"Дон Пендлтон. Caribbean Kill ("Палач" #10) " - читать интересную книгу автора

First had been that disastrous headhunting expedition to France, and Tony
damn - near died in France. He had actually been reported dead.
Next had come actual death, for Castiglione himself, in England. Bolan,
sure - who else?
What had followed was Family history, and not very pleasant stuff
either, with Arnie's heirs jockeying for position in the new family line-up.
Lavagni had never seriously regarded himself as a candidate for Arnie
Farmer's vacant throne. A wishful thought or two, sure, any guy would think
about a thing like that. But Quick Tony had been not quite so quick to reach
for those heady reins of power. For one thing, he was convalescing from that
close scrape with death in France. Also, there were a couple others clearly
above him in the line of succession, very capable others whom Lavagni did
not really wish to cross. He preferred to play it cool, and almost surely he
would be moved into an underboss spot regardless of who eventually succeeded
to Amie's crown. Tony was content to leave the scrambling to Weeney Scarbo
and Big Gus Riappi, the major contenders.
But then, before the Commissione had time to pick the successor,
another round of attrition started. Weeney had been in New York, politicking
with the big city bosses, when Bolan made his hit up there... and Weeney had
got hisself caught in that horror out at the Long Island joint - not killed,
no, but enough of his brains were removed so he'd probably never be up and
walking around again - hell, Weeney would probably never even feed himself
again.
That left only Big Gus, and Tony was next in rank below him.
Lavagni had been in Miami, fully recovered now from that mess in France
but content to lie about in the Florida sun for awhile longer, when the call
came down from the top.
"The Talifero brothers lost it at Vegas," was the message, which could
mean they were dead or anything. "We've got Bolan made, though. He's calling
himself Frank Vinton, and right now he's on a run to the Caribbean in one of
our planes. We want you to get up a party and meet him at Glass Bay."
"Okay, sure, I'll be glad to," Lavagni had replied without hesitation.
"We knew you would. Something else you should know, Tony. We haven't
made up our minds yet about the new head of the Atlantic Seaboard Company.
You make a good show at Glass Bay and... well, what else do we have to say,
Tony?"
The thinly veiled promise had struck Lavagni momentarily dumb. When his
voice returned he simply replied, "Yessir, I understand. How much time do I
have to get there?"
"We're slowing him all we can without actually showing our hand. But
you have, at the very most, six hours. You'll have to move fast."
"What if I don't beat him there?" Tony had wanted to know.
"Then he'll get met by Vince Triesta."
"Oh, well, I guess I sure better move fast," he'd replied soberly.
"We're making all the arrangements for your transportation, Tony. Just
get a party together and get in touch with Jake Schuman for the rest. You're
jetting to San Juan direct, helicopters on into Glass Bay. Jake will handle
your financing and all of your materials requirements. You know. Recruit as
many hunters as you can round up, keeping in mind the time problem. They'll
be paid in advance as they board the plane."