"Paul-Loup Sulitzer - The Green King" - читать интересную книгу автора (Sulitzer Paul Loup)

right? We are talking about crossing the Mediterranean this time, not just going to wave at the seёoritas along the Spanish coast. De Groot is the guy we need. As for the others, as crew, there will be one Maltese and three Sicilians."
"And us," said Reb.
"And us. Eight in all. We won't be enough to carry nine hundred cases. But there will be a team to help us when we get there."
"And we would be going to?"
"Sicily. To a bay to the west of Palermo. You have something against it, kid? Perhaps you thought we were going to continue to play like children? We are going to get serious now. Come. I want you to meet these Dutchmen
Henri Haardt was already at the Cafщ de Paris, sitting with a friend of his, a Corsican customs officer who was dispensing much advice, as an expert, on the thousands of ways to use to maximum advantage the pleasant provisions of Tangiers's international status. He saw Klimrod and Lazarus arrive and sit down a few feet away, next to two men in their mid-thirties, whose backs were toward him. He could see the brutal steadiness of Klimrod's gray eyes, which at one moment widened for a few seconds; he noticed Klimrod's curious gesture-leaning down, with his head almost entirely under the table, to adjust a shoelace that didn't need adjusting, before sitting up, his face once again impassive. And, glancing at Lazarus-O'Shea, Haardt realized that he too had noticed something. Twenty or thirty minutes went by, after which the two strangers got up and left. .

Dov said in Yiddish and in a low voice: "Don't play the distant princess with me, kid. I saw your expression. Do you know one of those guys?"
Reb was stretching his fingers over his thighs, and seemed fascinated by them. He finally said: "At least one of them is not Dutch."
"Which one?"
"Langen."
Dov's eyes shone behind the lenses of his glasses like cold blue diamonds. He threw a bill on the table and got up.
"Let's get out of here."
Two months earlier, he had bought a two-toned Packard, a convertible. He took the wheel and started driving toward Malabata, with Reb at his side. They didn't exchange a word, but when they approached the lighthouse, Lazarus cut the engine, got out, and walked to the terrace from which you could see Tangiers, the Atlantic, and Spain.
He moved so quickly it was as if he hadn't moved, but the Colt .45 was now in his right palm, which was resting on his left hand. He shot once, and the seagull was brought down, killed in mid-flight. Dov was smiling.
"I asked you a question when we arrived in Tangiers. Whether you had killed anyone with that crazy Anielewitch. You didn't answer me."
With the same startling rapidity he had shown a few minutes earlier, he was in shooting position again, with another seagull in his line of fire. But this time he didn't pull the trigger.
"Do you want to kill this Langen, Reb?"
"I don't know," said Reb quietly.
Dov's hand moved; the Colt was back in place under his jacket, tucked in his belt behind his right hip.
"Let's go back, kid. We'll go on that cruise to the coast of Sicily with De Groot and your friend Langen. I would be surprised if even this De Groot guy turned out to be Dutch. He's probably one of them, too, Reb. Langen can say he's Dutch in Tangiers, but do you think a real Dutchman would let himself be jerked around? Or else he's involved in a different way. They had SS there, too, even in Holland
For the first time since they had been together, he touched the boy, putting his arm around his neck, leading him back toward the Packard.
"In any case, you couldn't kill him in Tangiers, kid, believe me. We've been seen together, him and us, and Tangiers is not very large. On the other hand, in Sicily one gets killed easily.

He started the car and smiled.
"You'll kill him over there, Reb."

5

The boat was called Wild Cat. Made of oak, it was eighty-five feet long, had a gross tonnage of seventy, a Marconi rig, and a one-hundred-and-eighty-horsepower Diesel engine. It was carrying six hundred and sixty cases of Philip Morris, two hundred of Chesterfields, and sixty of Camels. It left Tangiers on January 17, 1947, and sighted Cape San Vito, at the western end of the Gulf of Castellammare, about thirty miles from Palermo, at nightfall on the twenty-third. None of the little speed boats of Italian customs was less than fifty nautical miles from the spot. Besides, the manifest and the bills of lading were in order and listed the exact cargo, giving Corfu as the port of destination.
According to instructions, De Groot cut the engine and waited. Around eleven o'clock, a triple yellow light on the shore indicated that the coast was clear. Wild Cat headed toward shore, then stopped again at another signal. Soon they heard the lapping of waves as a flotilla approached, a dozen large fishing boats. The fishermen began the transshipping, assisted by two or three customs officers, accomplices because they earned a thousand lire per case. Two trips back and forth were enough, and during their final boarding, the boats brought barrels of Greek wine, if you believed their trademark. One of the Sicilians tore up and burned the manifest and bills of lading and presented new ones that certified that Wild Cat was returning from Corfu, where it had taken on its cargo.
At seven o'clock the following morning, they entered the port of Palermo. They asked for a free stay; that is, a stopover without any movement of cargo. They had been at sea almost eight days without the slightest hitch; the deal was clinched.
"And our Italian clients are so pleased with us, they have invited us all to lunch," announced Dov Lazarus.
He glanced sharply at Reb. And he was smiling, of course.

From Mondello, outside Palermo, they followed the winding road up Mount Pellegrino. Well before the belvedere, they turned onto a small path, bordered by eucalyptus, on which was a white house with blue shutters. There were two cars, both American; Dov Lazarus, Langen, and an Italian-American named Sol Mancusa, through whom this part of the story came, were in one; in the other were Reb Klimrod, De Groot, two of the Sicilian sailors from Wild Cat, and the driver.
The cars stopped at the foot of a flight of stairs. The drivers remained in the cars, and the sailors lingered to talk. The others went up onto the terrace; probably shaded in summer by a large wisteria, which is still there, and from which there is an admirable view of the Bay of Palermo.
And it was probably then that the two so-called Dutchmen realized what was about to happen.
There was no meal ready at the house. Instead, two men were there, blank-faced, dressed in black except for their white shirts, worn without collar or tie. Each was holding a lupara, the Sicilian gun used for hunting wolves. But they didn't interfere; nor did Mancusa, who remained in the background.
The Colt .45 appeared in Dov Lazarus's hand as if by magic, and he said: "Langen? The kid and I have been wondering about something since Tangiers: what's your real name?"
Langen answered that that was his real name, that he was Dutch, nothing else, and that he didn't understand. Lazarus shook his head.
"Come, come ... there is one thing I know about the kid:
he has a fantastic memory, absolutely fantastic. He never forgets anything, a name, a face, figures, or a book. It's incredible, Langen: he reads a book once, only once, you hear, and that's it; he has it in his head forever. It's the same with faces. So if he says he saw you in Treblinka . .
"Belzec," corrected Reb in a hollow voice, looking down.
"Sorry, kid. Beizec, O.K. Langen, when the kid says he saw you in Belzec, in your SS uniform, at the time you killed his
mother and sisters, when he says that, he is not mistaken. It's impossible, and no one . .
"It's not true. I could be wrong," said Reb in a whisper. "And no one, not even the kid himself, will make me believe
it. Get on your knees, Langen. Get on your knees or I'll blow off' your little Nazi schlong, your cock, in one shot. And tell me:
how do you say 'It's a nice day today' in Yiddish? Langen? Do you really want to suffer a lot before you croak?"
"Sara sheyn veter haynt, " said Langen.