"Bolan, Mack - Stony Man 36 - Stranglehold" - читать интересную книгу автора (Bolan Mack)

"Anything else?" Buchanan asked.
White puffed the cigar again and shrugged. "Your
call," he said, letting the blue gray smoke drift out
of his mouth and upward toward the ceiling. "You're
an experienced writer and a good soldier. Whatever
you think will sell magazines."
Buchanan glanced at his watch, and White caught
the movement. "What time is your flight?" the pub-
lisher asked.
"It's at 2305. I'd better get going." He stood,
walked to the ancient wooden coatrack in the comer
and pulled on his trench coat. With a quick salute,
he reached out and grasped the doorknob.
"Bobcat," White said.
Buchanan turned back toward the desk.
"Be careful down there. Spencer Kiethley was
more than just a good man. He was one smart, well-
trained, tough son of a bitch." He paused for effect.
"Whatever got him could get you." Buchanan nod-
ded, opened the door, stepped into the hall and
headed for the street. He paused at the door to the
sidewalk to button his coat and buckle the belt
around his waist. Instinctively he conducted a mental
inventory of the weaponry on his person. In the right-
hand pocket of the trench coat he carried a 2-shot
.32-caliber Davis derfinger loaded with Winchester
Silver-Tip hollowpoint bullets. In the left-hand
pocket was one of Cold Steel's massive new five-
inch Voyager folding knives. Buchanan reached into

his pocket and ran his thumb over the opening stud
on the thick clip-point blade. He was researching the
new knife for a future article.
Light snow began to fall outside as Buchanan
pushed the bar on the glass door and stepped out onto
the sidewalk. He paused, making sure the door
swung shut again and the lock clicked, then per-
formed another personal ritual. Reaching into his
open collar, he grasped the woman's wedding ring
suspended around his neck. He thought briefly of the
woman who had wom it when alive, and the memory
brought both love and sadness.
"I am with you, Ellen," Buchanan said. "And
you are with me." His voice was a whisper so low
that even if someone had been next to him on the
sidewalk, he wouldn't have been overheard.
Forcing his mind away from his wife, whom breast
cancer had claimed two years earlier, Buchanan
headed toward the parking lot on the comer. He
breathed deeply as he walked along in the cold Col-