"Maloney, Mack - Wingman 03 - The Lucifer Campaign UC" - читать интересную книгу автора (Maloney Mack)

"I own that F-16 that just came in," Hunter told him.

The man looked him over. "Aren't you Hawk Huntefl" he said with a surprised look.

Hunter was taken aback slightly. Who the hell knew him way out here?

"Yes," he replied, looking into the older man's steel-black eyes. He was completely bald: a small, tough, a very distinguished-looking Arab. "My name /5 Hunter. I'm from the Pacific American - "

" - from the United States Air Force," the man said, cutting him off knowingly. "And the Thunder-birds. And the Northeast Economic Zone Air Patrol."

Hunter was speechless. He knew he had made somewhat of a name for himself back in America.

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But had news of his exploits carried all the way over to North Africa?

The answer was no. However, a less-than-flatter-ing mug shot of him had made the trip. The man reached inside his desk draw and came out with a bounty poster. It was for Hunter. His old service ID picture was on it, as were these words:

ONE BILLION DOLLARS IN SILVER OR GOLD FOR THE CAPTURE OR PROOF OF DEATH OF HAWK HUNTER, CRIMINAL WANTED BY THE NEW ORDER. COLLECTION POINTS: PARIS, THE BAHAMAS, MOSCOW.

"One billion?" Hunter blurted out. "Christ." He knew The Circle had put a price of a half-billion on his head about a year ago. But a billion? Apparently the New Order had doubled the pot.

This would only mean more trouble for Hunter.

"I could shoot you right now and collect, major," the man said.

Hunter had his M-16 off his shoulder and ready in an instant.

"But I won't," the man quickly added.

"What's the matter? You don't need a billion dollars?" Hunter asked defiantly.

"No, it's because I know who you really are, major," the man said, confidently lighting a long, dark cigarette. He was a native Moroccan. Hunter could tell by his accent. "And I know you're not a criminal."

The man rose, gathered in the silver, and motioned Hunter to a miniscule office at the rear of the control tower. They went inside and the man closed the door, effectively blocking out the noisy confu-

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sion of the air controllers.

"Said el-Fauzi," the man said, introducing himself, extending his hand. "It's an honor to meet you, major."

Hunter shook his hand. "Really? 'An honor'?"

"Yes, major," el-Fauzi said, producing a bottle and pouring out two drinks into miniature, porcelain cups. "I worked with U.S. Naval Intelligence during the war. We -everyone -knew of your F-16 squadron and the big air battles. After the war, the Russians let everyone know that you and your squadron were officially 'war criminals.' That's what you get for kicking their asses."

"But you also knew about the Zone Air Patrol," Hunter said.

"You mean ZAP?" el-Fauzi said. "Oh, we hear a lot of things here, major. All the time."