"Thomas Marcinko - The Nixon Wrangler's Tale" - читать интересную книгу автора (Marcinko Thomas)

course. You had to expect that. The odor of after-shave filled the
southern hemisphere.
Marjorie crawled onto the nixon's lap. They kissed, not chastely. "That
should do the trick," she said, smiling as she broke the embrace.
Then I knew. And they saw the daughters of men that they were fair; and
they took them wives of all which they chose . . . Genesis 6:2, more or
less.
It licked its lips. "I designed the organism to transmit itself through
multiple vectors. It's a sort of kissing disease, among other things.
Highly contagious. Character in a virus."
Then it turned to me. Its warm stiff nose accordioned against my cheek. I
couldn't help it. I want it on the record, that I had no choice. I tried
to pull away. But the taser.
I spluttered and spit after the nixon, not satisfied with the daughters of
men, took its tongue out of my mouth. It was rough like a cat's. It tasted
of after-shave. I wiped my mouth again, and the wet red mark left by the
nose.
"Why tell me?"
"We're very much alike, you and I."
Old buttoning replied before I could think of my own answer. "I'm nothing
like you!"
"Both of us are aberrations: You, an honest cop, even without ethics '17ed
into you. Me, a fleshkon with free will. Freaks."
"No!"
"You: sins of the father. Me: I didn't ask to be richard nixon."
"Stop!"
"We're both buttoned," it went on. "You with police ethics, me with the
exhibitionist's need for an audience that'll appreciate my fiendish plan."

Marjorie said, "It's time to go, richard."
The nixon looked at her with regret. "Y'know, I meant to have lots of sex
with you. Good wholesome American sex. The kind of sex that made this
country great. We managed to unbutton your police conscience; I wish we'd
done the same with your emotions."
"We can't afford sentiment," she said. "If they catch you they might cure
you."
It kissed Marjorie one last time. It popped the hatch and climbed onto the
flyer's running board. "To the bottom of the food chain!" It sounded like
a battle cry. I twisted the flyer's wheel to force the milhous to topple
back into the cockpit, but it braced itself against the hatch. It raised
its hands high over its head and showed the double V-sign to the trackless
gray ocean before it jumped. We heard the explosion and Marjorie shut the
hatch.
I put the flyer on autopilot. "There's got to be a vaccine for that
microbe," I ventured at last.
"Before you even think about going public, watch this." She flipped open
her pocket computer. It played a holo of unspeakable things being done by
and to marilyns and dianas and even to cobains. A three-ring sick-sex
circus, starring me.
"This never happened," I said. "Even if it did, it's not admissible in a