"Дон Пендлтон. California Hit ("Палач" #11) " - читать интересную книгу автора

old, common jungle courtship.
He waited there in the dark, took the matter under advisement, and
promised himself that he would get to the heart of San Francisco... or die
trying.
Yeah, he could sure die trying.

4
Friends and Enemies

There were three of them plus the girl, and Bolan waited until all were
framed in the light from the open doorway before he made his move.
He came up from the rear with the stuttergun at the ready, and
commanded, "Freeze! Hands on the head while I get a look at you!"
There was no argument.
He patted them clean, removing hardware and sending them inside one by
one. The girl turned over her tiny weapon without a murmur and went in with
a half-smile on her face.
The look of these men, two of them anyway, recalled in Bolan's mind the
buried memories of Korea - and those memories were not so pleasant.
There was something about the Chinese that stood them apart from other
Asians, especially as fighting men. There was a hardness of the mind there
which was reflected in the face, in the way the head rode atop those
shoulders - and there was an inherent ferocity of the spirit which Bolan had
found in no other Asian nationals.
Yeah, these were fighting men.
The incessant wars of a thousand centuries were burned into their
genes.
Bolan had learned to respect them in Korea... and he respected them
now.
The third man had moved on beyond that - from warrior to wise man. He
dressed as most San Franciscans do - in an all-seasons suit and a light
topcoat, and he wouldn't have drawn a second look from the average tourist.
Those who looked twice, though, would discover a man of quiet but tough
dignity, and they would look into the eyes that had seen everything to see
and learned to accept nothing at face value.
He was an old man - quite old - but he seemed to be in excellent
command of mind and body. And there was no doubt that he was also in command
of the other two men, the young warriors. They were little more than
bodyguards, Bolan decided.
He removed the clip from the automatic weapon and thrust it into his
belt, then he dropped the gun to the floor with the others. It was a peace
gesture, even though his other weapon was very much in evidence and ready to
leap.
"I am Daniel Wo Fan," the old man told him.
Bolan nodded and said, "I am Mack Bolan."
The old boy didn't waste time on preliminaries. He eased onto a chair
and told Bolan, "Your enemy is my enemy."
The Executioner said, "Then you have a lot of enemies."
Wo Fan smiled a fragile smile. "You are rapidly reducing their numbers,
I am told. We will help you all we can."