"Дон Пендлтон. The Iranian Hit ("Палач" #42) " - читать интересную книгу автора

Rockville where Nazarour is planning to catch a plane out of the country. If
they don't hit tonight, they run the risk of having the general slip through
their fingers and disappear again, as he's done a few times in the past.
"So that's your mission. These assassinations have got to stop. All
sorts of Third World hoodlums are starting to think they can march into this
country and turn it into a shooting gallery whenever they please.
"When that hit team does launch their attack tonight, you'll be there
to take them on. Sure, no one would cry if they did hit Nazarour, but the
guy is excellent bait, and it's just too good a setup to pass by. The odds
are stacked, but with Nazarour refusing to let us onto the grounds to
protect him in force... well, your name is the only one in the hat, buddy.
When that attack comes, do what you can. It's up to you. The top man says
hit teams call for Phoenix."
It was quite a speech. Brognola had spoken those words that afternoon,
only hours after a bone-weary Bolan had arrived back at Stony Man from
Minnesota. That mission had sapped him to his very soul - mentally,
physically, and emotionally. And now it was to be Potomac, Maryland.
There had been time to requisition the necessary ordnance, time for a
change into night clothes, time to pick up the cassette with additional
background on the mission, to be absorbed on the drive to Potomac. And time
to be gone.
There had not been time for any personal words with Brognola or with
April, that bright-eyed lovely with the genius IQ, who was both "warden" of
Stony Man Farm and the most important lady in Bolan's life.
During Hal's briefing, Bolan could tell that April, sitting on the
sidelines, had things she wanted to tell him. Important things, like how
glad she was to see her man back from Minnesota in one piece. Bolan could
read that much from those brown eyes, which could express so much without
words. But those eyes also said that she understood that the mission came
first. The mission always came first. April was, yeah, that kind of special
lady. She would tell Bolan the important things - the man/woman things that
existed only for the two of them - when she saw him again.
Bolan hadn't had time to listen to the full tape that Stony Man's
computer wizard, Aaron "The Bear" Kurtzman, had compiled from the general's
dossier, but he digested the particulars. And he didn't like any of them.
Bolan knew that since the revolution, Washington had welcomed any
number of the Shah's regime into the country, especially those interested in
someday restoring some kind of sanity to a homeland being systematically
driven back into the Dark Ages by a religious madman.
But Nazarour did not fall into this category. The man was as
self-serving as he was ruthless, with nothing save his own shadowy interests
at heart. Bolan understood that the Shah's rule had been far less than
perfect, and Nazarour epitomized the corruption that had been one of the
regime's continuing problems. A man with untold millions pillaged from his
years as a top-echelon officer in what the Shah's military had perverted
into one of the most dread secret police agencies in the world. Yeah, that
was Eshan Nazarour. The man sounded like Savage incarnate.
But whatever else the general was, he would indeed be perfect bait for
the trap Bolan hoped to spring when Karim Yazid's hit team came calling.
The world was growing smaller in many ways. There were fewer and fewer