"Eric Nylund - Paladin Blake and The Secret City" - читать интересную книгу автора (Nylund Eric)

OR NEVER SEE FLORA AGAIN STOP.

MATT

Flora? What did Matthew mean by "she had bitten off more than she could chew?" Or that
he'd never see her again? "So help me," Paladin said through clenched teeth, "if you're using
her to get to me-"

-No. Not even Matthew would use Flora. Everyone loved Flora...that was her biggest
problem.

Paladin had last heard from her a year ago. She was in Paris, hob-knobbing with the social
elite and indulging in equally elite vices; her lifestyle made Dashiell's wild partying seem like
a church bake sale in comparison. She had asked Paladin for money. He had wired her five
hundred dollars along with a suggestion that she clean up. While he had hoped for the best,
he knew the odds were long.

He re-examined the telegram. Today was Saturday-which figured. Leave it to Matthew to cut
things close.

Paladin drew his .45 from its hiding place under his desktop, holstered it, then strapped it
on. He flicked on the intercom. "Tennyson, get me a plane ready. Pronto."

"Of course," came the reply. "Can I inquire...why the rush?"

"I'm coming over to show you what the rush is."

Paladin hung a "Be Right Back" sign on his office door, and stepped down the zigzag of stairs
to the pier. He hurried past the bait stores and the ice cream parlor and the penny arcade to
the old cannery warehouse. He unlocked the door and stepped inside.

The interior looked more like the inside of a combat zeppelin than a cannery. The machinery
had been removed and a dozen planes hung on hooks from beams over the open water.
Crates of bullets and rockets were stacked in a corner. Half a dozen engines on blocks were
in various stages of assembly and disassembly.

Paladin's nose wrinkled involuntarily; the place always seemed to reek of tuna.

Blake Aviation Security had leased this building because the rent at the Burbank Airport
went up every time Paladin made the headlines. The press and other unsavory types were
always watching Paladin and his planes. There had been a few instances of sabotage, too;
one such "accident" had nearly ended his career for good.
The cannery had been the perfect solution. Tennyson had seen to the architectural
modifications, and designed a floatation chaise for their planes. These pontoons could be
released in flight if needed, or left on for a water landing. Their planes were safer here and
Blake Aviation could scramble flights at the drop of a hat.

Tennyson set down his wrench and ducked from under the engine compartment of a
Devastator. He carefully wiped the grease from his hands on a clean towel. Somehow,
Paladin mused as his loyal friend strode to greet him, Tenny never seemed to smudge his