"Wilson, F Paul - Adversary 05 - Reprisal" - читать интересную книгу автора (Wilson F. Paul)

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Reprisal by F. Paul Wilson
PART I
NOW


ONE
Queens, New York
Rain coming.
Mr. Veilleur could feel the approaching summer storm in his bones as he sat in a
shady corner of St. Ann's Cemetery in Bay side. He had the place to himself. In
fact, he seemed to have most of the five boroughs to himself. Labor Day weekend.
And a hot one. Anyone who could afford to had fled upstate or to the Long Island
beaches. The rest were inside, slumped before their air conditioners. Even the
homeless were off the streets, crouched in the relative cool of the subways. The
sun poured liquid fire through the hazy midday sky. Not a cloud in sight. But
here in the shade of this leaning oak, Mr. Veilleur knew the weather was going
to change soon, could read it from the worsening ache in his knees, hips, and
back.
Other things were going to change as well. Everything, perhaps. And all for the
worse.
He had .been making sporadic trips to this corner of the cemetery since he had
first sensed the wrongness here. That had been on a snowy winter night five
years ago. It had taken him a while, but he had finally located the spot. A
grave, which was perfectly natural, this being a cemetery. This grave was not
like the others, however. This one had no marker. But something else made this
grave special: Nothing would grow over it.
Through the past five years, Mr. Veilleur had seen the cemetery's gardeners try
to seed it, sod it, even plant it with various ground covers like periwinkle,
pachysandra, and ivy. They took root well all around, but nothing survived in
the four-foot oblong patch over the grave.
Of course, they didn't know it was a grave. Only Mr. Veilleur and the one who
had dug the hole knew that. And surely one other.
Mr. Veilleur did not come here often. Travel was not easy for him, even to
another part of the city he had called home since the end of World War II. Gone
were the days when he walked where he wished, fearing no one. Now his eyes were
bad; his back was stiff and canted forward; he leaned on a cane when he walked,
and he walked slowly. He had the body of a man in his eighties and he had to
take appropriate precautions.
Age had not dampened his curiosity, however. He didn't know who had dug the
grave or who was in it. But whoever lay down there below the dirt and rocks and
weeds had been touched by the Enemy.
The Enemy had been growing steadily stronger for more than two decades now. But
growing carefully, staying hidden. Why? There was no one to oppose him. What was
he waiting for? A sign? A particular event? Perhaps the one buried below was
part of the answer. Perhaps the occupant had nothing to do with the Enemy's
quiescence.