"Destroyer 007 - Union Bust.pdb" - читать интересную книгу автора (Williams Remo)

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am going to do, but I cannot. AH I can say is that 1 have said too much. Trust me.'
'I have my men to worry about, too, Mr. President. Abandoning an investigation after we have lost two agents will not go down too well.'
'Trust me. For a while, trust me.'
'Yes, sir,' said the director of the FBI.
When the two men were gone, the President left the Oval room and went to his bedroom. He waited a few seconds to make sure no maid or butler was around, then unlocked the top bureau drawer. He reached his hand into the drawer and closed it around a small red phone. The phone had no dial, just a button. He glanced at his watch. This was one of the hours he could reach the contact.
The phone buzzed at the other end and a voice came on.
'Just a minute. That will be all, gentlemen. You're dismissed.'
The President heard other men, further from the receiver, objecting - something about in-patient treatment. But the man with the receiver was firm. He wished to be alone.
'You can be incredibly rude, Dr. Smith,' said one of the men in the distance.
'Yes,' said Dr. Smith.
The President heard mumbling, then a door shutting.
'All right,' said Dr. Smith.
'You are probably more aware of this than I am, but I fear that we face some trouble on the labor front that will cripple the entire nation to an incredible extent.'
'Yes. The International Transportation Association.'
'I've never heard of it.'
'You never will if, as we hope, everything works right:'
'This is a joining of unions into one superunion?'
'That's right.'
'So, you are on it?'
'Yes.' . . ' - . '.' V •-.-• .

'Are you going to use that special person? Him?' 'We have him on alert.'
'This is certainly drastic enough to use him.' 'Sir, there's no point in keeping this conversation going, even over a line as secure as this. Good-bye.'

TWO
His name was Remo, and he felt mildly sorry for the man who had erected the poorly hidden detection devices outside this elegant Tucson estate. It was such a good try, such a sincere effort to construct a deadly trap, yet it had one obvious flaw. And because the builder did not appreciate this flaw, he would die that day, hopefully before 12.05 P.M.-because Remo had to get back to Tucson early for important business.
The electric beams, functioning very similarly to radar, were rather well concealed and appeared to cover thev required gGo-degree ring which is supposed to be perfect for a single plane. The land was cleaned of just the kind of clump shrubbery that afforded concealment to attackers. The X layout of the ranchhouse, seemingly an architectural eccentricity, was actually a very good design for cross fire. The estate, though small and pretty, was a disguised fortress that could most certainly stop a mob executioner or could, if it came to it, delay a deputy sheriff- or two or ten.
If it ever came to it-because there was no chance that a. sheriff or a state trooper would ever besiege this estate outside of Tucson. The man called Remo was now very simply penetrating the one flaw in the entire defense: The builder had not prepared for the eventuality of one man walking up to the front door by himself in broad daylight, ringing the doorbell, then executing the builder along with anyone else who got in the way. The estate was designed to prevent a concealed attack. Remo would

not even *e stopped as he walked past the beams in the open Arizona sun, whistling softly to himself. After all, what danger could one man be?
If Mr. James Thurgood had not been so successful in his business, he would probably live to see i.oo P.M. Of course, if he were not so successful, he would be seeing i .00 P.M. every day from the inside of a federal prison.
James Thurgood was president of the Tucson Rotary, the Tucson Civic League, a member of the President's Panel on Physical Fitness and executive vice-president of the Tucson Civil Rights Commission. Thurgood was also one of the leading investment bankers in the state. His profits were too big. After several layers of insulation, his money fueled the heroin traffic at a rate of $300 million a year. It returned a greater yield than land development or petrochemicals, and for James Thurgood-runtil this bright, hot day-had been just about as safe.
Between Thurgood and the neighborhood fix was the First Dallas Savings arid Development Corporation, which lent large sums to the Denver Consolidated Affiliates, which made personal loans to people who needed them very quickly and in large amounts, one of them being recently Rocco Scallaf azo.
Scallafazo offered no collateral, and as for his credit rating, it wasn't good enough to be bad. It was non-existent, since no one had ever given him a loan before. Denver Consolidated transcended the narrow regulations of banking and dared risk capital where other institutions would not. It gave Scallafazo $850,000 on his personal signature.
Denver Consolidated never got back the money. Scallafazo was picked up later with a suitcase full of Denver Consolidated's funds as he attempted to purchase raw heroin in Mexico. Undaunted, Denver Consolidated made another unsecured loan of an equal amount to Jeremy Wills, who was arrested without the money but with a trunkful of heroin. The Scallafazos and Willses were always being picked up, but no one could tie the

evidence legally to the First Dallas Savings and Development Corporation, James Thurgood, President. There was no way to get Tucson's leading citizen into court.
So this day the man who financed heroin in the southwest would be gotten out of court. Remo casually strolled up the sunbaked driveway, examining his nails. His appearance certainly gave no hint of danger.
He was just under six feet tall, with soft friendly brown eyes and high cheekbones, a bit thin except for his thick wrists. His gait was smooth and his arms flowed freely. He glanced at the far kitchen window and the far living room window-he was directly in between. He was being watched. Good. He didn't want to have to wait at the door.
He checked his watch. It was 11.45 A.M. now. He figured it would take him a good fifteen minutes to walk back to town, a half an hour for lunch, maybe a short nap, and he could get back to important work by early afternoon. He still did not know all the duties of a union delegate or the essential aspects of the Landrum-Griffin Bill, and 'Upstairs' had said he should be ready very shortly for something big. Upstairs had even told him to ignore the hit on Thurgood if it would take too much time away from studies of the union movement.
'I might as well do the hit," Remo had said. 'It'll be a good break.'
So there he was, standing at the doorway of the X-shaped ranch-style home, with two men peering at him from windows right and windows left. He reached into one of the bulging pockets of his trousers and withdrew two plastic envelopes the size of flattened baseballs. They were the heroin packages he had ordered from Upstairs. They were, his little escape tools. Worked correctly, he could stroll away from this house without anyone phoning the police. And, more important, he could do it in the daylight and not miss any sleep. One didn't have to make a little project like this unpleasant.
Remo rang the doorbell. He could feel the eyes on him.
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The door opened and a large man in white houseboy coat stood in the doorway, like a surprise wall. A small pistol, probably a -24 caliber Beretta, was rather expertly strapped beneath his armpit, showing only the barest outlines, '
'Yes,'said the man.
'Good morning,' said Remo sweetly. 'I've come to kill Mr. Thurgood. Is he in?'