"Robert Weinberg - Logical Magician 02 - A Calculated Magician" - читать интересную книгу автора (Weinberg Robert)

It was a measure of Boris’s skill at keeping his personal and professional lives distinct entities that
none of his family knew his other nickname, the one whispered behind his back by his lackeys in the
Kremlin. It was a title bestowed in fear, never written down, and known only to a very few. To those in
power, Boris Bronsky was “the Permanent Solution.”
Elimination of the enemies of the state was Boris’s specialty. He was the final resort, the last
protocol. Only after the secret police and the KGB had tried and failed was Boris summoned. His was a
talent used sparingly and with great deliberation. For once unleashed, Boris Bronsky was relentless,
unyielding, unstoppable. No one escaped “the Permanent Solution.”
He was, in a sense, one of the last Soviet institutions. In a time of one incredible change after
another throughout Russia, he remained a solitary, steadfast, unmoving rock. Sixty-three missions of
extermination had been assigned to Boris Bronsky. Of them, sixty-three had ended in the termination of
the victim or victims. No one could explain his success. Or dared question his methods. They knew only
that Boris never failed. Never.
Tonight, he was engaged in mission number sixty-four. At the end of the deserted alley was a
single door leading to a basement apartment. As usual, the door was not locked. Opening it, Boris
stepped inside. A single light bulb burned above the entrance. It shed just enough radiance to illuminate
one end of an old wood table extending into the inky blackness. Set in front of the table was a rickety old
chair. As best Boris could tell, it was the same table and chair that had been there on the first of his visits
twenty-five years ago.
Boris sat down. His hosts never arrived until a few minutes after he was settled. That, too, was
part of the ritual. They came after him and left before him. Never once had he caught a glimpse of them.
They moved in absolute silence and remained always in the shadows. Yet he knew immediately when
they entered the room. Their smell betrayed them.
Boris’s nose wrinkled in disgust. The most liberal doses of perfume could not hide the stink that
announced the arrival of his three hosts. It was a pungent, unforgettable smell that somehow reminded
Boris of reptiles.
Ignoring the odor, Boris leaned forward, elbows on the table. “I want a man killed. He betrayed
his country, Mother Russia. His death is necessary for the good of the state.”
“You know our price,” said the woman who usually did most of the talking. Her deep, gravelly
voice was barely more than a whisper, but it filled the entire chamber. Like her companions, she never
offered her real name. Instead, she used a title. “The Retaliator.” It fit.
“The money has already been transferred to your Swiss bank account,” said Boris, fidgeting in
his seat. No matter how many times he dealt with these women, he could not shake the feelings of dread
that accompanied the visit. Their very presence frightened him. There was something inhuman about
them.
“Detail his crimes,” said another woman. Her voice was higher and shriller than her companions’.
She took the name “the Rager.” Righteous anger boiled through her every word.
“The traitor’s name is Sergei Karsnov,” began Boris. “He is forty-seven years old, stands one
hundred and seventy centimeters, and weighs a little under ninety kilos. He has black eyes and black hair
and speaks five foreign languages, including English, perfectly.”
“His crimes,” interrupted the Rager impatiently. “What were his crimes?”
“Sorry,” said Boris, mentally shaking himself. He should have remembered. The three killers
didn’t care about their victim’s appearance. They could learn that from the files he provided them at the
end of the meeting. However, for some unexplained reason, they preferred hearing aloud their quarry’s
transgressions.
“In 1989, working for the Department of Chemical Warfare, Karsnov developed a new strain of
the disease anthrax that could be administered by airborne spores. When tested on laboratory animals,
the new plague virus proved to be extremely efficient. Unfortunately, Karsnov felt the results were not
conclusive without a human sample. So, unbeknownst to his colleagues, he released a tiny sample of the
spores in St. Petersburg.”