anything. But take her down!'
'When you've done as I ask.' Do Duc's voice was gentle. 'I've no wish to hurt her, you see. But know that her life is in your hands.' He came across the room, handed Margarite the towel. 'Do we understand one another now?'
Margarite again gave him that look he had seen so often in canny gamblers, and he knew that she was thinking of slipping a letter opener between his ribs. He wondered whether she had it in her to actually commit such an act of finality, to be party to an act that would forever alter

the core of her. Contemplating her, this was the question that intrigued him the most, because now that he had come in contact with her, he recognized something in her and was drawn to it.
'What is it you want from me?' she asked.
Downstairs in the library, he poured them both brandies. He had allowed her to dress, but only while he watched. She had put on a short black pleated skirt, a cream-colored blouse and suede slipper-shoes worked with gold thread. He was impressed that she dressed with an economy of movement and a dignity to try to protect herself from his presence.
At first, she refused his offer.
'Drink,' he insisted. The brandy will calm your nerves.' He eyed her. 'It will be to your benefit.'
She accepted the glass balloon from him, sipped slowly, evenly.
Do Duc took his drink, sat down on the plush sofa beside her. 'All right,' he said. This is what I require. When your brother calls you, you will contrive a way to get him to tell you where he is,'
Margarite put her balloon onto the glass and brass coffee table. 'You're crazy. It'll never happen. For one thing, calling me - or anyone else in his family for that matter - is strictly against the rules,'
'Nevertheless,' Do Duc said, 'he'll call,'
Margarite studied him for a moment, before leaning forward to extract a cigarette from a silver filigree box. As she did so, her breasts strained against the blouse. It was the first provocative gesture she had made, and Do Duc knew she had begun to think the situation through. That was good for both of them. Better the demon you knew...
'You stupid beast. My brother Dominic was put into the Federal Witness Security Program almost a year ago. He was allowed to take his wife and children with him. Since then, I have not heard from him. Neither has his mother.

He Was told in no uncertain terms what the rules were -no contact with family or friends, otherwise the Feds could no longer guarantee his safety.'
She watched him as he picked up the tooled silver lighter, lit the flame for her. She hesitated only fractionally before leaning forward to light the end of her cigarette. She inhaled deeply, blew out a stream of smoke in such a way that he could mark her agitation.
'Are you aware that in the entire history of WITSEC not one inductee who has stuck to the rules has been gotten to?' She continued to watch him as she smoked. 'The WIT-SEC Deputy Marshal at the Office of Enforcement Operations told us that, and after what Dominic had done, I know he took it to heart. He's got no death wish, just the opposite. He's got everything to live for.'
Suddenly she stopped speaking, and Do Duc knew that she desperately wanted a response from him. This had been her first shot at trying to gain the upper hand, and for this he1 awarded her more points. He said nothing.
Margarite continued to smoke until the cigarette was finished. Then she stubbed it out in a Steuben ashtray. Do Duc expected her to reach for another but, again, she surprised him with her willpower. She sat with her hands in her lap.
'Let my daughter go,' she said softly.
'We were speaking about your brother Dominic.' Do Duc watched with interest the single line of perspiration make its way from her hairline down her temple onto her cheek. He was aware of the tension in the same way he often saw the auras around people. There was a tangible humming in the air.
He could see the tiny tremble of her lips before she put her head down. 'Okay, say Dominic does call,' she said in capitulation. Then what?'
'Set up an immediate meeting -» without his WITSEC handler.'
'He won't do that.'

He took another cigarette out of the silver box, lit it and handed it to her. 'But he will, Margarite,' he said. 'I know that he's phoned you several times before. The last time, let's see, wasn't it because he found out what Tony D. does to you behind closed doors?'
Margarite gave a tiny cry. She drew her knees up just as if his words had assaulted her physically. Her face was white and she was breathing hard through her half-open mouth.
'This time, information will come to Dominic that your husband has beaten Francie.' He seemed as calm as if he were reading a number from the phone book, and this matter-of-fact delivery was the most horrifying element. 'He'll call you, Margarite, won't he? And when he does you're going to act the part. You'll be properly hysterical, and if Dominic doesn't suggest it, you'll insist on. a meeting,'
'Ah, you bastard.' She closed her eyes. He's mined everything, she thought.
She felt her control slip away, salty tears sliding down her cheeks, panic turning her mind to jelly. She fought to put one coherent thought in front of another. 'You know what you're asking me to do,' she whispered.
Do Duc abruptly slammed his hands together. Her brandy balloon was between them and it shattered with a loud crackle, making Margarite jump. He liked what that did to her eyes, and he was poignantly reminded of the Sargent painting of Madame X.
He said, 'I have killed your bodyguard, your Rottweiler and your maid. Don't think for a moment that I will hesitate to take your daughter's life.' His glittery eyes would not let hers go. 'As I have pointed out, Francine's life is quite literally in your hands.'
Margarite stubbed out her cigarette. 'Christ, how do you manage to sleep at night?'
Do Duc stood up. 'An interesting question coming from Dominic Goldoni's sister. Don't you use your maiden

name - his name - in your own business? Of course you do.' Giving her a small, convincing smile, he said, 'I wonder how Tony D. feels about you being known as Margarite Goldoni? Is that part of the rage he feels for you?'
She watched him with a kind of fascinated awe that walked the razor's edge of revulsion. He went around behind the sofa, stood looking at a large painting by Henri Martin of a wheatfield fecund with color and texture.
'Margarite, you're intelligent enough to know we all have our ways of rationalizing what we do; that's hardly the sole province of the fanatical and the righteous.'
He waited, losing part of himself in the Provencal landscape Martin had conjured with the arcane power of a sorcerer. Do Duc thought that he would gladly give up everything, even the constant proximity to death that kept him focused and stable, to be able to paint just one canvas like this one. He had no children - at least none that he knew of - but this masterpiece was better than a child because it sprang godlike from your head and stayed exactly as you had envisioned it. He could imagine no greater reward in life.
'How interesting, a beast who appreciates fine an,' Margarite said at his elbow.
He had heard her coming or - more precisely - had felt it, and he recalled his own question of whether she would have the guts to wield the letter opener. He did not turn his head away from the Martin, but said, 'Dominic will call within the next two hours. Are you ready to keep your side of the bargain?'
'Give me a moment,' she said. 'I've never made a deal with the Devil before.'
'Perhaps not,' he said as he swung toward her, 'but I'll bet your brother has - more times than he can count.'
You know nothing about my brother, she wanted to shout at him, but she was terribly afraid that he would prove to her in quite precise terms just how wrong she was.

Their eyes locked, and Do Duc recognized the ambivalence lurking behind the overt animosity she projected. He doubted whether she was yet aware of how attracted she was to him. He was certain that she had no knowledge of his use of the classic interrogator's tactic of personalizing, then making intimate what was in all respects a cut-and-dried relationship. But she could recognize the other side of what he was doing. It was not so much that women wanted to be dominated, he had concluded some years ago, but that they appreciated more than men what such domination could produce in others.
Margarine's tongue came out, moistening her lips. 'Do you have a name?'