"O'Donnell, Peter - Modesty Blaise Pieces Of Modesty" - читать интересную книгу автора (O'Donnell Peter)

Willie whistled softly in astonishment, then grinned and said, 'El Mico could've used a few like 'im.'
'Hardly.' She smiled without humour. 'Until that grenade, Jimson bitched up everything all along the line. I'll tell you about it later.'
She walked across to the pen, Willie beside her. Jimson looked up as they halted, still kneeling with fingers locked in front of him. His eyes were pools of pain. He said in a low, shaking voice, 'You were right in one thing ... I have never seen true evil before. Today I have seen it manifest. Today I have looked into hell.'
He got slowly to his feet. Modesty looked at the carnage in the pen and said tiredly, 'No. They weren't particularly evil, Mr Jimson. Just poor and primitive. And animal.'
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He stared at her, uncomprehending. 'I did not mean them.'
She looked at Willie, then back at Jimson, and lifted an eyebrow. 'Us, perhaps?'
Jimson shook his head, slowly, like a man in agony. 'Not you or your friend. Myself, Miss Blaise.'
Willie's face was blank. Modesty said patiently, 'You got rid of a grenade that would have killed us. It just happened to fall here when you threw it.'
Again he shook his head. 'No ... I could have placed it anywhere,' he whispered despairingly, and bowed his head in his hands. 'I have the blood of five human beings on my head.'
'Better than 'aving yours on theirs,' Willie said cheerfully. 'What they did to the fat girl was just a start. There were only two ways it could end, and this was best.'
'No!' Jimson said feverishly. 'No, it can never be the best way. I have betrayed myself.'
Modesty gave a little shrug. Half her mind was busy with the pros and cons of decision. San Tremino or Orsita? Was Garcia still alive? How long would he last? Take the wounded guerrillas back to hang? Or leave them to die? It was all a muddle.
Strangely, despite the frustrations he had caused her, she found that she felt compassion for Jimson, even a liking for him. He was exasperatingly barmy, but that was not his fault. She respected his consistency and his courage. And perhaps somewhere in his hopelessly impractical obsession there was a grain of truth which might some day grow and flourish - in another time, another world.
But not now. And not here, in today's world.
She touched Willie's arm and turned away. 'Go and get the mules ready, Willie love. We'll load up the wounded.'
'OK. You're taking 'em in then?'
"Yes. The long way, to San Tremino. They might not last, but if the doctor in Orsita is anything like the garage mechanics we'll be doing them a favour. And if they hang...' She moved her shoulders. 'Tomorrow's always a better day to die.'
As Willie went to the mules she lifted an arm and beckoned
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the girls. Rosa would need treatment, too, and there was a hospital in San Tremino.
She hoped Garcia would last.
The sun was still hot, and her head ached. It had been a long, weary day. She walked across and began to help Willie Garvin unhobble the mules.
27

The Giggle-Wrecker

The Minister lightly underlined a few words on the report in front of him, then looked across his desk at Sir Gerald Tarrant and said, 'I'm advised that Professor Okubo is the best bacteriologist in the world. It's a vital aspect of defence today, and if he's available we want to have him. We must have him.'
Tarrant sighed inwardly. He held Waverly in good esteem and liked the man personally. But, perhaps like all politicians, Waverly sometimes allowed his judgement to be swayed by a particular enthusiasm; and as Minister of Defence, Waverly's great enthusiasm was scientific research in the military field.
'If you want Okubo badly, Minister,' Tarrant said, 'then I think you should talk to somebody else about it. My organization in East Berlin isn't geared for getting a defector out.'
Waverly began to fill his pipe. He was a stocky man with small, intelligent eyes set in a heavy face. 'I've persuaded the PM that this calls for a special effort,' he said.
Sixteen years ago Okubo had slipped away from American surveillance in Tokyo and reappeared in Moscow. It had long been known that he was a brilliant young scientist, but of suspect political views. Until his defection it was not known that he was a dedicated Communist. Now, at the age of forty, he had become disenchanted with Marx's brave new world, and had defected anew, but it was a messy and poorly planned defection. Tarrant did not like it at all.
He said, 'Even if we got him out, I don't think you could hold him for long. The Americans would offer him a million-pound laboratory set-up. Why should he stay with us and make do with a Bunsen burner and a bit of litmus paper?'
Waverly smiled. 'Come now. You know I've wrung enor-
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mous increases from the Treasury for scientific work. And we seem to be Okubo's personal choice. Just get him out and leave the rest to me.'
First news of Okubo's disappearance from Moscow had come direct to Waverly from the Embassy Intelligence there. Within forty-eight hours there had been rumours in foreign newspapers, followed by denials. It was then that Tarrant had been called in. He did not like being handed a job that was already begun and had been botched, though there was nobody to blame for this but Okubo himself.
The Minister said, 'You've done very well so far.'
'I haven't had the chance to do either well or badly yet,' Tarrant said courteously. 'You asked me to get a line on Okubo, and then he just turned up.'
'Yes.' Waverly looked down at the report again. 'This is very brief. How did he get from Moscow to Berlin?'
'By way of Prague. After the Russians walked in there our Prague Section managed to recruit one or two embittered Czech party members. One was a scientist who knew Okubo well. Apparently they hatched this clumsy escape plan between them. Okubo got to Prague under his own steam without any difficulty and went to ground there. Then his friend informed Prague Control, and they managed to get Okubo as far as East Berlin. I don't think it was the best thing to do, but from the report sent to me I fancy Okubo is an awkward customer who likes things done according to his own ideas. Anyway, Prague found themselves holding this very hot potato and I don't blame them for getting rid of Okubo as fast as they could. If he'd given us any warning of his intention to defect we could have handled things much more smoothly. Even now, given time and given his cooperation, I can get Okubo out, either by the Baltic coast or back through Czechoslovakia and over the border into Austria. But the man who's keeping Okubo under wraps at the moment reports that he won't cooperate.'
Waverly shrugged. 'It's understandable. When you're little more than a stone's throw from freedom, you don't want to start travelling the other way. Besides, we have to make allowances for scientific genius. You'll just have to accept the
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situation, and bring him out from East to West Berlin.'
Tarrant said bluntly. Tm sorry. I haven't the facilities.'
The Minister frowned. 'If he can be got from Moscow to Berlin, surely you can get him over the Wall? It's only another hundred yards or so.'
'A very particular hundred yards, Minister. Okubo is Japanese, and only four feet ten inches high. In an Aryan country he couldn't be more obvious if he carried a banner with his name on it. Getting him out would require a major operation. Worst of all, we're not the only ones who know he's in East Berlin. The KGB knows it, too.'
Waverly had been about to draw on his pipe. Now he paused. 'How do you know that?'
Tarrant hesitated. He hated giving needless information, even to a Minister of the Crown. Reluctantly he said, 'We've had a man in East German Security HQ for seven years now.'
'I see. I won't mention it at cocktail parties,' Waverly said with mild irony. He got up from his desk and walked to the window. 'If the Russians know Okubo is there, I imagine they're turning East Berlin upside down, and as you say, it can't be easy to hide a Japanese. The sooner he's out, the better.'