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

Michael said, УKeep driving.Ф He settled back in his seat again, waiting.
The motorcycle and sidecar pulled up behind them, perhaps six feet from their bumper. Gaby looked in the rearview mirror and saw the sidecarТs passenger motioning them over. УTheyТre telling us to pull off,Ф she said. УShall I?Ф
Michael paused only a few seconds. УYes.Ф If it wasnТt the right decision, heТd know very soon.
Gaby slowed the Mercedes. The motorcycle and sidecar slowed as well. Then Gaby pulled the heavy car off the road, and the motorcycle came abreast with them before its driver cut the engine. Michael said, УSay nothing,Ф and furiously rolled down his window. The sidecarТs passenger, a lieutenant from the markings on his dusty uniform, was already pulling his long legs out of the vehicle and standing up. Michael stuck his head out the rolled-down window and shouted in German, УWhat the hell are you trying to do, you idiot? Run us off the road?Ф
The lieutenant froze. УNo, sir. IТm sorry, sir,Ф the man babbled as he recognized a colonelТs insignia.
УWell, donТt just stand there! What do you want?Ф MichaelТs hand rested on the LugerТs grip.
УI apologize, sir. Heil Hitler.Ф He made a weak Nazi salute that Michael didnТt even bother to return. УWhere are you going, sir?Ф
УWho wants to know? Lieutenant, are you wishing a tour with a ditch-digging battalion?Ф
УNo, sir!Ф The young manТs face was gaunt and chalky under a mask of dust. The dark goggles gave his eyes a bulging, insectlike appearance. УIТm sorry to interrupt you, sir, but I thought it my dutyЧФ
УYour duty? To what? Act like an ass?Ф Michael was looking for guns. The young lieutenant didnТt have a holster. His weapon was probably in the sidecar. The motorcycleТs driver had no visible weapon, either. So much the better.
УNo, sir.Ф The young man trembled a bit, and Michael felt a little pang of pity for him. УTo warn you that there were air attacks on the road to Amiens before dawn. I didnТt know if youТd heard or not.Ф
УIТve heard,Ф Michael said, deciding to chance it.
УThey got a few supply trucks. Nothing vital,Ф the young lieutenant went on. УBut the wordТs out: with this weather so clear, there are bound to be more air attacks. Your carЕ well, itТs very shiny, sir. A very nice target.Ф
УShall I throw mud on it? Or pig shit?Ф He kept his tone icy.
УNo, sir. I donТt mean to be out of line, sir, butЕ those American fighter planesЕ they swoop down very fast.Ф
Michael stared at him for a moment. The young man stood rigid, like a commoner in the presence of royalty. The boy couldnТt be more than twenty years old, Michael figured. Damn bastards were robbing the cradles now for their cannon fodder. He removed his hand from the Luger. УYes, youТre right, of course. I appreciate your concern, LieutenantЕ?Ф He let it hang.
УKrabell, sir!Ф the young manЧso close to death, without knowing itЧsaid proudly.
УThank you, Lieutenant Krabell. IТll remember the name.Ф It would wind up scrawled on a wooden cross, stuck on a mound of French earth after the invasion swept through, he thought.
УYes, sir. Good day, sir.Ф The young man saluted againЧthe salute of a puppetЧthen returned to his sidecar. The motorcycle driver started the engine, and the vehicle pulled away. УWait,Ф Michael said to Gaby. He let the motorcycle get out of sight, and then he touched GabyТs shoulder. УAll right, letТs go.Ф
She started off again, driving at the same steady speed, frequently checking not only the mirrors but also the sky for a hint of silver that would be diving upon them, machine guns blazing. The Allied fighters commonly strafed the roads, supply dumps, and any troops they could find; on a clear day such as this, it was reasonable to believe the fighters were prowling for targetsЧincluding shiny black German staff cars. Tension knotted her stomach and made her feel slightly sick. They swept past a group of hay wagons, farmers at work, and saw the first sign that pointed to Paris. About four miles east of that sign they came around a curve and found themselves confronted with a roadblock.
УEasy,Ф Michael said quietly. УDonТt slow down too soon.Ф He saw perhaps eight or nine soldiers with rifles and a couple of security officers with machine guns. Again, his hand was on the Luger. He rolled down his window once more and prepared to act indignant.
His acting wasnТt necessary. The two security officers looked at his insignia and the sleek black car and were sufficiently impressed; even more so when they looked at Gaby behind the wheel. A formality, the man in charge said with an apologetic shrug of his shoulders. Of course the colonel knew about the partisan activity in this sector. What could be done about it except to exterminate the rats? If we might see your papers, the security man said, weТll check you through as quickly as possible. Michael grumbled about being delayed for a meeting in Paris and handed his papers over. The two security men looked at them, more as a demonstration that they were doing something than with true attention. If those men worked for the Allies, Michael thought, IТd have them thrown in prison. Perhaps thirty seconds elapsed, and then the papers were returned to him with crisp salutes and he and the pretty frфulein were bidden a good journey to Paris. Gaby drove on as the soldiers moved the wooden barricades aside, and Michael heard her release the breath sheТd been holding.
УTheyТre looking for someone,Ф Michael said when theyТd gotten away from the roadblock, Уbut they donТt know who. They figure whoever parachuted in might want to get to Paris, so theyТve got their watchdogs out. If theyТre all like those two, they might escort us to AdamТs door.Ф
УI wouldnТt count on that.Ф Gaby again checked the sky; no trace of silver. Yet. The road was clear, too, the countryside slightly rolling and dotted with apple orchards and stands of hardwood trees. NapoleonТs country, she thought idly. Her heart wasnТt beating so hard now; getting through the roadblock had been a lot easier then sheТd expected. УWhat about Adam?Ф she asked. УWhat do you think it is heТs trying to get out?Ф
УI havenТt thought.Ф
УOh yes you have.Ф Their eyes met in the mirror. УIТm sure youТve thought about it quite a bit, just as I have. Yes?Ф
This line of conversation was indelicate, and both of them knew it. Shared knowledge was shared pain, if they landed in the hands of the Gestapo. But Gaby was waiting for an answer, and Michael said, УYes.Ф That alone wouldnТt do; Gaby was silent, still waiting. He folded his gloved hands together. УI think AdamТs found something he obviously feels is important enough to risk a lot of lives to get out. My superior thinks so, too, or I wouldnТt be here. And needless to say, your uncle wouldnТt be dead.Ф He saw her flinch just a fraction; she was tough, but not iron-cased. УAdamТs a professional. He knows his business. He also knows that some information is worth dying for, if it means winning this war. Or losing it. Movements of troops and supply convoys we can get anytime, by the radio codes from a dozen agents all over France. This is something that only Adam knows about, and that the GestapoТs clamped the lid on. Which means itТs a hell of a lot more important than the usual messages we get. Or at least Adam thinks it is, or he wouldnТt be calling for help.Ф
УWhat about you?Ф Gaby asked. He lifted his eyebrows, not understanding. УWhat would you die for?Ф Gaby glanced at him again in the mirror, then quickly away.
УI hope I wonТt have to find out.Ф He gave her a hint of a smile, but the question had lodged inside him like a thorn. He was prepared to die for the mission, yes; that was already understood. But that was the reaction of a trained machine, not a man. What, as a manЧor half man, half animalЧwas he prepared to lay down his life for? The human-woven net of politics? Some narrow vision of freedom? Love? Triumph? He explored the question, and found no easy answer.
And suddenly his nerves let go of their chill alarms and he heard Gaby say softly, УOh,Ф because there in front of them on the long straight route to Paris was a roadblock with a dozen armed soldiers, an armored car with a cannon-snout showing, and a black CitrЎen that could only be a Gestapo vehicle.
A soldier with a submachine gun was waving them down. All faces turned toward them. A man in a dark hat and a long beige overcoat stepped into the road, waiting. Gaby hit the brakes, a little too hard. УSteady,Ф Michael said, and as the Mercedes slowed he peeled off his gloves.


2

The man who peered in through the rolled-down window at Michael Gallatin had blue eyes so pale they were almost without color, his face chiseled and handsome in the way of a Nordic athleteЧa skier, Michael thought. Perhaps a javelin thrower, or a long-distance runner. There were fine lines around his eyes, and his blond sideburns were going gray. He wore a dark leather hat with a jaunty red feather in its band. УGood morning, Colonel,Ф he said. УA small inconvenience, I fear. May I see your papers?Ф
УI hope the inconvenience is small,Ф Michael answered icily. The other manТs face kept its thin, polite smile. As Michael reached into his coat for his packet of papers, he saw a soldier take up a position directly on the other side of the car. The soldierТs submachine gun barrel wandered slightly toward the window, and Michael felt a knot of tension clench in his throat. The soldier was staking out his lane of fire; there was no way Michael could pull the Luger from his holster without being shot to tatters.
Gaby kept her hands on the wheel. The Gestapo agent took MichaelТs papers and glanced in at Gaby. УYour papers also, please?Ф
УSheТs my secretary,Ф Michael said.
УOf course. But I must see her papers.Ф He shrugged. УRegulations, you know.Ф
Gaby reached into her coat. She brought out a packet of papers that had been made for her yesterday, when sheТd decided to go to Paris with him. She handed them over with a crisp nod.
УThank you.Ф The Gestapo agent began to inspect the photographs and documents. Michael watched the manТs face. It was a cold face, and it was stamped with a cunning intelligence; this man was no fool, and heТd seen all the tricks. Michael glanced toward the roadside, and saw Lieutenant Krabell and his driver there. The driver was checking the engine as KrabellТs papers were being laboriously examined by another Gestapo agent.
УWhatТs the problem?Ф Michael asked.
УHavenТt you heard?Ф The blond-haired man looked up from his reading, his eyes quizzical.
УIf I had, would I be asking?Ф
УFor a communications officer, youТre certainly out of touch.Ф A brief smile, a hint of square white predatorТs teeth. УBut of course you know there was a parachute drop in this sector three nights ago. The partisans in a village called Bazancourt helped the man escape. There was also a woman involved.Ф His gaze slid toward Gaby. УDo you speak German, my dear?Ф he asked her in French.
УA little,Ф she answered. Her voice was cool, and Michael admired her courage. She looked the man straight in the eyes and didnТt waver. УWhat do you want me to say?Ф
УYour papers speak for you.Ф He continued his inspection, taking his time about it.
УWhatТs your name?Ф Michael decided to take the offensive. УIТd like to know who to lodge my complaint against when we get to Paris.Ф
УJohlmann. Heinz, middle initial R for Richter.Ф The man kept reading, not intimidated in the least. УColonel, whoТs your superior commander?Ф