"Alistair MacLean - Time Of The Assassins" - читать интересную книгу автора (Maclean Alistair)

'Thanks,' Graham said, forcing a quick smile.

'I was real sorry to hear about what happened to your family, Mike - '

'I'll be over there,' Graham cut in sharply and indicated an empty table in the corner of the room. 'Tell Russell when he gets here.'

'Sure,' Jenkins replied but Graham had already gone. He shrugged then turned his attention to a new customer at the other end of the counter.

Graham crossed to the table and sat down. He was thirty-eight years old with a youthfully handsome face, tousled auburn hair that hung untidily over the

collar of his open-necked white shirt and a sturdy, muscular physique which he kept in shape with a daily five-kilometre run followed by a punishing workout in his own private gymnasium.

He had been with UN AGO for two years and, despite his maverick tendencies, he was widely regarded by his peers as the best field operative in the organization. It hadn't always been that way. He was the first to admit that he had been psychologically screwed-up when he joined them after eleven years with the elite American anti-terrorist squad, Delta - a state of mind that had come about as a result of his last Delta mission. The mission had been to penetrate a terrorist base in Libya and eliminate all personnel, which included Salim Al-Makesh, an advisor to the Black June, a movement founded by Abu Nidal in 1976 in protest at the involvement of Syria in the Lebanese civil war, and Jean-Jacques Bernard, a senior member of the Popular Front for the Liberation of Palestine. He was about to give the order to advance when news reached him that his wife and five-year-old son had been abducted by three masked men outside their apartment in New York. The men spoke Arabic, v It had been an attempt to force him to withdraw. He refused and although the base was destroyed, Al-Makesh and Bernard managed to escape. The FBI immediately launched a nation-wide hunt for his family but no trace of them was ever found.

A month later Al-Makesh was killed by Israeli commandos at his home in Damascus. Bernard went into hiding and was only heard of again when news reached the Israeli Mossad that he had been assassin-

ated in a car-bomb attack in Beirut. The information had come from a reliable source and they had no reason to doubt it. Graham remained unconvinced. It had been too easy. Then, the previous day, he received a telephone call that vindicated his years of scepticism...

Laidlaw entered the bar, looked around slowly, then crossed to where Graham was sitting. Graham could hardly believe how much Laidlaw had changed since he had last seen him when they were both still with Delta. Laidlaw had always been the unit's fitness fanatic, pushing himself to the limit to keep his lean, muscular body in shape. And he had always been so meticulous about his appearance, almost to the point of vanity. Now he was overweight with a bloated, unshaven face and his unwashed brown hair fell untidily onto his hunched shoulders.

Graham rose to his feet and shook Laidlaw's extended hand. The grip was still firm. He indicated the chair opposite and sat down again.

'I'm just going to get myself a beer. I won't be a moment,' Laidlaw said, indicating the counter behind him.

Graham pushed his untouched bottle across the table. 'Have this one. I don't want it.'

Laidlaw picked up the bottle then pulled out the chair and sat down. 'You're looking well, Mike,' he said at length.

'You're not,' Graham replied bluntly. 'Christ, Russ, what the hell's happened to you?'

Laidlaw poured out his beer then sat back and exhaled deeply. 'It's a long story, Mike. I'll tell you

about it sometime.' He drank a mouthful of beer then placed the glass on the table. 'How was the flight from New York?'

'Fine,' Graham replied brusquely then sat forward, his arms resting on the table. 'Have you found out any more about Bernard?'

Laidlaw shook his head. 'Nothing came of the enquiries I made this morning. I did see him, Mike. He's changed, though. The beard and long hair have gone. I had to take a long, hard look at him before I was sure. But it was him, I'd stake my life on it.'

'I wouldn't be here if I didn't believe you,' Graham replied softly. 'So what's our next move?'

'Barak.'

Graham frowned. 'Nazar Barak?'

Laidlaw nodded. 'He's the best informer Delta's ever had in Beirut. I still see him about. If anyone knows where Bernard is, then it'll be Barak.'

'Why didn't you speak to him this morning?'

Laidlaw drank another mouthful of beer. 'You try pinning him down at such short notice. He'll be at home tonight about nine. I have that from a reliable source.'