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

smoke, a reminder that all was not over down there, either.
"You figure maybe he's circling back to the joint?" the crewchief
mused.
"Naw." Lavagni stood up and spat into the water. Somewhere he'd heard
that it was supposed to bring good luck. "After a swim like that he's
probably all worn out. Probably laying low, somewheres in that Jungle there,
just getting his breath. What Grimaldi have to say about his hardware?"
"He only saw one gun. Said it was an automatic with a silencer."
Lavagni snorted. "That Beretta, probably. That's his hotsy, but it
ain't going to be hot enough this time."
Dragone looked worried. He said, "Well the longer we wait...."
"Let 'im run awhile," Lavagni said casually. "Who's got the
walky-talky?"
"Latigo."
"Awright. You tell Latigo to get those plugs in place. Just the way we
laid it out. And tell him not to screw around with this guy, he's bad news
all the way. Don't give 'im an inch, not a damn inch."
"Okay." Dragone took a step forward, then froze and whirled about as
one of his gunners moved quickly onto the beach and hoarsely whispered,
"Boss! We found something!"
Both men hurried across the sand to inspect a soggy package of
cigarettes and a paper matchbook bearing the imprint of a Las Vegas casino.
The gunner was explaining, "We found it in the bushes back here, just off
the beach."
"Where's Tilly?" Dragone asked quickly.
"He's in there, looking for tracks."
Lavagni hissed, "Tracks hell! Get that guy outta there!" He took his
crewchief by the arm and whispered, "Get Latigo moving. Then get all your
boys down here and lined up. No more'n ten foot intervals. Put the center of
your line right here. But we don't start the sweep until Latigo says the
plugs are all in. You got that?"
"I got it," the crewchief acknowledged. As he moved away, he added,
"Don't worry, Tony. The guy doesn't have a prayer."
Lavagni, however, was taking no bets yet He fidgeted for a moment, then
stepped off in pursuit of the gun soldier who had found the evidence of
Bolan's passage. He wondered, just for the hell of it, if Bolan had meant
for that stuff to get found. For a guy who was usually so damn careful, it
seemed like a dumb mistake. But, why would he plant the stuff?
The Mafia veteran paused for a quick scan of the bay, then he shook his
head and went on. The guy wouldn't come ashore, plant a false trail, then
shove right back off into the water again. Not after a mile swim, hell no.
Lavagni found himself stepping into sudden darkness - compared to the
fierce brightness out there on that beach. The thick overhead foliage of the
tropical forest blocked the direct thrust of the sun, allowing the
penetration of only a scattering of weak rays at infrequent intervals, and
creating a sort of twilight effect.
Small living things could be heard scampering about in the dense
undergrowth. Here and there in the distance the disturbed squawking of a
bird rose above the ceaseless din created by hordes of. twittering, but
invisible, insects.