"Destroyer 017 - Last War Dance.pdb" - читать интересную книгу автора (Williams Remo)

Remo grabbed the left side of the man's white silk suit and, gripping a handful of nylon shirt with it, ripped it off the man in one wrenching tear. He checked the armpit. There was no mole.
"Right you are," Remo said. "You're right. I have to admit it. I'll admit that. You're right. No mole."
The man blinked, mouth agape, suit half off, magazine dangling.
"Wha?" he said, stunned.
"What are you doing half-dressed, George?" asked a portly woman sitting next to him.
"A man came over to me, asked me if I were Douglas Van Riker, and ripped off my suit. I've never seen hands move so fast."
"Why would he rip your suit off, dear, if you're not this Douglas person?"
"Why would he rip it off even if I were? Look. There he goes," said the half-dressed man. He pointed to a man about six feet tall, lean and wiry, with high cheekbones and surprisingly large wrists. The man wore gray slacks and a blue sports shirt.
"Someone's pointing at you, sir," the young man was told by a man with hair so white it looked bleached. "Odd. He seems half-undressed."
"Don't mind him," said Remo. "Are you Douglas Van Riker?"
"Why do you want to know?"
"Don't be rude. I asked first," Remo said.
"Turn around and you'll see that the man who was pointing at you is now approaching with two constables."
"I don't have time to be bothered," said Remo. "Are you Douglas Van Riker?"
"Yes, I am, and when you get out of jail, look me up."
Remo felt a hand on his shoulder. Grabbing its palm, he snapped it forward to see who was attached. It was a constable. The constable went back-cracking into a reservation booth. The second hand that touched him also belonged to a constable. He sailed into a baggage turntable and kept spinning slowly, along with the luggage of incoming Pan Am flight 105 from O'Hare.
"My God," said Van Riker. "I've never seen hands so fast. You didn't even turn around."
"That's not fast. Fast is when you don't see them," said Remo. "C'mon, we've got work to do. You are Douglas Van Riker."
"Yes, I am, and I like to stay dressed."
"Do you have any baggage?"
"Just this grip?"
Remo checked the name tag. It said Van Riker. The white-haired man offered his wallet. There were credit cards, driver's license, and military identification. He was a lieutenant general, United States Air Force, retired.
"Good," said Remo. "Come with me. That flight's going to Washington. You don't want that."
"I do want that."
"No, you don't. You want to go with me. Don't make a scene. I can't stand scenes."
"But I will make a scene," said Van Riker. Suddenly he felt an incredible wrenching pain in his right ribs.
"Now, that was fast," Remo said. C'mon. people are looking."
Doing his best to keep his weight off his right side and trying not to breathe deeply, Van Riker went with the young man to a cab outside. They drove to a small private airfield, where Van Riker saw a black Lear Jet, prepped for takeoff.
"Where are we going?" asked Van Riker as he was being helped up the small platform ladder that was the entrance to the jet.
"For you to get some answers."
When the plane was airborne, Van Riker asked for a painkiller for his rib. But instead of chemicals, he got the young man reaching around to his spinal column. Then there was a little tap, and then, blessedly, the rib no longer hurt.
"Nerves," said Remo. "Your rib wasn't cracked. It was the nerves."
"Thank you. Could you explain yourself a little more clearly? Where are we going? Who are you? Why have you kidnapped me?"
"Not kidnapped," Remo said. "I'm borrowing you. I think we're on the same side."
"I'm not on any side," said Van Riker. "I'm retired. I was an administrative officer in the United States Air Force. Would you care to know how many towels we had at Lackland?"
"I didn't break any instruments, did I?"
"Of course not," Van Riker said. "I'm not carrying instruments. Why would I carry instruments?"
"I haven't the foggiest. I just follow orders," said Remo. "You're going to talk to someone you're going to like."
"I don't think I'm going to like anyone, being kidnapped like this. Is it money you want? Do you want money? I can guarantee a reasonable amount of money if you cooperate."
"I've got enough," Remo said.
"I'll pay you more."
"How can you pay more than enough?" asked Remo. "That's not logical. And they say you're a big-ass scientist. God save America."
"If you believe in America, get me to Washington. It's urgent."
"You're not going to Washington. Shut up," Remo said.
"God save America," said Van Riker. And there was silence until the plane landed at a small private field, which Remo explained was just outside Goldsboro, North Carolina, site of a large air force base.
As soon as General Van Riker had his feet on the ground behind the younger man, the plane began taxiing back down the runway.
"Where is he going?"
"Away from here. Smitty doesn't like to let anyone know what he's doing. He's the guy you're going to see. A bit peculiar, but okay."
"If you think someone is peculiar," said General Van Riker, "God help us. God help him."
"You're pretty religious for a scientist who invented one pisser of a missile," said Remo.