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

It was after two oТclock in the morning when Camille heard a knock at her door. She sat up in her bed, instantly alert, reached under her pillow, and pulled out the deadly Walther pistol. She listened; the knock came again, more insistently. Not the Gestapo, she reasoned; they knocked with axes, not knuckles. But she took the pistol with her as she lit an oil lamp and went to the door in her long white gown. She almost bumped into Mouse, the little man standing wide-eyed and frightened in the hallway. She put a finger to her lips as he started to speak, and then she walked past him to the door. What a damnable mess! she thought angrily. SheТd barely gotten the sorrow-racked girl to sleep twenty minutes before, the fool Brit had gotten both himself and Adam killed, and now she was stuck with a Nazi lunatic! Only a miracle could save this situation, and Joan of Arc was dust.
УWho is it?Ф Camille asked, making herself sound sleepy. Her heart pounded, and her finger hugged the trigger.
УGreen Eyes,Ф said the man on the other side.
No hand in Paris had ever moved faster to unlock a door.
Michael stood there, hollow-eyed, his jaw and chin in need of a shave. He wore a pair of brown corduory trousers that were two sizes too small, and a white shirt meant for a fat man. On his feet he wore dark blue socks, but no shoes. He stepped into the apartment, past Camille, who stood openmouthed. Mouse made a choking sound. Michael closed the door gently behind him and locked it. УMission,Ф he said, Уaccomplished.Ф
УOh,Ф someone said: a rush of breath. Gaby stood in the bedroom doorway, her face pale and her eyes rimmed with red. She still wore her new blue dress, now misshapen and full of wrinkles. УYouЕ died. I watched youЕ take the pill.Ф
УIt didnТt work,Ф Michael said. He walked past them, his muscles sore and stretched, and his head throbbing with a dull ache: all aftereffects of the change. He went to a bowl of water in the kitchen and splashed his face, then took an apple and crunched into it. Camille, Gaby and Mouse followed him like three shadows. УI got the information,Ф he said as his teeth whittled the apple down to its core; it also served to clean his teeth and get out the last of the crusted blood. УBut it wasnТt enough.Ф He looked at Camille, his green eyes shining in the lamp glow. УI promised Mouse IТd take him to Berlin. I have my own reasons for going there as well. Will you help us?Ф
УThe girl said she saw you surrounded by Nazis,Ф Camille told him. УIf the cyanide pill didnТt work, how did you get away from them?Ф Her eyes had narrowed: it was impossible that this man was standing here. Impossible!
He stared at her, unblinking. УI was faster than they were.Ф
She started to speak again, but she wasnТt sure what to say. Where were the clothes heТd left here in? She looked at his stolen trousers and shirt. УI needed a change,Ф he said, in a calm and soothing voice. УThe Germans were after me. I took clothes hanging on a line.Ф
УI donТtЕФ She glanced at his shoeless feet. He finished the apple, tossed the stripped core into a trash basket, and reached for another. УI donТt understand.Ф
Gaby just watched him, her senses still wrecked. Mouse said, УHey! We heard it on the radio! They said a dog got loose in the Opera House and raised hell! We saw it, too! Right up on our car! DidnТt we?Ф he prodded Gaby.
УYes,Ф she answered. УWe did.Ф
УThe information I got tonight,Ф Michael said to Camille, Уhas to be followed up. ItТs vital we get to Berlin as soon as we can. You can help us get there, by arranging the route.Ф
УThisЕ is such short notice. IТm not sure I canЧФ
УYou can,Ф he said. УWeТll need new clothes. Identity cards if you can get them. And itТll have to be arranged for Echo to meet me in Berlin.Ф
УI donТt have the authority toЧФ
УIТm giving you the authority. Mouse and I are going to Berlin, as soon as possible. Check with whoever you want to. Do whatever has to be done. But get us there. Understood?Ф He smiled slightly, showing his teeth.
His smile chilled her. УYes,Ф she said. УUnderstood.Ф
УWait. What about me?Ф Gaby finally shook off her shock. She came forward and touched MichaelТs shoulder to make sure he was real. He was; her hand gripped his arm. УIТm going to Berlin with you.Ф
He looked into her beautiful eyes, and his smile softened. УNo,Ф he said gently. УYouТre going west, back where you know your job and you do a damned fine one.Ф She started to protest, but Michael put a finger to her lips. УYouТve done your best for me. But you wouldnТt survive east of Paris, and I canТt be your guardian.Ф He realized the nail of the finger pressed against GabyТs mouth had blood crusted under it; he took it quickly away. УThe only reason IТm taking him with me is because I made a bargain.Ф
УYes, you sure did!Ф Mouse piped up.
УAnd IТll honor it. But I work best alone. Do you see?Ф he asked Gaby.
Of course she didnТt. Not yet. But she would see, in the fullness of time; when this war was over, and she was an older woman with children and her own vineyard where German tank treads once tore the earth, sheТd see. And be glad that Michael Gallatin had given her a future.
УWhen can we leave?Ф Michael turned his attention to Camille, whose brain was already working feverishly on the possible routes from Paris to the diseased heart of the Reich.
УA week. ThatТs the soonest I can get you out.Ф
УFour days,Ф he told her, and he waited until she sighed and nodded.
Home! Mouse thought, giddy with excitement. IТm going home!
Damnedest mess IТve ever been in in my life, Camille thought. Gaby was split; she yearned for the man who stood before herЧreturned miraculously from deathЧbut she loved her country more. Michael had two thoughts. One was of Berlin, and the other was a phrase, a key to a mystery: Iron Fist.
In the bedroom, as the candles burned low, Gaby lay on the goosedown mattress. Michael leaned over her, and kissed her lips. They sealed to each other with moist heat for a momentЧand then Michael chose the cot, and lay down to ponder the future.
Gaby reached for his hand, and he took hers.
The night went on, and dawn broke with crimson fire.


SIX
Berserker


1

My hand! Mikhail thought, panicked, as he sat up on his bed of hay. WhatТs wrong with my hand?
In the gloom of the white palaceТs depths, he could feel his right hand throb and burn, as if liquid fire ran through the veins instead of blood. The pain that had awakened him grew, running up his arm to his shoulder. His fingers were twisting, contorting, and Mikhail clenched his teeth to hold back a scream. He gripped his wrist as his fingers spasmed open and clenched closed; he heard little frail popping sounds, and each one drove a new dagger of agony into him. His face began to sweat. He dared not cry out, for the others would mock him. In another few torturous seconds his hand became gnarled and deformed, a freakish dark thing on the end of his white, pulsing wrist. He ached to shriek, but all his throat would allow was a whimper. Bands of black hair rose from his flesh, and they entwined around MikhailТs wrist and forearm like sleek ribbons. His fingers were retreating into their sockets, with crunching noises as the knuckles changed shape. Mikhail gasped, near fainting; his hand was covered with black hair, and where his fingers had been there were curved talons and soft, pink pads. The tide of black hair flowed up his forearm, lapped over his elbow, and Mikhail knew that in another instant he must get up and run screaming for Renati.
But the instant passed, and he didnТt move. The black hair rippled, began to draw back into flesh with raw, needling pain, and his fingers cracked again and lengthened. The curved talons drew into his skin, leaving the remains of human fingernails. The hand resurfaced, moon pale, and his fingers hung like strange pieces of meat. The pain ebbed, then went away. All of it had lasted perhaps fifteen seconds.
Mikhail drew a breath, and almost sobbed.
УThe change,Ф Wiktor said, sitting on his haunches about seven feet to the boyТs left. УItТs coming on you.Ф Two large hares, oozing blood, lay on the stones beside him.
Mikhail jumped, startled. WiktorТs voice instantly awakened Nikita, Franco, and Alekza, whoТd been curled up nearby. Pauli, her wits still sluggish from BelyiТs death, stirred on her hay pallet and opened her eyes. Behind Wiktor stood Renati, who had been watching faithfully for him for three days, ever since heТd gone on the track of whatever had killed PauliТs brother. Wiktor stood up, regal in his snow-crusted robes, the weathered lines and cracks in his bearded face glistening with melted snow. The fire had burned very low, and was chewing on the last of the pine knots. УWhile you sleep,Ф he told them, Уdeath is in the forest.Ф
Wiktor circled them, his breath ghosting in the chilly air. The haresТ blood was already growing frost. УA berserker,Ф he said.
УA what?Ф Franco stood up, reluctantly parting from AlekzaТs pregnant warmth.
УA berserker,Ф Wiktor repeated. УA wolf that kills for the love of killing. ThatТs what slaughtered Belyi.Ф He glanced at Pauli with his amber eyes; she was still drugged with sorrow, and quite useless. УA wolf who kills for the love of killing,Ф he said. УI found his tracks, about two miles north of here. HeТs a big bastard, weighs maybe a hundred and eighty pounds. He was going north at a steady pace, so I followed him.Ф Wiktor knelt down by the feeble fire and wanned his hands. His face was washed with flickering crimson. УHeТs a smart one. Somehow he picked up my scent, and I was careful to keep the wind in my face, too. He wasnТt about to let me find his den; he led through a swampЧand I almost fell through a place where heТd cracked the ice to go out from under me.Ф He smiled faintly, watching the fire. УIf I hadnТt smelled his piss on the ice, IТd be dead by now. I know heТs a red one; I found some of his hair snagged on thorns. ThatТs as close as I got.Ф He rubbed his hands together, massaging the bruised knuckles, and stood up. УHis hunting groundТs getting thin. He wants ours. He knows heТll have to kill us to get it.Ф He swept his gaze around the circle of his pack. УFrom now on, no one goes out alone. Not even for a handful of snow. WeТll hunt in pairs, and weТll make damned certain we stay in sight of each other. Understood?Ф He waited until Nikita, Renati, Franco, and Alekza had nodded. Pauli was still dazed, her long brown hair full of bits of hay. Wiktor looked at Mikhail. УUnderstood?Ф he repeated.