"Ludlum, Robert - THE JANSON DIRECTIVE" - читать интересную книгу автора (Ludlum Robert)

armed men inside could get some air.
The coastal hill had many names and many meanings. The Hindus knew it as
Sivanolipatha Malai, Shiva's footprint, to acknowledge its true origins. The
Buddhists knew it as Sri Pada, Buddha's footprint, for they believed that it was
made by Buddha's left foot when he journeyed to the island. The Muslims knew it
as Adam Malai, or Adam's Hill: tenth-century Arab traders held that Adam, after
he was expelled from Paradise, stopped here and remained standing on one foot
until God recognized his penitence. The colonial overlordsЧfirst the Portuguese
and then the DutchЧviewed it with an eye to practical rather than spiritual
considerations: the coastal promontory was the ideal place for a fortress, where
mounted artillery could be directed toward the threat posed by hostile warships.
It was in the seventeenth century that a fortress was first erected on the hill;
as the structure was rebuilt over the following centuries, little attention was
ever paid to the small houses of worship nearby. Now they would serve as way
stations for the Prophet's army during the final assault.
Ordinarily, its leader, the man they called the Caliph, would never be exposed
to the confusion and unpredictability of an armed engagement. But this was no
ordinary night. History was being written this night. How could the Caliph not
be present? Besides, he knew that his decision to join his men on the terrain of
battle had increased their morale immeasurably. He was surrounded by
stouthearted Kagama who wanted him to be a witness to their heroism or, if it
should turn out to be the case, their martyrdom. They looked at the planes of
his face, his fine ebony features, and his strong, sculpted jaw, and they saw
not merely a man anointed by the Prophet to lead them to freedom but a man who
would inscribe their deeds in the book of life, for all posterity.
And so the Caliph kept vigil with his special detail, on a carefully chosen
mountainous perch. The ground was hard and wet beneath his thin-soled boots, but
the Stone PalaceЧor, more precisely, its main entranceЧglowed before him. The
east wall was a vast expanse of limestone, its weathered stones and wide,
freshly painted gate bathed in lights that were sunk into the ground every few
feet. It shimmered. It beckoned.
"You or your followers may die tonight," the Caliph had told the members of his
command hours before. "If so, your martyrdom will be rememberedЧalways! Your
children and your parents will be sanctified by their connection to you. Shrines
will be built to your memory! Pilgrims will travel to the site of your birth!
You will be remembered and venerated, always, as among the fathers of our
nation."
They were individuals of faith, fervor, and courage, whom the West was pleased
to scorn as terrorists. Terrorists! For the West, the ultimate source of terror
in the world, this term was a cynical convenience. The Caliph despised the
Anuran tyrants, but he hated with a pure hate the Westerners who made their rule
possible. The Anurans at least understood that there was a price to be paid for
their usurpation of power; the rebels had repeatedly brought that lesson home,
written it with blood. But the Westerners were accustomed to acting with
impunity. Perhaps that would change.
Now the Caliph looked at the hillside around him and felt hopeЧnot merely for
himself and his followers but for the island itself. Anura. Once it had taken
back its own destiny, what would it not be capable of? The very rocks and trees
and vine-draped hillocks seemed to urge him on.
Mother Anura would vindicate her protectors.