"Michael Flynn - In the Country of the Blind" - читать интересную книгу автора (Flynn Michael)

Brady frowned. "Are they allowing their personal interests to-"
"No, no. They are guided by the equations, just as we. Slavery had to go. We
all agreed, even our Southron members. The equations. . . They showed us what
would come to pass if it didn't" Isaac shivered, remembering. "That was why we
. . . took measures." The old man's face closed up tighter. "They will see the
need for this action, as well."
He opened his eyes and fixed Brady with a stare. "And if they bow to necessity
with smiles and we, with sorrow; why, what difference?"
"Damnation, Isaac! It should never have come to this!" Brady slapped the
briefcase, a sharp sound that made Isaac blink. "Don't want his blood on your
hands, do you? Well, theah's blood enough already. This war-" "Was an
accident. A miscalculation. Douglas should have won. He knew how to make
deals. He could have ended slavery and made the South love him for it. Popular
sovereignty and the Homestead Act. That would have done for it."
"Maybe," Isaac allowed. "But Buchanan vetoed the Homestead Act out of
personal spite for Douglas, something we couldn't foresee. And we didn't know
then how determined Yancey and the other secessionists were. After that fiasco
at the Charleston convention, the election was thrown wide open, and the
Republican"
"That backwoods buffoon!" said Brady angrily. "His winning changed everything!
Panicked the South into secession. But how could we have calculated it? The
man failed at everythong he ever attempted. He failed twice in business; had a
nervous breakdown; was defeated for House Speaker. Then for re-election; was
defeated for land-officer, of all things. He ran for the Senate twice and the
vice presidency once and lost the nomination all three times. Hell's bells,
Isaac! He even lost the presidential election!"
"Not in the electoral college," Isaac pointed out. "And he did have a
plurality."
"The man is a statistical anomaly!" Isaac chuckled. "That's what really
bothers you, isn't it?" Brady framed a tart reply, then thought better of it.
Beating a dead horse wouldn't make it run faster. He slouched in his seat. "Be
that as it may be. The war was an accident, this is different!" He slapped the
briefcase again. "A calculated act; not a calculated risk."
Isaac nodded slowly. "'Though I doubt a corpse cares much whether 'twere done
in by accident or design. Still, needn't worry about yourself. We never act
directly. A word heah. A word theah. Washington's always been Confederate in
her heart. Someone will act."
"Aye. But we will bear the guilt."
"Why, so we will! Was there ever any doubt? Did you doubt it when you took the
Oath?" Brady looked away, out the window. "No." They were silent again,
listening to the carriage wheels rolling through the mud. The rain drummed the
roof of the landau.
"And what if he does not die?"
Isaac just wouldn't let it he. Brady scowled at him.
"And what if he does not die?" Isaac persisted. Brady sighed. He hefted his
briefcase, then dropped it into Isaac's lap. "Read it yourself. It's all
there. The secondary path from the fifteenth yoke. We have clandestine medical
reports on him and his whole family. And on Ann Rutledge, as well. His old law
partner, Billy Herndon, has been dropping sly hints to whomever will listen.
His wife is certifiably insane, save no one has the guts to say so aloud. It's