"Dean Ing - Soft Targets" - читать интересную книгу автора (Ing Dean)arrive back here aloneтАФagain, well and good." A brief smile for Graham. "But he is not a fool, a
think he would refuse to accept your trick Cigarette. And then I would not be paid." "I'm not the dumbest jack-off in the world either. If you can't drive him across the border he m be pretty hot." A shrug. "What we need is a craft that is docile and looks it." Graham led him along creaking planks until they stood at the mouth of the boathouse, blink-in the strong light. He pointed toward the nearest of the sloops that nodded at moorings. "The Bitc the only other boat I have, a refitted Islander Thirty-Four. She'll do all of six knots with the big friend; she wouldn't outrun a pissant with waterwings." He eyed the little man with shrewd g humor: "But I won't have to be fast on the south crossing, and maybe not on the return trip. If really don't care whether the old geezer makes it all the way," he added. 'Baztan's' smile was bland. "I believe the sailboat will do. How long will you need for crossing?" "Four hours, maybe five; I have to run close-hauled a lot with the fuckin' winds in the strait. W do you care, so long as I make Port Angeles tomorrow?" "My client asks such things. When should we rendezvous?" "High noon, with a brass band?" Graham laughed. "I'll start from here about noon tomorr That way we'll have your guy on deck without too much light. I want it dark before I'm back in strait if I'm gonna, like, dump some ballast." There was no need to ask about that ballast. The smaller man produced an envelope from wrinkled but very expensive jacket. Moving back into the shadow he allowed Graham to watch peel fifteen bills from the stack and tuck them into a pocket. The other fifteen he handed to Canadian, who counted them without apology. "You will have the rest in Port Angeles." "Why not right now," asked Graham, stepping closer, and a trifle too quickly. "Because that is as it must be," he heard, see-ing for the first time how a spring-loaded ar to flicker at its lapel, and then Graham was dividing his time between staring into the barrel Llama automatic and into the still darker barrels of the little man's eyes. Given the choice, he fo he honestly preferred star-ing at the pistol. The death it suggested would at least be swift and cl Taking two backward paces, 'Baztan' moved against the boathouse wall. "You will understand ask you to precede me." Graham was still protesting as he stepped through the doorway. "I never meant to spook fella," he said, turning to see 'Baztan' who now stood relaxed with empty hands. They were s hands, carefully groomed, and he noticed that they were not shaking as his were. He thrust his ha into his pockets, feeling the money again. He had thought it would be interesting, though no con to take the entire three thousand just to see what would happen. Now, stand-ing a head taller than innocently smiling 'Baztan,' he felt like a tame bullock beside a wolverine. "No hard feelings, Baz I should've moved slower." He thrust out his hand, feeling the limp dry fingers in his own. "See in the States tomorrow about five," he said. "I'll have to go to diesel and switch main-s'ls, so for a dark red sail on the Bitch." He strolled toward the sloop. The back of his neck itched. He itch. 'Baztan' walked back to the business district, choosing a hotel at random. In the telephone bo he extracted the HP from a pocket, punch-ing a simple program into it before dialing his sec Toronto number. After a moment he placed the HP to the mouthpiece and punched the Mem Return key. A series of tones came to him faintly. It would be lunchtime in Toronto, he mu perhaps McEvoy was consuming another sandwich. Then the relay connection fulfilled its task as he heard McEvoy answer. The filters masked background which might otherwise suggest a long-distance call. "This is Jan Trnka, Mr. McEv he said. "I seem to have overlooked another detail." "Anything I can help with?" |
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