"Destroyer 009 - Murder's Shield.pdb" - читать интересную книгу автора (Williams Remo)

"I'm being President of the United States. Our nation is sustained by laws. We will live within them."
"Sir, we're dealing with something the law can't handle."
"Well, it's almost three-hundred years too late for that, isn't it?"
"You mean the Constitution, don't you?"
"I mean America. Good night. If you want to put that New York City policeman on your payroll, all right. But no secret people, secret vendettas, and secret espionage."
"Yes, sir," said the Attorney General. "Although an organization like that might not be a bad idea."
"Good night," said the President. When the Attorney General had left the oval office, the President solemnly made his way through the White House to his bedroom. His wife was napping and he asked her apologetically to leave. She was a good trouper and she understood. A wife like her was a blessing greater than rubies. Old Testament. They must have had her in mind when they wrote the Good Book.
In the top bureau drawer was the red phone. He dialed. The phone rang once.
"Yes, sir," came the voice.
"Doctor Smith, there are some worrisome things happening. I am wondering if you people have not overstepped your bounds."
"Are you referring to the executions in the East?"
"Yes. This sort of thing cannot be tolerated. Operating with discretion, your organization is intolerable enough. Running amok, it must be stopped."
"That's not us, Mr. President. That's someone else and we are on it."
"It wasn't you, then?"
"Of course not. We don't have an army, sir. And that sort of sloppiness would never be tolerated by our person. We are moving against whoever is responsible."
"You are going to use that person, then?"
"If we can."
"What do you mean?"
"I cannot elaborate."
The President paused, looking at the red phone. Finally, he said, "For now, you may continue. But I think you should know I do not rest easier knowing you exist."
"Neither do I, sir. Good night."
In a motel outside Fort Worth, the customer in Room 12 had a message from his aunt. The room clerk trudged wearily to the door and knocked. The door opened and a voice said, "Yes?"
"It's a telegram for you."
"Who's it from?"
"I don't know."
"Read it."
"Well, okay. It's from your Aunt Harriet in Minneapolis."
"Thanks," came the voice and the door shut in the clerk's face. He blinked, startled, then knocked again.
"Hey, do you want this telegram or don't you?"
"No," came the voice.
"What?"
"I don't want it. You ever get a telegram you didn't want?"
"Ah'll be a toad's tail," said the clerk, scratching his head.
"Fine," came the voice from inside.
When the clerk left, Remo packed his last sock. He pushed it roughly into the corner of the suitcase. Chiun watched him.
"I am worried," said Chiun.
"About what?" said Remo brusquely.
"There are enough people who will try to kill you. Why must you make their job easier by carrying the shackles of anger?"
"Because I'm mad is why. That telegram was the signal. And I'm going in and I don't want to go in."
"I give you this advice. Of all the people you will see, none is worth the giving of your life."
"My life, my life. It's my life, dammit, and I have a right to piss it away if I feel like it. It's not your life. It's not Smith's life. It's mine. Even though the bastards took it away from me ten years ago. Mine."
Chiun shook his head sadly.
"You carry the wisdom of the pain of my ancestors of Sinanju. Do not destroy it for boyish thoughts."
''Let's put it where it's at, little father. You got paid to teach me. Cold, hard, American taxpayer cash. You would have taught a giraffe to kill for a price."
"Do you really think I would have taught you all that I have taught you for money?"
"I don't know. Are you packed?"
"You know. You do not wish to admit it."
"And you aren't all that concerned solely with the idea of wasting a few years of your life. Admit that, too."
"The Master of Sinanju does not admit. He illuminates."
Remo snapped the luggage shut. When Chiun did not wish to talk, Chiun did not talk.