"Destroyer 052 - Fool's Gold.pdb" - читать интересную книгу автора (Williams Remo)

protests by the worid. From without and within. One, his soldiers with clubs would kill protesters very often and very thoroughly. That took care of protest from within. Second, he had wisely put a hammer and sickle on his flag, called his country the "People's Democratic Republic of Hamidia" and went about talking socialism as piles of people, who were foolish enough to whisper unkind things about him, went up in flames. Moombasa called them "my bonfires." The world outside Hamidia ignored the bonfires and concentrated only on the hammer and sickle. No protests from there either.
Once, when he got tired of burning people, he tried to take over Uruguay, Paraguay, and Venezuela. He did this by killing bathers, schoolchildren, bus drivers, airplane passengers, people in restaurants, and any other unprotected citizens with his soldiers, who were generally too cowardly to fight other soldiers.
Attacks on civilians were not considered atrocities because Moombasa called them "battles in the war of liberation." Promptly, three quarters of the newspapers in Great Britain and half its universities opened their minds to his far-reaching philosophies.
At first he had said, "I don't got no philosophy. I kill people."
But it was then that he and Neville Lord Wissex became fast and true friends. He called Lord Wissex "my good friend Neville."
Of course, half the other people he had called his good friends were now charred remnants buried on the outskirts of Liberation City, his capital. The other half killed for him.

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Wissex had said to him: "We'll get you a philosophy and then you can kill anyone you want in any way you want and you will be respected in the world community. Nothing you can do will be condemned except by people you can call names yourself."
"What kind of philosophy?" Moombasa had asked. He thought it might have something to do with not eating meat.
"Marxism. Just say you are the people and anyone against you is against the people and therefore you are defending the people as you kill anyone you want. But you must always blame everything that goes wrong on the United States of America. And sometimes Great Britain."
Moombasa couldn't believe how well it worked. He spent municipal taxes on a new pleasure boat for himself instead of sewage disposal and half a city died from the ensuing diseases. Then he blamed American imperialism for the suffering of his people, and immediately scores of new articles appeared in Europe and America describing how the generalissimo fought hunger, disease, and American imperialism.
It gave him an international license to kill. Having been granted that, he made his first important purchase from Lord Wissex: a delayed-action bomb and, more importantly, the Wissex employees to deliver it.
He almost toppled two neighboring governments that way, before they sent armies to his borders, and he suddenly decided they were brothers in the never-ending battle against American aggression and tyranny.
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But now, Lord Wissex was asking an astounding price for knife fighters.
"Five million dollars?" said Moombasa. "Let me see the knife."
Lord Wissex nodded the Gurkha knifeman to approach the large chair on which the generalissimo sat. The Gurkha handed the blade hilt forward.
Moombasa looked at the knife. He felt the blade. It was sharp. He ran a hand across the back of the blade. It was curved.
"I give you twenty-five dollars," said the generalissimo to Wissex.
Lord Wissex smiled tolerantly.
"That's ten dollars too much, my friend Moombasa, President for Life. It is not the knife. It's the delivery. You can buy a lump of lead for a penny, but delivered from a high-powered special sniper's rifle, that bullet costs much more. It is not the material but what you want to do with it that costs," Wissex said.
"Right. I got no one worth five million dollars dead," said the generalissimo, handing back the knife. He told the Gurkha who had killed his soldier, "Nice cut, kiddo."
"You don't want to kill someone, old friend," said Lord Wissex. "You want to capture someone."
"I don't want to torture no one worth five million."
"You probably won't have to torture her," said Wissex.
"Her? I can get any woman I want in Harnidia for ten bucks, two thousand in Hamidian cash, which is"
"Nine ninety-five today," whispered an aide who
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had one of the few secure jobs in the nation. He could read and count. Sometimes without moving his lips. "The exchange rate down again today."
"Right," said the generalissimo. "Nine ninety-five."
"You want to talk to her," Wissex said.
"Ain't nobody I want to talk to five million dollars worth."
"Ah, but you do. Talk to her and you may become the richest, most powerful man in the world."
"God is good," said Moombasa. "How?"
"The ancient Hamidians that first settled this land were the greatest traders of the ancient world. They created a fortune so vast that in gold alone, they owned an entire mountain."
"Lots of money in mountains of gold," said the generalissimo blandly. "Nice legend. I like legends."
"Suppose the legend is true. Suppose it is and suppose there is, hidden somewhere, that mountain of gold. It would make anyone the richest, most powerful person in the world. It's more important than oil because it is so spendable. No market prices being set at conferences. No delivery halfway across the world, like oil. Gold is pure wealth."
"Who's got this mountain?"
"We don't know who has it yet, but we know who rightfully owns it."
"Who?" asked Moombasa. He knew he was going to like this answer.
"You," said Lord Wissex. "It is Hamidian wealth."
"God's light shine through your eyes. Your mouth
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speaks His truth," said Moombasa. Tears welled in his eyes. He looked to his generals and aides. They were all nodding. He would get them new uniforms. Medals with real gold in them. Maybe even the new electronic gear for torture. Every other country in South America had them. And himself? He would be able to live up to the name he had given himself: "the Great Benefactor." And he would be able to stash more gold in Switzerland than anyone else who had ever lived.
According to Lord Wissex, in America there was a woman who could read ancient Hamidian. An ancient plaque had been found and she had translated it to tell where the mountain of gold was. But she was keeping it to herself. And the evil Yankees were keeping her surrounded so she would lead them to the gold, the gold that was rightfully the natural property of the proud Hamidian people.
"The thieves," said Moombasa.
"Exactly," said Lord Wissex. "I'd like to interest you in the knife. The knife is basic. It is classic and, in this case, highly appropriate. Seven knife fighters of the highest quality and training, and guaranteed service by the House of Wissex, the greatest house of assassins in the history of the world. We deliver the girl and she delivers the gold and everything is neat and proper."
"Good. When I get the gold, you get the five million," said Moombasa.
"I'm sorry, General President, but we are not in the gold business. We are purveyors of violence and it is the tradition of the House of Wissex that we must be paid in advance, in cash."