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

Centuries ago, visitors had to resort to the cadence of poetry in order to evoke
the beauty of its flora and fauna. Soon colonialism, fueled by envy and avarice,
would impose its grim logic: what was ravishing would be ravished, the
captivating made captive. Anura became a prize for which the great maritime
empires of the West would contend. Battlements rose above the spice-tree groves;
cannonballs nestled on the beaches among the conch shells. The West brought
bloodshed to the island and it took root there, spreading across the landscape
like a toxic weed, nourished on injustice.
What did they do to you, Mother Anura?
Over tea and canapes, Western diplomats drew lines that would bring tumult to
the lives of millions, treating the atlas of the world like a child's
Etch-A-Sketch.
Independence, they had called it! It was one of the great lies of the twentieth
century. The regime itself amounted to an act of violence against the Kagama
people, for which the only remedy was more violence. Every time a suicide bomber
took out a Hindu government minister, the Western media pontificated about
"senseless killings," but the Caliph and his soldiers knew that nothing made
more sense. The most widely publicized wave of bombingsЧtaking out ostensibly
civilian targets in the capital city, CaligoЧhad been masterminded by the Caliph
himself. The vans were rendered invisible, for all intents, by the forged decals
of a ubiquitous international courier and freight service. Such a simple
deception! Packed with diesel-soaked nitrate fertilizer, the vans delivered only
a cargo of death. In the past decade, this wave of bombings was what aroused the
greatest condemnation around the worldЧwhich was an odd hypocrisy, for it merely
brought the war home to the warmongers.
Now the chief radio operator whispered in the Caliph's ear. The Kaffra base had
been destroyed, its communications infrastructure dismantled. Even if they
managed to get the word out, the guards at the Stone Palace had no hope for
backup. Thirty seconds later, the radio operator had yet another message to
convey: confirmation that a second army base had been reclaimed by the people. A
second thoroughfare was now theirs. The Caliph felt his spine begin to tingle.
Within hours, the entire province of Kenna would be wrested from a despotic
death grip. The shift of power would begin. National liberation would glimmer
over the horizon with the sun.
Nothing, however, was more important than taking the Steenpaleis, the Stone
Palace. Nothing. The Go-Between had been emphatic about it, and so far the
Go-Between had been right about everything, starting with the value of his own
contributions. He had been as good as his wordЧno, better. He had been generous
to the point of profligacy with his armaments and, equally important, his
intelligence. He had not disappointed the Caliph, and the Caliph would not
disappoint him. The Caliph's opponents had their resources, their backers and
benefactors; why should he not have his?


"It's still cold!" Arjun cried out with delight as he picked up the beer can.
The outside of the can was actually frosty. Arjun pressed it to the side of his
face, moaning with pleasure. His fingers melted oval impressions in the icy
coating, which glinted cheerily in the checkpoint's yellow mercury light.
"And it's really full?" Shyam said doubtfully.
"Unopened," Arjun said. "Heavy with the health drink!" And it was heavy,