"John Ringo - Council War 3 - Against the Tide" - читать интересную книгу автора (Ringo John)

one of Paul's first and closest allies on the Council, had been killed by his military aide, who had taken
his Key. Paul, in turn, had had the aide assassinated. But both methods of killing were out of Megan's
reach. Minjie's death was from a binary neurotoxin, and although she had a fairly decent chemical
laboratory disguised as a "perfumery," binary toxins were a bit out of her league.
His aide had been assassinated, in turn, by being attacked "in flagrante delicto." Council members
habitually used personal protection fields. The fields were impermeable to any harm possible to man,
certainly given the explosive protocols. But they had to be lowered at certain times. Such as during sex
or any sort of intimate contact. Paul always dropped his when he was in the harem and had to recite a
pass code to raise it. Thus he was vulnerable.
The problem was Paul also had functional medical nannites. The nannites would scavenge any simple
toxin before it took effect. Megan wasn't sure of the extent to which they could cure him from a serious
injury. But she was sure that if she could destroy his cerebral cortex, there wasn't much the nannites
were going to be able to do.
Therefore, if she could only figure out where he kept his Key when he came to the harem she could
kill him, take the Key and port out.
If.
She had been with Paul . . . well she'd quit counting. A large number of times. And she thought she
had subtly checked most of his body. So far, he didn't seem to have it on him. He, conceivably, could
have it up his rectum. But Paul's personality mitigated against that. She simply could not envision him
slipping the key up his ass before he ported to the harem.
But it had to be there, somewhere, and as soon as she figured out where, he was going to be a
footnote in history.
No matter how much she loved him.




Chapter Two
"Ya gotta love it," Gerson Tao said, collapsing theatrically on Van Krief's bunk. The ensign was
larger than most of his class, if not of the massive stature of their instructor, and while he kept up with the
studies, he was never going to make honor graduate. "Come up with three alternates to a campaign I'd
never heard of before today?"
"Two campaigns," the ensign said. "And get up, you're ruining my dressing."
"Well, excuse me," Tao said, getting up and expertly tightening the blue woolen blanket on the bunk.
When he was done a bronze chit would bounce off it.
"Hmmm," the female ensign said, picking up a book and leafing through the pages until she got to a
map. "I read the alternate plans in here somewhere . . ."
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"What?" Tao replied, sitting up as the door opened. "What is that?"
"Mo," Ensign Asghar Destrang said, walking into the room without knocking. The ensign was a tall,
elegant young man with sandy hair and an abstracted manner. But the three had sparred enough to know
that while he did not have Tao's mass he was lightning quick. And all the thoughtfulness he gave to his
studies came out when he had a sword in his hand. "I'm reading about the Myanmar campaign . . ."
"Is that Defeat Into Victory?" Van Krief asked, not bothering to look up. "Read it."
"Why am I not surprised?" Destrang said with a grin. He was a thin young man, just starting to get
his full adult form. But his forearms were corded with wiry muscles and like the rest he moved with a
confidence that was sometimes belied by his abstracted frown. "What have you got?"
"American Caesar," Van Krief replied. "It's the biography, more of a hagiography, of MacArthur