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

УYes, for now.Ф Humes-Talbot was aware the old chauffeur had been supplied from the secret serviceТs pool of drivers, but there was no need to let him know more than was absolutely necessary. Mallory nodded, an obedient servant, and cut the engine and headlamps. УMajor?Ф Humes-Talbot motioned toward the house.
The two officers walked from the car through the biting sleet, their shoulders hunched in their overcoats. At the top of three stone steps was a scarred oak door with a green bronze knocker: an animal of some kind, with a bone clenched in its teeth. Humes-Talbot lifted the bone and the beastТs fanged lower jaw rose with it. He knocked against the door and waited, beginning to shiver.
A bolt scraped back. Shackleton felt his gut bubble from the witchТs brew in the Mutton Chop. And then the door opened on oiled hinges, and a dark-haired man stood outlined in light. УCome in,Ф Michael Gallatin said.


3


The house was warm. It had oiled oak floors, and in a high-roofed, timber-beamed den a fire blazed in a hearth of rough white rock. After Captain Humes-Talbot had given Michael the letter of introduction signed by Colonel Valentine Vivian of the УLondon Passport Control Office,Ф Shackleton walked directly to the fireplace to warm his ruddy hands.
УHell of a time gettinТ here,Ф Shackleton growled, working his fingers. УYou couldnТt have picked a more desolate place, could you?Ф
УI couldnТt find one,Ф Michael said quietly, reading the letter. УIf IТd wanted to entertain unannounced visitors, IТd have bought a house in London.Ф
Shackleton got the blood stinging in his hands again and turned to get a better examination of the man heТd come so far to meet.
Michael Gallatin was wearing a black sweater, the sleeves pushed up on his forearms, and faded, well-used khaki trousers. On his feet were scuffed brown loafers. His thick black hair, streaked with gray at the temples, was shorn in a military style, short on the sides and back. On his face was the dark grizzle of perhaps two or three days without a razorТs touch. There was a scar on his left cheek that started just under the eye and continued back into the hairline. A blade scar, Shackleton thought. Close call, too. Well, so Gallatin had had some experience in hand-to-hand combat. So what? Shackleton guessed the manТs height at around six-two, maybe a quarter of an inch more or less, and his weight at around one-ninety or one-ninety-five. Gallatin looked fit, a broad-shouldered athletic type, maybe a football player, or rugby or whatever the limeys called it. There was a quiet power about the man, like a heavy spring that had been crushed down and was on the edge of explosion. Still, that didnТt make him ready for a mission into Nazi-occupied France. Gallatin needed sun; he had the pallor of hibernation about him, probably hadnТt seen a bright sun in six months. Hell, there probably hadnТt been anything but murky gloom in this damned country all winter. But winter was on its last legs now, and the spring equinoxЧMarch 21Чwas only two days away.
УDo you know youТve got wolves on your land?Ф Shackleton asked him.
УYes,Ф Michael said, and folded the letter up when heТd finished. It had been a long time since heТd had a communication from Colonel Vivian. This must be important.
УI wouldnТt go out walkinТ if I were you,Ф Shackleton went on. He reached into the inside pocket of his coat, brought out a cigar, and cut its end with a small clipper. Then he struck a match on the white stones of the hearth. УThose big bastards like meat.Ф
УTheyТre bitches.Ф Michael slipped the letter into his pocket.
УWhatever.Ф Shackleton lit the cigar, drew deeply on it, and plumed out blue smoke. УYou want to have a little action, you ought to get yourself a rifle and go wolf huntinТ. You do know how to use a rifle, donТtЧФ
He stopped speaking, because suddenly Michael Gallatin was right there in his face, and the manТs pale green eyes froze him to the bone.
MichaelТs hand came up, grasped the cigar, and pulled it from between the other manТs teeth. He broke it in half and tossed it into the fire. УMajor Shackleton,Ф he said, with the trace of a Russian accent softened by cool British gentility, Уthis is my home. YouТll ask my permission to smoke here. And when you ask, IТll say no. Do we understand each other?Ф
Shackleton sputtered, his face reddening. УThat wasЕ that was a fifty-cent cigar!Ф
УIt puts out half-cent fumes,Ф Michael told him, stared into the manТs eyes for a few seconds longer to make certain his message was clear, and then turned his attention to the young captain. УIТm retired. ThatТs my answer.Ф
УButЕ sirЕ you havenТt heard what we came to say yet!Ф
УI can guess.Ф Michael walked to the bay windows and looked out at the dark line of the woods. He had smelled his reserve stock of old whiskey wafting from ShackletonТs skin, and smiled slightly, knowing how the AmericanЧused to bland liquorЧmust have reacted. Good for Maureen at the Mutton Chop. УThereТs a cooperative venture under way between the alliances. If this wasnТt important to the Americans, the major wouldnТt be here. IТve been listening to the cross-Channel radio traffic on my shortwave. All those codes, things about flowers for Rudy and violins needing to be tuned. I canТt understand all the messages, but I understand the sounds of the voices: great excitement, and a lot of fear. I say that adds up to an imminent invasion of the Atlantic Wall.Ф He looked at Humes-Talbot, who hadnТt moved or taken off his wet overcoat. УWithin three to four months, IТd guess. When summer smooths the Channel. IТm sure neither Mr. Churchill nor Mr. Roosevelt cares to land an army of seasick soldiers on HitlerТs beaches. So sometime in June or July would be correct. August would be too late; the Americans would have to fight eastward during the worst of the winter. If they take their landing zones in June, theyТll be able to construct their supply lines and dig into their defensive positions on the border of Germany by the first snowfall.Ф He lifted his eyebrows. УAm I close?Ф
Shackleton let the breath hiss from between his teeth. УYou sure this guyТs on our side?Ф he asked Humes-Talbot.
УLet me conjecture a bit further,Ф Michael said, his gaze ticking toward the young captain and then back to Shackle-ton. УTo be successful, a cross-Channel invasion would have to be preceded by a disruption of German communications, detonation of ammunition and fuel dumps, and a general atmosphere of hell on earth. But a quiet hell, with cool flames. I expect the networks of partisans will have a busy night blowing up railroad tracks, and maybe thereТs a place in the scheme for the Americans, too. A paratroop assault would sow the kind of discord behind the lines that might keep the Germans running in a dozen directions at the same time.Ф Michael walked to the fireplace, beside the major, and offered his palms to the heat. УI expect that what you want me to do has a bearing on the invasion. Of course I donТt know where itТll be, or exactly when, and I donТt want that information. Another thing you must realize is that the Nazi high command certainly suspects an invasion attempt within the next five months. With the Soviets fighting in from the east, the Germans know the time is ripeЧat least from the alliance point of viewЧfor an attack from the west.Ф He rubbed his hands together. УI hope my conclusions arenТt too much off the mark?Ф
УNo sir,Ф Humes-Talbot admitted. УThey hit the bullТs-eye.Ф
Michael nodded, and Shackleton said, УDo you have somebody spyinТ for you in London?Ф
УI have my eyes, my ears, and my brain. ThatТs all I need.Ф
УSir?Ф Humes-Talbot had been standing almost at attention, and now he let his back loosen and took a step forward. УCan weЕ at least brief you on what the mission involves?Ф
УYouТd be wasting your time and the majorТs. As I said, IТm retired.Ф
УRetired? After one lousy field assignment in North Africa?Ф Shackleton made an unpleasant noise with his lips. УSo you were a hero during the battle for El Alamein, right?Ф HeТd read GallatinТs service record during his trip from Washington. УYou got into a Nazi commanderТs HQ and stole deployment maps? Big damned squat! Unless youТve missed the point, Major, the warТs still going on. And if we donТt get a foothold in Europe in the summer of forty-four, we might find our asses washed out to sea for a long time before we can make another try.Ф
УMajor Shackleton?Ф Michael turned toward him, and the intensity of his glare made the major think he was peering into the green-tinted windows of a blast furnace. УYou wonТt mention North Africa again,Ф he said quietly, but with dangerous meaning. УIЕ failed a friend.Ф He blinked; the blast-furnace glare dimmed for a second, then came back full force. УNorth Africa is a closed subject.Ф
Damn the man! Shackleton thought. If he could, heТd stomp Gallatin into the floor. УI just meantЧФ
УI donТt care what you meant.Ф Michael looked at Humes-Talbot, the captain eager to get on with the briefing, and then Michael sighed and said, УAll right. LetТs hear it.Ф
УYes, sir. May I?Ф He paused, about to shrug off his overcoat. Michael motioned for him to go ahead, and as the two officers took off their coats Michael walked to a high-backed black leather chair and sat down facing the flames.
УItТs a security problem, really,Ф Humes-Talbot said, coming around so he could gauge Major GallatinТs expression. It was one of profound disinterest. УOf course youТre correct; it does involve the invasion plans. We and the Americans are trying to clean up all the loose ends before the first of June. Getting agents out of France and Holland, for instance, whose security might be compromised. ThereТs an American agent in ParisЧФ
УAdamТs his code name,Ф Shackleton interrupted.
УParis is no longer a garden of Eden,Ф Michael said, lacing his fingers together. УNot with all those Nazi serpents crawling around in it.Ф
УRight,Ф the major went on, taking the reins. УAnyway, your intelligence boys got a coded message from Adam a little more than two weeks ago. He said thereТs something big in the works, something he didnТt have all the details on yet. But he said that whatever it is, itТs under multilayered security. He got wind of it from an artist in Berlin, a guy named Theo von Frankewitz.Ф
УWait.Ф Michael leaned forward, and Humes-Talbot saw the glint of concentration in his eyes, like the shine of sword metal. УAn artist? Why an artist?Ф
УI donТt know. We canТt dig up any information on Von Frankewitz. So anyway, Adam sent another message eight days ago. It was only a couple of lines long. He said he was beinТ watched, and he had information that had to be brought out of France by personal courier. He had to end the transmission before he could go into detail.Ф
УThe Gestapo?Ф Michael glanced at Humes-Talbot.
УOur informants donТt indicate that the Gestapo has Adam,Ф the younger man said. УWe think they know heТs one of ours, and have him under constant surveillance. TheyТre probably hoping heТll lead them to other agents.Ф
УSo no one else can find out what this information is and bring it out?Ф
УNo sir. Someone from the outside has to go in.Ф
УAnd theyТre monitoring his radio set, of course. Or maybe they found it and smashed it.Ф Michael frowned, watching the oakwood burn. УWhy an artist?Ф he asked again. УWhat would an artist know about military secrets?Ф
УWe have no idea,Ф Humes-Talbot said. УYou see our predicament.Ф
УWeТve got to find out what the hellТs going on,Ф Shackleton spoke up. УThe first wave of the invasion will be almost two hundred thousand soldiers. By ninety days after D day, weТre planninТ on having more than one million boys over there to kick HitlerТs ass. WeТre riskinТ the whole shootinТ match on one dayЧone turn of a cardЧand weТd sure better know whatТs in the NazisТ hand.Ф
УDeath,Ф Michael said, and neither of the other two men spoke.