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

his initial story, Kalvin knew, he was destined for the tribulations of a lifetime.

If no one did, and if he managed a vacation as far as Innsbruck? and if the last living act
of Dieter Mainz was not merely the fantasy of an old man? then Walter Kalvin was
destined for greatness.




TWO
May, 1997


The water was clear and numbingly cold, most of it fresh runoff from the snow that still
clung to peaks of Wyoming's Absaroka Range. Secretary Bowden let one of his matched
pair of State Department men hold his boron fiber flyrod as he began to tighten the
straps of his chest-high waders. Very spendy waders, the latest mid-nineties technology.
Very spendy bodyguards as well, both dressed for fly-fishing in clothes similar to the
secretary's. Nothing's too good for the Secretary of State, Bowden thought, except being
allowed to do my job.

I wouldn't, Mr. Secretary, said his third companion, a dark, wiry national parks man
named Martin. Keep the straps loose enough that you could get out of those waders in a
hurry.

Bowden's glance was more quizzical than irked. Most of his trout fishing had been done
from powerboats in tame lakes while politicking for Harrison Rand's candidacies over the
years, so these waders were a new experience for Bowden. Kenneth Bowden had
selected this outing, in part, because he felt deeply in need of some kind of experience
that took little thought, and no politicking. And for another reason, too, a contact who
had not yet surfaced....

Martin, whose coloring and high cheekbones suggested he might be part American
Indian, went on, The Yellowstone's not much over crotch deep here, gents, but it has a
stiff current and the rocks are rounded. If those waders fill with water, you'll want to
shuck them in a hurry.

The senior agent frowned. In three feet of water?

People drown, Martin shrugged to the agent. But not with me beside them. Anyway,
that's where the lunkers are, out there in the current. Of course I'll go first. Part of my
job, he added.

The younger agent sighed audibly and stared at his hiking boots. I'll go, he said.

Bowden waved the men away. No. Martin's dressed for it, gentlemen, and I promise we
won't go more than fifty feet out.

They didn't like it, but they permitted it, moving downstream at Martin's suggestion. If
Bowden went under, his bodyguards would already be in position to scramble for a