"3 Star Brothers" - читать интересную книгу автора (Bova Ben)

Hsen now leaned forward too "First, we must find out who our enemies are and how they are organized "

Jo nodded

"Then we must eliminate them," said Kruppmann, with implacable finality

Making her lips smile in the shadows, Jo asked, "Have you taken any steps along those lines "

"Yes, we have We want you to help us, though We need the support that Vanguard Industries can give us "

Hsen added, "And we need you to work for us at the IIA instead of against us "

"I won't do a thing unless you bring me proof that this-- this cabal actually exists "

"The proof we will bring you "

"We must work together on this," Hsen insisted "You are either with us or against us "

Very carefully, Jo said, "I don't want a world bureaucracy taxing us to death any more than you do "

As she listened to their plans, Jo knew that these men meant to seek out her husband and kill him They think they can control me by threatening to take over Vanguard and throwing me out But they mean to kill Keith, once they find out who he is and what he's been doing

And when they find out that I've been helping him, they'll want to kill me too











CHAPTER 5






IT was lunchtime in Sydney Cliff Baker sat half sprawled in the imitation wicker chair at a corner table in his favorite restaurant, the oh-so-posh and totally phony Bombay Room atop the tallest skyscraper in Australia Fake Hindus with bogus turbans waited on the tables with feigned humility and fraudulent politeness Wog-waiters, Baker called them phony as a virgin in a cathouse Bowing and scraping and speaking in whispers Not a robot in sight But you paid for all the servility, the prices were even higher than the room's altitude

From his corner table Baker could see the magnificent harbor with its graceful old bridge and the breathtaking opera house. But his attention was riveted, instead, on his luncheon companion.

She was a Magyar beauty, with honey-colored hair, high cheekbones, a heart-shaped face with slightly asian eyes the color of a lioness's. Flawless skin. Delightful bosom straining the buttons of her manmshly tailored blouse.

Baker was halfway drunk, not an unusual condition for him in the early afternoon. He had started their luncheon with three whiskeys, then consumed most of the wine that the servile, bowing wog-waiters had poured for them. Now the restaurant was nearly empty and the turbaned crew stood clustered near the kitchen door, whispering among themselves as they waited for the last luncheon customers to leave. The dishes had been cleared from their table by still other dark-skinned fakes in turbans, but Baker had called for a bottle of cognac and two snifters. His glass was now empty Temporarily.