"Дон Пендлтон. Blood Sport ("Палач" #46) " - читать интересную книгу автора

She waved the gun scornfully at the empty bottles of Germaneabeer. "Is
this how you conduct business of such importance?"
"You're half an hour early, doll," Bolan leered. "If you'd knocked, I
could have splashed some water on my face. Climbed into my tux. Baked a
cake." She smiled through thin lips.
The beefy hardman behind Bolan laughed, his whole belly shaking against
Bolan's back.
But the knife remained firmly pressed against his throat.
"Say, honey," Bolan said, "can you tell Fatty here to take away the
butter knife. I thought we were here to do business..."
She arched a long curving eyebrow in amusement. "This is the way Klaus
and I do business, Sergeant. It ensures that we have your undivided
attention. And cooperation." Klaus's belly jiggled against Bolan again.
Bolan snapped his hands up from under the table. One swift move. His
right hand was wrapped around an apple-green RGD-5 antipersonnel grenade.
His left hand instantly plucked out the detonating pin. The knife at
his throat pressed slightly harder.
"Now," Bolan said with cold menace, "this little baby holds a mere 110
grams of TNT. More than enough to shred all three of us into very lumpy dog
food. If I so much as belch, my hand will slip off the safety lever and that
would end the beautiful relationship we're building here. Your move, lady."
He could see she did not care one way or the other, that she thought
the whole scene was ridiculous, but the knife at his throat twitched closer
to puncturing the skin. Bolan knew what fat Klaus was thinking: could he
make it to the door between the time he slit Bolan's throat, the subsequent
and immediate release of the safety lever-and the explosion.
"Forget it, Klaus," Bolan snarled. "This pineapple has a
three-point-two second delay. Your hand won't even reach the door. Not
attached to the rest of you it won't." Bolan lifted the grenade higher. "Now
back off, both of you." The Executioner stared icily into Tanya
Morganslicht's smooth and untroubled face. Her expression was still calm,
with perhaps a little curiosity in it now. But she showed no fear
whatsoever.
"Klaus," she nodded slightly.
Klaus hesitated. He didn't like this at all. They were supposed to be
here to intimidate the big American, all the better to negotiate business
terms. But the Ami had tried a trick out of their own arsenal. It was an
insult not to the cause, which Klaus cared nothing about, but to himself.
And for that the American would pay. Perhaps not at this moment, as Klaus
had no desire to die. And of course they had come here to buy weapons,
therefore they needed the soldier. But later he would get even.
Permanently.
"Klaus," Tanya repeated. The knife was reluctantly withdrawn from
Bolan's neck.
"Naechstes mal", Klaus mumbled.
"There won't be a next time, pal," Bolan said, standing up. "Not if you
want to live to stuff your fat face with more bratwurst. Drop your weapons
on the table in front of you, please. Do it now."
Tanya placed her pistol on the table. Klaus glared at Bolan as he
surrendered his Swiss Army knife and a matching 9mm Firebird.