"Smith, Martin Cruz - Red Square" - читать интересную книгу автора (Smith Martin Cruz)

Rudy held up a Game Boy. 'Speak for yourself.'

Arkady sniffed. Hanging from the rearview mirror was something that looked like a green wick.

'It's an air freshener,' Rudy said. 'Pine scent.'

'It smells like armpit of mint. How can you breathe?'

'It smells cleaner. I know it's me Ц cleanliness, germs Ц it's my problem. What are you doing here?'

'Your radio's not working. Let me see it.'

Rudy blinked. 'You're going to work on it here?'

'Here is where we want to use it. Behave as if we're conducting a normal transaction.'

'You said this would be safe.'

'But not foolproof. Everybody's looking.'

'Dollars? Deutschmarks? Francs?' Rudy asked.

The cashbox tray was stuffed with currencies of different nationalities and colours. There were francs that looked like delicately hand-tinted portraits, lire with fantastic numbers and Dante's face, oversized Deutschmarks brimming with confidence, and, most of all, compartments of crisp-as-grass green American dollars. At Rudy's feet was a bulging briefcase with, Arkady assumed, much more. Tucked by the clutch there was also a package wrapped in brown paper. Rudy lifted the hundred-dollar notes from the tray to reveal a transmitter and micro-recorder.

'Pretend I want to buy rubles,' Arkady said.

'Rubles?' Rudy's finger froze over the calculator. 'Why would anyone want to buy rubles?'

Arkady played the transmitter's power switch back and forth, then fine-tuned the frequency. 'You're doing it, buying rubles for dollars or Deutschmarks.'

'Let me explain. I'm exchanging. This is a service for buyers. I control the rate, I'm the bank, so I always make money and you always lose. Arkady, nobody buys rubles.' Rudy's small eyes swelled with sympathy. 'The only real Soviet money is vodka. Vodka is the only state monopoly that really works.'

'You have some of that, too.' Arkady glanced at the rear floor, which was littered with silvery bottles of Starka, Russkaya and Kuban vodka.

'It's Stone Age barter. I take what people have. I help them. I'm surprised I don't have stone beads and pieces of eight. Anyway, the rate is forty rubles to the dollar.'

Arkady tried the 'On' button of the recorder. The miniature spools didn't move. 'The official rate is thirty rubles to the dollar.'

'Yes, and the universe revolves around Lenin's arsehole. No disrespect. It's funny, I deal with men who would slit their mother's throat and are embarrassed by the concept of profit.' Rudy became serious. 'Arkady, if you can just imagine profit apart from crime, then you have business. What we're doing right now is normal and legal in the rest of the world.'

'He's normal?' Arkady looked in the direction of Kim. His eyes fixed on the car, the bodyguard had the flat face of a mask.

Rudy said, 'Kim's there for effect. I'm like Switzerland, neutral, everybody's banker. Everybody needs me. Arkady, we're the only part of the economy that works. Look around. Long Pond mafia, Baumanskaya mafia, local boys who know how to deliver goods. Lyubertsy mafia, a little tougher, a little dumber, just want to improve themselves.'

'Like your partner, Borya?' Arkady tried tightening the spools with a key.

'Borya's a great success story. Any other country would be proud of him.'

'And the Chechens?'