"Harrison, Harry- The Stainless Steel Rat for President" - читать интересную книгу автора (Harrison Harry)

"Champagne," the marquez announced firmly. "To toast a successful campaign. And to mark the end to this era of misrule."

Our little armada left at dawn, four jetcopters and an ancient fixed-wing aircraft that was stuffed full of our campaign supplies. The sun shone, the day was perfectЧuntil a few minutes after we crossed the Barrier when two blips appeared at the very limit of our radar detection screen.
"They're on a convergent track. Dad," Bolivar said, running the reading through the computer. He was in charge of the detection instrumentation; his brother manned our defens-

es. I looked at the approaching blips and turned on the radio.
"This is the MarquBz de la Rosa flight calling two aircraft

now approaching our position. Please identify yourself." I waited impatiently for a reply but the airwaves were silent. The blips closed in quickly. "Blow them out of the air before they can fire at us!" the marquez said, fists clenched, glaring at the screen. I shook my head.
"They must attack us first. The cameras are recording all this and I want the record absolutely clear that if there is any violence that we were merely defending ourselves." "Those words will make a fine epitaph for our tombstones. They are within range!"
"They've fired missiles!" James announced, touching buttons in quick succession. "Counter-missiles launched. Look there, about two o'clock, you'll see the result." Sudden white clouds burst into silent existence, then fell behind us as the flight moved on.
"Attack craft turning away," Bolivar said. They were all looking at me. I could not speak. "They're escaping, almost out of range." The marqugz's harsh words broke the silence. "Fire! Take them out."
James's finger was poised over the firing button and it slammed down by reflex at the order. I turned away and looked out of the forward windows. Trying not see the two

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gouts of red flame exploding off to one side. I was aware of Angelina behind me, her hands on my arms, her voice so low that only I could hear it.
"I understandЧand I love you for it. But you must understand our feelings as well. They tried to murder us. And would have tried it again if they had not been stopped. It was self-defense."
I worked to keep the bitterness out of my voice. "I understand only too well. But that's not the way I want it, not the

way existence should be. The killing . . ."
"Will be over after the election. That's why you are running for president. To replace the man who ordered this action." Х*
There was no point in any further discussion. I suppose we

were both right from our own points of view. The paid killers who had flown those craft would kill no longer. And Angelina

was rightЧthe only way to permanently end this violence was to win the election.
"Let me look at my speech again," I said. "I want to get it memorized perfectly." Angelina turned away in silenceЧbut her parting kiss on my cheek spoke volumes.
That was the last of our airborne problems. The blue ocean

soon came into view, then the white buildings of Puerto Azul. The campaign fleet circled above the field while our copter with the detection instruments made a sweep of the area. When all of the instrument readings were zero, we came in. I pointed to the row of pink tourist rental cars lined up at the edge of the field.
"Everything in order so far. Let's roll!"
And roll we did, rolling the votemobile out of the open tail of the cargo plane. This had been the marquez's most luxuri-

ous saloon. It still wasЧplus a few additions. It was now a brilliant white with red-lettered HARAPO FOR PRESIDENT

on one side, and HARAPO'S THE ONE! on the other. An overpowered PA system played martial music while it was on the move, and there was an elevated platform where the rear seat had been. The marquez and I would ride there, waving at the crowd, with nothing between us and them except thin air. And an invisible force field that would block any laser beams aimed at us, would slow and stop bullets as well.
Within a few minutes our equipment and supplies were loaded into the rental cars and our little victory parade rolled

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"Let's do it in style," I said. "Let them know that a new day is beginning!" A flick of a switch changed the ear-shattering broadcast from marching music to our presidential theme song. We rolled towards the city with its inspiring words booming out around us.

Glory, glory to the workers! Glory, glory to the peasants! Down with Zapdote's bullies, Harapo's marching on!

I can't claim that it was the world's most inspiring lyric, but I doubt if any of the voters would even notice the sprung rhythm as they listened to the shocking words. It was probably a shooting offense to speak out against Zapilote in public. Which meant that even this revolting song would surely capture the listeners' undivided attention.
We got it too, as soon as we left the highway and started driving through the suburbs. Silent, frightened eyes watched us as we rolled by. Only the children cheered and ran alongside when we passed out bags of candy attached to HARAPO RULES OK! flags. Once they ate the candy, they shouted and waved the flags in hopes of getting more. It was only when we swung into the main thoroughfare that we found our first trouble.
A large black police car blocked our way. Filled with scowling uglies who fingered riot guns in a singularly menacing manner. Our little cavalcade stopped and Bolivar walked forward, smiling ingratiatingly, to face the unsmiling officer who stood beside the car.