"Smith, Martin Cruz - Wolves Eat Dogs" - читать интересную книгу автора (Smith Martin Cruz)

"First get Hoffman out of the apartment. Then get to work tomorrow morning."

"Why not tonight?"

"In the morning."

"If I get Hoffman out of the apartment, how will I get back in?"

"The elevator operator knows the code now. He's old guard. Trustworthy."

"And just what do you expect me to do?"

"Whatever Hoffman asks. Just get this matter settled. Not complicated, not drawn out, but settled."

"Does that mean over or resolved?"

"You know very well what I mean."

"I don't know, I'm fairly involved here." Zhenya was just finishing his circuit of the fountain.

"Get over there now."

"I'll need a detective. I should have a pair, but I'll settle for Victor Fedorov."

"Why him? He hates businessmen."

"Perhaps he'll be harder to buy." "Just go."

"Do I get my files back?"

"No."

Zurin hung up. The prosecutor might have shown a little more edge than usual, but, everything considered, the conversation had been as pleasant as Arkady could have wished.



Bobby Hoffman let Arkady and Victor into the Ivanov apartment, moved to the sofa and dropped into the deep impression already there. Despite air-conditioning, the room had the funk of an all-night vigil. Hoffman's hair was matted, his eyes a blur, and tear tracks ran into the reddish bristle on his jowls. His clothes looked twisted around him, although the jacket given to him by Pasha was folded on the coffee table beside a snifter and two empty bottles of brandy. He said, "I don't have the code to the keypad, so I stayed."

"Why?" Arkady asked.

"Just to get things straight."

"Straighten us out, please."

Hoffman tilted his head and smiled. "Renko, as far as your investigation goes, I want you to know that you wouldn't have touched Pasha or me in a thousand years. The American Securities and Exchange Commission never hung anything on me."

"You fled the country."

"You know what I always tell complainers? 'Read the fine print, asshole!' "