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

unexpectedly so. "We'll pour off a swig for the ancestors. A few long swallows
for me, and whatever drops are left for you, since I know you don't like the
stuff." Arjun's thick fingers scrabbled for the pull tab, then gave it a firm
yank.
The muffled pop of the detonator, like the sound of a party favor that spews
confetti, came milliseconds before the actual explosion. It was almost enough
time for Arjun to register the thought that he had been the victim of a small
prank and for Shyam to register the thought that his suspicionsЧalthough they
had remained at the not-quite-conscious level of vague disquietЧhad been
justified. When the twelve ounces of plas-tique exploded, both men's trains of
thought came to an end.
The blast was a shattering moment of light and sound that instantly expanded
into an immense, fiery oval of destruction. The shock waves destroyed the two
knife rests and the wooden roadside booth, as well as the barracks and those who
slept there. The pair of guards who were supposed to have been on duty as
backstop at the other end of the roadblock died before they awoke. The intense,
momentary heat caused an area of the red laterite soil to crust into an
obsidian-like glass. And then, as quickly as it arrived, the explosionЧthe
deafening noise, the blinding lightЧvanished, like a man's fist when he opens
his hand. The force of destruction was fleeting, the destruction itself
permanent.
Fifteen minutes later, when a convoy of canvas-topped personnel carriers made
its way through what remained of the checkpoint, no subterfuge would be
necessary.


There was an irony, the Caliph realized, in the fact that only his adversaries
would fully understand the ingenuity of the predawn onslaught. On the ground,
the fog of war would obscure what would be obvious from far away: the pattern of
precisely coordinated attacks. The Caliph knew that within a day or so, analysts
at the American spy agencies would be peering at satellite imagery that would
make the pattern of activity as clear as a textbook diagram. The Caliph's
victory would become the stuff of legend; his debt to the Go-BetweenЧnot least
at the insistence of the Go-Between himselfЧwould remain a matter between him
and Allah.
A pair of binoculars was brought to the Caliph, who surveyed the honor guards
arrayed before the main gate.
They were human ornaments, an accordion of paper dolls. Another instance of the
government's elitist stupidity. The compound's nighttime illumination rendered
them sitting ducks while simultaneously impeding their ability to see anything
in the surrounding darkness.
The honor guards represented the ARAs eliteЧtypically, those with relatives in
high places, mannerly careerists with excellent hygiene and a knack for
maintaining the crease in their neatly pressed uniforms. The crщme de la crщme
brulщe, the Caliph reflected to himself with a mixture of irony and contempt.
They were showmen, not warriors. Through the binoculars, he gazed at the seven
men, each holding a rifle braced upright on his shoulder, where it would look
impressive and be perfectly useless. Not even showmen. Playthings.
The chief radio operator nodded at the Caliph: the section commander was in
position, ensuring that the barracked soldiers would be undeployable. A member