"Ludlum, Robert - Rhineman Exchange" - читать интересную книгу автора (Ludlum Robert)

the slight trembling as she spoke.
'I won't be afraid. I promised you that.'

He walked out the glass entrance of the Shoreham Hotel and shook his head
at the doorman under the canopy. He did not want a taxi; he wanted to walk.
To let the dying fires of rage finally subside and bum themselves out. A
long walk.
It would be the last hour of his life that he would wear the uniform.
The uniform now with no insignia, no identification.
He would walk through the second set of doors at the War Department and
give his name to the military police.
David Spaulding.
That's all he would say. It would be enough; no one would stop him, none
would interfere.
Orders would be left by unnamed commanders - divisional recognition only -
that would allow him to proceed down the grey corridors to an unmarked
room.
Those orders would be at that security desk because another order had been
given. An order no one could trace. No one comprehended....

8
 They claimed. In outrage.
But none with an outrage matching his.
They knew that, too, the unknown commanders.
Names meaning nothing to him only months ago would be in the unmarked room.
Names that now were symbols of an abyss of deceit that so revolted him, he
honestly believed he had lost his mind.
Howard Oliver.
Jonathan Craft.
Walter Kendall.
The names were innocuous-sounding in themselves. They could belong to
untold hundreds of thousands. There was something so.... American about
them.
Yet these names, these men, had brought him to the brink of insanity.
They would be there in the unmarked room, and he would remind them of those
who were absent.
Erich Rhinemann. Buenos Aires.
Alan Swanson. Washington.
Franz Altmoller. Berlin.
Other symbols. Other threads....
The abyss of deceit into which he had been plunged by ... enemies.
How in God's name had it happened?
How could it have happened?
But it did happen. And he had written down the facts as he knew them.
Written them down and placed ... the docum ' ent in an archive
case inside a deposit box within a bank vault in Colorado.
Untraceable. Locked in the earth for a millennium ... for it was better
that way.
Unless the men in the unmarked room forced him to do otherwise.
If they did . . . if they forced him ... the sanities of millions would be