"Dean Ing - Silent Thunder" - читать интересную книгу автора (Ing Dean)

victims of Hitler's first great domestic massacre. To young Walter Kalvin it was the stuff
of legend, a web of events that had spun out their courses before he was old enough to
read. If the man had not resurfaced in over thirty years, in all likelihood he was long
dead. Still, if they failed to make contact on this hitter night, Kalvin and the major would
have to try again in seven days.

The major stamped his feet and grunted in pain, the umbrella a ludicrous pendulum at
his side. Goddammit, sergeant, any man who's two hours late is a man who is not going
to show!

Yes, sir, said Kalvin. Then, more softly: Should you be mentioning rank out here?

The major, who tended to be lax about professionalism but knew very well when it was
called into question, stared hard at Kalvin. Is that insubordination?

No, sir, said Kalvin. At that instant he saw a two-U'Uged shadow crossing from a
footpath in the distance, a slender silhouette that caused distant lights to wink as it
approached. In low tones Kalvin added, This could be our man.

To his credit, the major had seen it too. Mainz had been very specific, insisting on his
own recognition signals. The major grabbed his umbrella, slung its furled length over
one shoulder like a hunting rifle, and walked slowly forward with Kalvin beside him. The
shadow began to re-solve itself into a man of slight stature, hands in the pockets of his
greatcoat, hatbrim hiding his face. When they were ten paces apart, Kalvin began to talk
conversationally but in German. The major swung the umbrella to his other shoulder
according to plan, nodding as if he understood Kalvin.

Herr Donner, said the man facing them, and stopped. It was a common surname.
Herr Sprache, Kalvin responded with an unlikely surname. Together, the names formed a
key word. As tradecraft it was dreadfully amateurish, but Mainz had called the shots.
Donnersprache, thunderspeak, was still among the unsolved mysteries of Hitler's Reich.
According to the best guesses of spook historians, Donnersprache had pertained to
electronics, probably an aid to eavesdropping, no doubt primitive by modern standards
but still an enigma. No mention of it had ever been found in official records, though the
two men closest to Adolf Hitler had at various times scribbled cryptic references to the
thing, or possibly the person, called Donnersprache.

A hand came out of the greatcoat, wearing a glove, and the Americans shook it. Rapidly,
in German, Kalvin explained that the gentleman beside him did not speak the language.
Was it possible for them to continue their discussion while riding in a BMW sedan with an
excellent heater?

Naturlich, of course, Mainz replied. But permit me to retrieve a traveling bag I left among
the bushes nearby. Later, Kalvin would report the old man's age as nearing eighty, his
speech halting and sometimes vague as might befit a man whose mind had begun to
fail. Kalvin's true impression was that this preternaturally alert little gnome of a man kept
all his mental bricks neatly stacked.

The major clearly loathed his role but accepted it anyway, hurrying off to retrieve their
rented BMW as the old man half-trotted back to the shadows of anonymous shrubbery.