"Van Lustbader, Eric - Angel Eyes(eng)" - читать интересную книгу автора (Van Lustbader Eric)

"Especially here." Bernard, in the shadow of one of his hoary hawthorn trees, never seemed more mysterious. He had the kind of soft eyes that engendered trust, that completely masked his cynical heart. It was all too easy to believe what he said even when you suspected him of spin control: distorting me truth to suit his purposes. "I don't know about you, Russell, but it's a friend I want at the other end of a three a.m. phone call when my ass is in the fire in Istanbul or Prague or some other godforsaken red zone when the opposition has blown my cover and is closing in, not some operative who may or may not have been turned while I was looking the other way."
He gave Slade a tiny, ironic smile that made Slade's stomach contract. "Sorry," he said in a gentle tone of voice. "I sometimes forget that you have no field experience." A rebuke or simply a reminder of fact? With Godwin it was impossible to tell. "That's the way I came up, because that's the way our shadow world worked in the old days." He grunted. "You have your own areas of expertise, Russell, and believe me, I appreciate all of them. But it's times like these that make me long for the relative simplicity of the past."
"Damnit, I know I made the proper decision," Slade said. ''I was sure that Ariel Solares would bring Tori in. A little honey on the end of the hook, because otherwise I knew, under the circumstances, she wouldn't consider it."
"Of course she wouldn't," Godwin said, pouncing on the opening Slade had given him. "But if you had made her a friend-an ally-instead of alienating her when she worked for you, all this would have been avoided. Tori would be here now, and Solares would still be alive."
The best course when Godwin delivered a verbal low blow, Slade had learned, was to ignore it. Godwin responded to points well made, not to cries of foul. "Solares was to pique her interest with a look at what he was working on," Slade said. "In addition, because there is still a question of her fitness, he was to maneuver her into a challenging physical and mental confrontation. He was meant to look for any deterioration of her skills. The plan was perfect: subtle and psychologically sound. But somewhere along the line Solares must have gotten careless, and someone took him out."
"Solares was your man. You ran him directly. In retrospect, you may agree with me that perhaps, given your lack of experience in the field, that was an error in judgment. It was your call to make, and I didn't interfere. But now's the time to examine your motives. That's why you chose to run him directly, wasn't it? To lure Tori Nunn out of her isolation, to be ultimately in control of her once more.''
"As far as the canning Tori Nunn from the Mall," Slade said, "I recall you gave your blessing to the severance." Immediately, he regretted saying it. In trying to regain control of me conversation, he had walked into one of Godwin's verbal traps.
"I gave you my assent, Russell. Nothing more." The old man refused to give up an inch of territory; he was relentless. ''It was your decision.''
Slade looked at him. "Do you mean to tell me now that you disagreed with it?"
"Are you deliberately missing the point?" Godwin said, neatly sidestepping the kind of answer Slade was seeking. "It was your decision. You made it. Now you must deal with the ramifications."
"What ramifications?" Slade said. "This situation is without nuance."
"Bullshit," Godwin said, leaning toward Slade. "Your relationship with Tori Nunn is all unfinished business. Yes, you made the proper decision with Solares, Russell, but you must see that you made it for all the wrong reasons. The 'situation,' as you choose to refer to it, is fraught with psychological nuance."
"I'll take care of Tori Nunn myself," Slade said angrily. "Okay? Will that satisfy you?"
"I want my director's full concentration on this crisis, that's all," Godwin said soothingly. He paused to allow the tension to dissipate; no one knew how to orchestrate a conversation better than Bernard Godwin. "What have the caretakers come up with?" The caretakers were the Mall's group of forensic specialists who were sent in to analyze "wet work" sites.
"Nothing as yet," Slade said. "For the moment, at least, the identity of Solares's murderer is unknown.''
"Any guesses?" the old man asked.
"I don't deal in speculation," Slade said, annoyed that the old man still saw fit to test him. "You taught me that, Bernard. Speculation leads, more often than not, to false conclusions."
Godwin nodded. "You said that Solares got careless." He had paused to run his hand across the ruffled field of Hino crihison azalea. "Of course, there's another possibility." He watched, fascinated, as a furry bumblebee, its legs thick with pollen, took off from the center of a flower. "Someone is one step ahead of you.'' He glanced sidelong at Slade. ''Now there's a disturbing thought."
"Jesus Christ," Slade said. " 'Disturbing' doesn't begin to cover that prospect. How does the word 'disaster' grab you?"
The old man frowned to show his distaste. "You know I dislike words of that nature, Slade," he said. "They smack of defeatism. Defeat is for the weak-it is not for us. What we need now is a sound offensive strategy."
"Of course," Slade said. "Every situation has its master, every speciality has its sensei. We need Tori Nunn back. We are lost in the middle of her field of expertise.''
''Yes,'' the old man said.''And you've volunteered to get her back yourself. I appreciate that, Russell. Just make certain it isn't simply a gesture."
Slade suddenly saw how neatly he had been maneuvered into this personal involvement, despite his own conviction that personal involvement was dangerous and potentially lethal in the shadow world. In Russell Slade's opinion, emotion had no place in Mall business. That was a point he had tried to make over and over to Tori without the slightest success. It occurred to him-not for the first time, but now with increasing focus-that his sense of being in total control of the Mall was more illusory than real, and abruptly he felt the heavy yoke of servitude to this one man stamped upon his flesh like stigmata.
"One must consider the method of Solares's death,'' Godwin was saying. "Whoever killed him didn't just put a gun to his head. They made a lot of noise. They wanted us to know right away all the way back east. Goddamnit, they wanted to embarrass us." He tore off an azalea blossom and, making a show of it, used the pads of his thumb and forefinger to squeeze the petals. "There can only be one response to that." He shook the flower, and the bumblebee dropped at their feet. "Go for the throat, that's what's called for." Godwin placed the beautiful, unbruised azalea in his buttonhole. "When you've been set back on your heels, it's the only strategy that's worth a damn, take it from me."
Russell Slade, staring at the lifeless bee, wondered how he could free himself from Bernard Godwin's tyranny and still be privy to his secrets. He would discover who had murdered Ariel Solares in his own way but, being the brilliant administrator that he was, he would also devote himself to his own agenda. Why not? he thought. Bernard has his hidden agenda with his Soviet dissidents, why shouldn't I have mine?

Tori awoke to the sound of a bobwhite. It was sitting in among the bougainvilleas which, if she turned onto her right side, she could see through the open jalousied window.
For a moment she could not think where she was. Then she remembered: Los Angeles. Home.
The huge bed seemed like heaven; she did not want to leave it. She stirred, and as she did so, heard the door to the bedroom open. She saw her mother come quietly in. She was wearing a chic silk and chenille robe, calfskin slippers. She carried a tray filled with food, juice, coffee.
She smiled. "You're up, darling."
How did I get here? Tori blinked into the sunlight, closed her eyes, and remembered ...
... the scents of cigar smoke and marzipan, exhaust fumes and expensive suntan oil. Decaying earth and mold. Light and shadow, a crazy quilt of images, a jumble of sound . . . The squeal of a rat. . . the stench of fear as they were buried alive . . .
/ don't want to be back.
... the aromas of love, an intimate steam, a delicious dissolving of defenses, an intoxicating wine taken in through the pores of the skin. And then ... a death's-head blossoming, and the stench of fear again, coming to claim her ... plastique detonating, destroying her lover, shattering her aerie, her new-found peace; her sanctuary.
I don't want to be back.
"It's so wonderful to have you home again, darling," Laura Nunn said as she set the tray down across her daughter's lap. "We were so worried when we got your call. What were you doing in a San Francisco police precinct?"
But what Tori really meant was, Don't be dead, Ariel. Please come back. Greg is dead. It's more than I can bear for you to be dead, too.
Tori pushed the dark thoughts away from her as if they had an insupportable weight. She forced herself to sit up and say, with a mixture of apprehension and fatalism, "Where's Dad?"
"Ellis is at the office." Laura Nunn settled the tray around Tori. "He sends his apologies, but you know your father, he's like quicksand-" She put her hand over her mouth. "Did I say quicksand? Well, of course I meant quicksilver." She gave a small, embarrassed laugh. "I never understood how a human being could get along on three hours sleep a night. But Ellis is a creature of habit. He still sleeps from three to six, and not an instant more."
Tori studied her mother: so beautiful as a young woman, so exquisite as a mature one; and now, in her early sixties, her hair was still a long chestnut cascade, her eyes brilliant green, her skin, devoid of makeup, without serious line or flaw. It was difficult to believe that any time had passed for her. Ah, well, Tori thought, that was L.A. for you. With a combination of good genes and even better plastic surgeons, the society here had banished age just as surely as God had banished Adam and Eve from Eden. Except that here sin was accepted-cherished, even, as a trait of success; hadn't Ellis Nunn's favorite twist on a phrase always been. In Los Angeles, nothing succeeds like sin? And, like undergoing a skin peel, it was acknowledged that you could always shed your immediate past, as long as you played the game. You could continually get away with stepping on the people you didn't need, as long as you kissed the asses of the people you did need.
Laura Nunn snapped out the linen napkin, placed it over the bedcovers. "Now, Maria has gone to great pains to cook everything you love."
Tori looked at the flower pattern Limoges china, the 1930s Tiffany silverware. They brought back dizzying images of her youth, growing up within the boundaries of Diana's Garden, this modern-day Xanadu that her parents had built.
Mistaking her hesitation, Laura Nunn said,''Darling, it would be a sin to leave all this delectable food. You know what a marvelous cook Maria is, and she's always had a tendency to spoil you."
Tori gave her mother a distant smile, slipping on a childhood mask so familiar she did it without being altogether aware of it. As soon as she took her first bite of food, she found that she was famished.
Laura Nunn watched Tori devour her breakfast with the kind of pleased attention one normally gives to one's key light, the light that illuminates the star. "Ellis promised he'd be home early today. Now, you promise me, darling, you won't get into a fight with him."
"/ never get into a fight with him," Tori said as if in knee-jerk response.
Laura Nunn rose. "Perhaps you'd like a little time to yourself."
"No." Tori reached out, drew her mother back down to the side of the bed. "I'm just a little . . . disoriented." She smiled. "Of course I won't get into a fight with Dad. That's all over and done with. I promise."
"Good." Laura Nunn smiled at her daughter. "Now we can get to what really matters. Your happiness. I see that you're still alone. I was half expecting you to show up with a boyfriend or, well, a male friend of some kind.''
Tori felt her heart contract. "Mother, I appreciate your concern. But I rather think I've given up men for a while.'' She saw her mother blanch, then laughed despite herself. "No, no. What I meant is, for me moment at least I feel like being on my own."