"Bolan, Mack - Stony Man 30 - Virtual Peril" - читать интересную книгу автора (Bolan Mack)

and the North Korean general, as strong as it had been a
few weeks ago when they'd first met, but ignored it. As
long as Lynch had the Communist government in his
pocket, he didn't have to worry about Sym.
A half-dozen soldiers stood at attention behind their
commanding officer. They were sharp counterpoints to the
T-shirt-wearing civilians Lynch had assembled to man the
computers.
Despite Sym's objection in front of his men, Lynch had
invoked his authority, and the general backed down. The
earlier argument had deepened the schism between the two
units, but Lynch didn't give a damn. He had his own
agenda here, and he knew he was only safe as long as the
North Koreans needed him.
Judging from the amount the Communist party had paid
him, Lynch knew they thought they needed him badly. But
when it came to computer espionage and political sabotage
behind the scenes, he was the best money could buy.
"The sacrifices of those soldiers don't have to be made,"
Sym said.
Lynch pinned him with a hot gaze, then let a sardonic
grin cover his lips. "General, you don't give a damn about
those men on the Dragon's Gate. You'd just like to claim
your pound of flesh now and show the president what a
bully good soldier you are."
Sym's gaze narrowed, and he tried to pierce Lynch with
his stare. "I warn you, Mr. Lynch, your insubordination
will not long be tolerated."
Taking a step closer to the man, Lynch spoke in Korean,
loud enough for everyone in the room to hear. Those that
didn't understand his words would get the gist of his reply.
"It's not insubordination. There's no one at this site that
I'm subordinate to."

Wisely Sym refrained from making the situation worse.
He kept Ms gaze fixed on the computer monitors.
"The SEALs are pulling back," a woman's voice said
in a clipped, upper-class British accent.
Sliding smoothly once more into the command situation,
Lynch scanned the screens. The storm was on top of the
fishing trawler now, and the satellite relays were picking
up the torrent of rain lashing across the deck. He walked
over to stand behind Gutter Razor.
During their three-year association, Lynch had never
learned the beefy Australian's real name. Inches short of
six feet, Gutter Razor was balding and blond, thick and
heavy rather than fat. He had a round face and peered at