"McCammon, Robert R. - The Wolf's Hour" - читать интересную книгу автора (McCammon Robert R)

Michael sipped the harsh, strong wine and studied the map. УAdam goes to work and comes back along this same route every day?Ф he asked.
УYes. I can give you a timetable if you need it.Ф
УI will.Ф MichaelТs gaze followed the path of intersecting streets. УWe must reach Adam while heТs walking either to work or to his apartment,Ф he decided.
УForget it.Ф McCarren sloshed a little more wine into his glass. УWeТve thought of that already. We were planninТ on pullinТ up in a car, shootinТ the Gestapo bastards down, and gettinТ him the hell out of there, butЧФ
УBut,Ф Michael interrupted, Уyou realized Adam would be shot first if any other Gestapo men besides these two were trailing him, and youТd never get him out of Paris alive even if he did survive the pickup. In addition, whoever was in that car would most likely be riddled with bullets or captured by the Gestapo, which would not be very good for the underground. Correct?Ф
УMore or less,Ф McCarren said, with a shrug of his massive shoulders.
УSo how can Adam be contacted on the street?Ф Gaby asked. УAnyone who even stops him for a few seconds would be picked up immediately.Ф
УI donТt know,Ф Michael admitted. УBut it seems to me weТve got to do this in two steps. First we must alert Adam that someoneТs come to help him. The second step is getting him out, which may beЕФ he grunted softly. УTricky.Ф
УRight-o,Ф McCarren said. He had dismissed his glass and was swigging the Burgundy from the bottle. УThatТs what me and me mates in the Black Watch regiment said at Dunkirk four years ago, when the Nazis backed us up against the coast. We said itТd be a trick to get out, but we were gonna do it, by God.Ф He smiled bitterly. УWell, most of Тem are lyinТ six feet under, and IТm still in France.Ф He swigged again, then thunked the bottle back down on the table. УWeТve pondered this thing over a lot of different ways, my friend. Anybody who goes after Adam is gonna get nabbed by the Gestapo. Period.Ф
УYou have a picture of him, of course,Ф Michael said. Gaby opened another file folder and presented him with black-and-white photographsЧfront face and profile shots, the kind of pictures on identity cardsЧof an unsmiling, slender blond man in his midforties, with a wan, washed-out appearance and round wire-framed spectacles. Adam was the type of man who blended into white wallpaper, no distinguishing marks, no personality in his expression, nothing but a face you would usually forget after seeing it. An accountant, Michael thought. Or a bank teller. Michael scanned the typed dossier, written in French, of the agent code-named Adam. Five feet ten inches tall. A hundred and thirty-six pounds. Ambidextrous. Interests include collecting stamps, gardening, and opera. Relatives in Berlin. One sister inЕ
Michael glanced back at one word: opera. УAdam attends the Paris opera?Ф he asked.
УAll the time,Ф McCarren answered. УHe doesnТt have a lot of money, but he spends most of it on that caterwaulinТ nonsense.Ф
УHe shares a box at the opera house with two other men,Ф Gaby said, beginning to see what Michael was driving toward. УWe can find the exact box, if you like.Ф
УCould we get a message to either of AdamТs friends?Ф
She thought about that for a moment, then shook her head. УNo. Too risky. As far as we know, theyТre not his friends, just civil service employees who rent the box with him. Either one of them might be working for the Gestapo.Ф
Michael returned his attention to the photographs of Adam and made sure he knew every inch of that bland, expressionless face. Behind it, he thought, something very important was locked away. He could smell that now, as surely as he could smell the Burgundy on Pearly McCarrenТs breath and the musky scent of gunsmoke on GabyТs skin. УIТll find a way to get to him,Ф Michael said.
УIn broad daylight?Ф McCarren lifted his shaggy, flame-colored eyebrows. УWith the Nazis watchinТ?Ф
УYes,Ф Michael answered, with authority. He held McCarrenТs gaze for a few seconds, and the Scotsman grunted and looked away. How he was going to fulfill his mission, Michael didnТt know yet, but there had to be a way. He hadnТt jumped out of a damned airplane, he reasoned, to call it quits just because the situation appeared impossible. УIТll need an identity card and the proper road passes,Ф he said. УI donТt want to be picked up before I get to Paris.Ф
УFollow me.Ф McCarren motioned him through a corridor into another room, where a camera was set up on a tripod and a couple of men were working at a table, carefully inking in the last touches on forged Nazi passes and ID cards. УYouТll get your picture taken and weТll make your cards look well used,Ф McCarren explained. УThe boys here are old hands at this. Come on, through here.Ф He went on into the next chamber, where Michael saw racks of various Nazi uniforms, bolts of field-gray and green cloth, caps and helmets and boots. Three women were busy at sewing machines, stitching on buttons and insignias. УYouТll be a communications officer, in charge of keepinТ the phone lines workinТ. By the time you leave here, youТll know everythinТ about the GermansТ wire systems, and youТll be able to recite your units and their locations in your sleep. ThatТll be two days of intensive study. Also time for the Jerries to settle down upstairs. YouТll go to Paris with a driver. One of my Andres. WeТve got a nice shiny staff car hidden not too far from here. The big chief says you know your German, so startinТ at oh-eight-hundred hours thatТs all youТll be speakinТ.Ф He dug out a pocket watch and flipped it open. УWhich gives you about four hours to wash up and get some sleep. I expect youТll need it.Ф
Michael nodded. Four hours was more than enough sleep for him, and he wanted to get the war paint and dust off his face. УYouТve got a shower down here?Ф
УNot quite.Ф McCarren smiled faintly and glanced at Gaby, who had followed them in. УThis place was built by the Romans, back when Caesar was a big chief. They liked their baths. Gaby, will you take charge of our friend?Ф
УThis way,Ф Gaby said, and started out of the chamber with Michael a few paces behind.
УGaby?Ф McCarren waited until sheТd stopped and looked at him. УYou did a damned fine job out there.Ф
УMerci,Ф she answered, with no hint of pleasure at being praised. Her sapphire-blue eyes, stunning in her dusty, chiseled face, focused on Michael Gallatin. They regarded him with nothing but cool, professional respect. One killer to another, Michael thought. He was glad they were both fighting on the same side. УFollow me,Ф she told him, and he did, through the chilly underground corridors.


3

УThereТs your tub,Ф Gaby told him, and Michael stood looking at a stone vat about fifteen feet across and four feet deep, full of water in which a few dead leaves and grass floated. УHereТs your soap,Ф she said, and tossed him a hard white brick from a wooden rack on which were also several ratty-looking but clean towels. УWe just put the water in a couple of days ago.Ф She motioned toward a large stone spout that emerged from the wall over the vat. УI hope you donТt mind bathing in water thatТs already been used.Ф
He put on the best smile he could manage. УAs long as thatТs all itТs been used for.Ф
УNo, weТve got somewhere else for that.Ф
УThe comforts of home,Ф Michael said, and suddenly Gaby pulled off her dusty sweater and began to unbutton her blouse. He watched her undress, not knowing how to respond, and she looked at him as she took her blouse off and her bra was exposed. УI hope you donТt mind,Ф she said, without pausing as she reached back and unhooked her bra. УIТve got to wash, too.Ф The bra fell away, and her breasts were in full view.
УOh no,Ф Michael said. УI donТt mind at all.Ф
УIТm glad. Even if you did, it wouldnТt matter. Some men areЕ you knowЕ shy about bathing with women.Ф She took off her boots and socks, and began to unzip her slacks.
УI canТt imagine,Ф Michael answered, more to himself than her. He took off his cap and unbuttoned his jumpsuit. Without hesitating, Gaby removed the last of her underwear and, totally naked, walked to a set of stone steps leading down into the water. She descended them, and Michael heard her catch her breath as the water crept up her thighs and reached her stomach. Spring water, he thought. Drawn through an ancient Roman system of pipes into what served as a communal bath, possibly in a temple of some kind. Gaby took the last step, the water just over her breasts, and finally released the air sheТd been hoarding. It was chilly enough down here without wet skin, but he didnТt care to go to Paris without bathing for the next two days. He stepped out of his underwear and walked down the steps. The cold water shocked first his ankles, then his knees, thenЕ well, it was an experience he was not likely to forget.
УBracing,Ф Michael said, with gritted teeth.
УIТm impressed. You must be used to cold baths, yes?Ф Before he could answer, she walked to the center of the pool and ducked her head under. She came up quickly, and pushed her thick black hair back from her face. УThe soap, please?Ф She caught it when he tossed it to her, and began to lather her hair. The soap smelled of tallow and oatmeal, definitely not a brand bought in a Parisian boutique. УYou thought fast back at Bazancourt,Ф she told him.
УNot particularly. I just took advantage of an opportunity.Ф He ducked down to his neck in the water, trying to get accustomed to the chill.
УDo you do that often?Ф she asked, her hair dripping suds. УTake advantage of opportunities?Ф
УItТs the only way I know.Ф The wolfТs way, he thought. One took what was offered.
Gaby soaped her arms, shoulders, and breasts, her movements fast and efficient instead of slowly seductive. Nothing was being offered here, Michael thought. Gaby was simply getting a job done. She seemed to be totally unconcerned about the fact that her tight, supple body was less than seven feet away from him, and that lack of concernЧher confidence that she could deal with whatever problem that aroseЧintrigued him. But the chill water permitted only twitches, no arousal. Michael watched as she soaped as much of her back as she could reach; she didnТt ask him to do the rest. Then she lathered her face, ducked underwater again, and came up rosy-cheeked. She tossed him the soap. УYour turn.Ф
Michael scrubbed the camouflage paint off his face. The harsh soap stung his skin. УThe lights,Ф he said, and nodded toward the two bulbs that hung on wires at the wall. УHow do you get electricity down here?Ф
УWeТve spliced into the lines that feed a chateau about two miles away,Ф Gaby said. She smiled faintly, suds still in her hair. УThe Nazis are using it as a command post.Ф She rinsed her hair once more, getting the rest of the soap out; the suds floated around her like garlands of lace. УWe donТt use the electricity except between midnight and five A.M., and we donТt drain enough for them to notice.Ф
УToo bad you donТt have a water heater.Ф Michael doused his head under and wet his hair, then soaped it and washed the grit out of it. He scrubbed his chest, arms, and face again, rinsed himself off, and caught Gaby staring at his uncamouflaged features.
УYouТre not an Englishman,Ф she decided, after a few seconds of studying him without war paint.
УIТm a British citizenЕФ
УPerhaps you areЕ but youТre not English.Ф She stepped closer to him. He smelled the natural fragrance of her clean flesh, and he thought of an apple orchard blooming white under a springtime sun. УI saw a lot of Englishmen, caught by the Germans in 1940. You donТt look like they did.Ф
УAnd how was that?Ф
She shrugged. Came a foot or two nearer. His green eyes could mesmerize her if she let them, so she stared at his mouth. УI donТt know. MaybeЕ as if they were children playing a game. They didnТt realize what they were up against when they tried to fight the Nazis. You lookЕФ She paused, the cold water on her breasts. She tried to articulate what it was she was thinking. УYou look as if youТve been fighting for a very long time.Ф
УI was in North Africa,Ф he said.