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

"I think I've seen this movie," Hunter told el-Fauzi.

"We all have." El-Fauzi laughed, jumping out of the open jeep. "That's why they built this place. They were going to film it again!"

They went into the cafe and el-Fauzi hugged the maitre d'. They were soon escorted to the best table. A bottle of champagne appeared out of nowhere. Normally, Hunter would have felt silly. Most of the women present were wearing evening gowns; many of the men were in tuxedos. He was dressed in his flight suit, baseball cap on his head, flight boots on his feet, his helmet dangling from his belt, and the M-16 on his shoulder. Yet no one seemed to notice he wasn't exactly formal.

There were many soldiers there too. Officers mostly, wearing a wide range of dress uniforms, most with flashes of medals on their chests. Each officer appeared to be holding his own personal court with two, three, or four women. Those fancy uniforms did it every time. Most of the officers appeared to be unarmed. But Hunter could see their bodyguards lurking in the shadows, drinking at tables on the periphery of the action.

The air was thick with the smell of incense, hashish, cooking food, and sweet liquor. A beautiful

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young woman was singing on a stage nearby. A courtly black gentleman played a flawlessly moody piano. Again, everything was script-perfect.

El-Fauzi knew half the people who walked by the table, rising and kissing most of them once on each cheek. A waiter appeared, said nothing, and snapped his fingers. A searing rack of lamb materialized an instant later.

Hunter was legitimately hungry, and apparently so was el-Fauzi. The man attacked the piece of smoking meat with vigor. That's all Hunter needed. He started carving off pieces of the lamb for himself.

They sat and ate and drank two bottles of champagne. The band played, people danced. Hunter spent half the time eyeing the many, many beautiful women in the place -the other half wolfing down his meal.

They finished off the lamb in about twenty minutes. The meal cleared away, they sat sipping after-dinner drinks. Suddenly el-Fauzi said, "That's him."

Hunter turned to see a large man, wearing a white suit and a fez, stroll into the cafe and head for a dinner booth near the wall. Within seconds, other dark figures moved toward the booth. Some stopped briefly to whisper something to the large man, then hurried on their way. It was obvious he was some kind of top dog.

"That's the Lord," el-Fauzi told Hunter. "Lord Lard. Very rich. Very powerful. He's big in arms sales. He can get fighters, tanks, SAMs, ammo. He has connections. No one is sure just where. Italy, some say. Some say Sicily or even Sardinia. But he sells to anyone, any side, any leader, any flag. Deals only in gold, no silver."

"And this is the guy who's going to tell me where I can find Viktor?" Hunter asked.

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"If anyone knows, Lard does," el-Fauzi said. El-Fauzi rose and walked over to the man. A second later, he was motioning Hunter to join them.

Hunter squeezed into the man's booth and found a martini sitting in front of him. El-Fauzi whispered something to Lard, then turned to Hunter. "You'll excuse me," he said, with a wink. "There's an old friend of mine-a stewardess-whom I must absolutely buy a drink for. We'll talk later."

El-Fauzi's quick exit seemed designed to leave Hunter and Lard alone.

"So you're the famous criminal, Hawk Hunter," Lard said, a smile wrinkling his plump face. His accent was vaguely British. "What's the asking price for your head these days, major?"

"I understand it keeps going up all the time," Hunter replied.

"Not many criminals will The New Order pay a billion dollars for, Hunter," Lard said, swigging his martini. "A man could buy a country and rent an army with that kind of money."

"Spoken like a true businessman," Hunter told him.

Laud laughed. "But I understand you are not here to fight, Hunter. This surprises me. There are probably more mercenaries per square mile between here and Algeria than anywhere, ever, in history."

"Well, there's never been a shortage of mercenaries," Hunter said. "The world can get along without another one."

"Oh, major, this is no time to stick to your lofty ideals," Lard said. "Do you realize that when this war starts up again, half the troops on both sides will be paid mercenaries? Hundreds of thousands of soldiers, millions of dollars. You, Hunter, alone could make millions, probably hundreds of millions.