"Michael Moorcock - An Evening at Home" - читать интересную книгу автора (Moorcock Michael)

talk of Spanish involvement. The Duce himself had sworn me to secrecy, yet for
reasons of his own he was now prepared to admit that we were building a war
ziggurat. I understood that his lightning mind would sometimes understand
situations and make long-ranging decisions, rather as a first-rate
chess-player sees a whole range of moves open up for him, and had learned to
trust him, as we all did, but it was impossible for me to guess the reason for
this sudden change of policy. I hoped he would eventually illuminate me.

Meanwhile, I stammered something about not having the keys to my document
chest. He gestured expansively. He would drive me round to my house in his own
car. There I could pick up my keys, he would take me to the Ministry, I could
find the plans and his chauffeur could take them on directly to the Spanish
Consulate. This was typical of Mussolini's decisions at that time. He was in a
hurry to put all this in hand instantly. That was his nature. Moreover, I
received the impression he had a further liason that night, which was why he
did not wish to delegate. The Duce liked to get things done immediately or not
at all.

I stammered something. He accepted this as my acquiescence. He clapped me on
the shoulder and, sensing my confusion, promised we would not sell out Italy
for a handful of Spanish doubloons. Certain specifications could be held back
and only a cruder version of the giant tank made for them. He was thinking of
naming it after me. Imagine what this would mean! Hundreds of Peters' Land
Leviathans guarding the frontiers of the free world against the combined Red
and Yellow threat! My name would be permanently added to the glorious language
of war.

Of course, I was all for a speedier move towards full production of my
machines, but I had come to think of the entire project as something shared
only between myself and my leader. It was still difficult to readjust to this
new development.

"And, of course, there will be material benefits," said Mussolini. "Part of
the Spanish money should rightfully go to you."

I did not work for money, I reminded him. I had no more interest in it than
did he. We visionaries had a common cause.

This was the closest I ever came to rebuking my Chief and he accepted it.

Together we left the hall by the special exit. The Duce's car was waiting, its
engine running. As we passed the main entrance of the Villa, I saw a man and a
woman leaving. I did not recognise the woman but I was surprised I had not
seen the man at the reception. Now I had a notion who Mrs Cornelius had
referred to earlier. It was the tall, slender Englishman, not in uniform on
this occasion, who had once been romantically involved with Mrs Cornelius and
whom I knew as Major Nye. I was beginning to realise I had attended a
reception far more important than I had originally assumed. Several crucial
conversations had taken place that night. Several political decisions were
made which would, ultimately, change the face of Europe forever.