"MacLean, Alistair - The Golden Rendezvous" - читать интересную книгу автора (Maclean Alistair)

a smooth red face that no amount of sun could ever tan, and a clear blue
eye that- no amount of whisky could ever dim. He looked at the
quayside, the hold, and then at me, all with the same impartial
disfavour. "Well, Mister," he said heavily. "How's it going? Miss
Beresford giving you a hand, eh?" when he was in a bad mood, it was
invariably "Mister"; in a neutral mood, it was "First"; and when in a
good temper-which, to be fair, was most of the time it was always
"Johnny-me-boy." but to-day it was "Mister." I took my guard
accordingly and ignored the implied reproof of time-wasting. He would
be gruffly apologetic the next day. He always was. "Not too bad, sir.
Bit slow on the dockside." I nodded to where a group of men, some
bearded, all wearing denim trousers and vaguely military-looking shirts,
were struggling to attach chain slings to a crate that must have been at
least eighteen feet in length by six square. "I don't think the
Carracio stevedores are accustomed to handling such heavy lifts." he
took a good look. "They couldn't handle a damned wheelbarrow," he
snapped eventually. "Never seen such fumble-handed incompetence in my
blasted life. First time in this stinking flea-ridden hellhole -
Carracio was actually one of the cleanest and most picturesquely
beautiful ports in the caribbean"and I hope to heaven it's the last.
Can you manage it by six, Mister?" six o'clock was an hour past the top
of the tide, and we had to clear the harbour -entrance sand bar by then
or wait another ten hours. "I think so, sir," and then, to take his
mind off his troubles, and also because I was curious, I asked, "what
are in those crates? motorcars?"
"Motorcars? are you mad?" his cold blue eye swept over the
whitewashed jumble of the little town and the dark green of the steeply
rising forested hills behind. "This lot couldn't build a rabbit hutch
for export, far less a motorcar. Machinery. So the bills of lading
say. Dynamos, generators, refrigerating, air-conditioning, and
refueling machinery. For New York."
"Do you mean to tell me," I said, carefully, "that the
generalIssimo, having successfully completed the confiscation of all the
American sugar-refining mills, is now dismantling them and selling the
machinery back to the Americans? barefaced theft like that?"
"Jetty larceny on the part of the individual is theft," captain
Bullen said morosely. "When governments engage in grand larceny, it's
economics. But, it'll be all perfectly legal, i've no doubt, but it
still doesn't make me feel less of a contraband runner. But if we don't
do it, someone else will. And the freight rate's double the normal."
"Which makes the generalIssimo and his government pretty desperate for
money?"
"What do you think?" Bullen growled. "No one knows how many were
killed in the capital and a dozen other towns in Tuesday's hunger riots.
Jamaican authorities reckon the number in hundreds. Since they turfed
out most foreigners and closed down or confiscated nearly all foreign
businesses they haven't been able to earn a penny abroad. The coffers
of the revolution are as empty as a drum. Ban's completely desperate
for money." he turned away and stood staring over the harbour, big
hands wide-spaced on the guardrail, his back ramrod-stiff. He seemed in