"Destroyer 036 - Power Play.pdb" - читать интересную книгу автора (Williams Remo)

The Reverend Higbe Muckley, A.B.D., A.C.D., B.C.D., and B.E.D., was sitting behind his desk when his secretary ushered Will Bobbin into the inner office. The letters in his name meant nothing, except trifecta bets he had made and won at the race track in the last several years. His secretary paused in the doorway.
"Type those letters right up, Sister," he said.
"Yes, Doctor," she said. She winked at him, which Bobbin saw in the polished glass door of a wall-mounted bookcase.
He grinned at Muckley who cleared his throat and asked officiously, "Now what can I do for you, Brother Bobbin?"
Bobbin closed the office door.
"It's what I can do for you, Reverend," he said. He twisted the curl of hair over his right temple.
"What did you have in mind?"
"You've been bombing out," Bobbin said. "You've been here a couple of days already and nothing but yawns."
"It takes time to bring people to act against evil," Muckley said.
"Hogwash," Bobbin said. "You can't get these people riled up against Pruiss because he's cutting their taxes. That's the truth and you know it and I know it so let's not dawdle over that."
Muckley shrugged. "What do you have in mind, Brother?"
"I've got something that'll wake them up. Something more powerful than taxes. Something that'll get these people steamed and marching, just to make sure Pruiss gets his butt out of town."
"What would that be?" Muckley asked.
"More powerful than money," Bobbin said. "Sex."
Muckley looked up at him sharply.
"Picture this," said Bobbin. "Proof that Pruiss isn't out here for solar energy. He's out here to turn this nice middle-America, hogbelly and pancakes-for-breakfast county into the pornography capital of the United States? How about that?"
"You got proof?" Muckley asked.
"Yes."
"Then we'll get that sucker," Muckley said. "That'll get them marching."
"My idea exactly," Bobbin said.
Muckley searched Bobbin's face and said, after a pause, "I don't know anything about you, Mr. Bobbin."
"That's the way I want it."
"What do you get out of this?"
"Does it really matter?" Bobbin asked. "Can't you believe I'm doing it just to stamp out evil."
"That's fine in fund-raising letters," Muckley said. "But what are you really doing it for?"
"Let's just say I'm going to get out of it everything I want."
Muckley shrugged. "Whatever," he said. "You said something about proof that Pruiss is here to do pornography. You got that proof?"
"It'll be here in the morning plane from New York."
"Bring it in, brother, and let's see what we can do."
As he left the building, Will Bobbin thought that it was incredible that such fools could rise to positions of prominence. Muckley's idea of selling the ministry to allow people to buy at discount was a good idea, and probably the only idea the man had ever had or would ever have. And yet it had been enough to make him a national figure. Will Bobbin would play him like an accordion, to keep the wheels rolling until they rolled right over Wesley Pruiss and his solar energy scheme.
In his office, the Reverend Dr. Higbe Muckley looked at the door that swung closed behind Will Bobbin. It was the oil industry. He was sure of it. Who else had a vested interest in driving Wesley Pruiss out of Furlong County? Well, there was no law that prevented the oil industry from doing God's work. Or Higbe Muckley's.
He would wait to see what kind of proof arrived on the morning plane.


Chiun walked across the neat grass of the practice green toward the small stand of trees, beyond which the land sloped down a deep hill, across the eighteenth fairway, and to a forest beyond.
Remo followed him. "You know where they are?" he asked.
Chiun, wordlessly, pointed to two faint sets of parallel lines trailing across the green. Remo recognized them as probably heel marks from two bodies dragged over the grass.
Chiun stopped and looked behind a large tree. Remo saw the bodies of the three bodyguards, neatly piled up.
"Beautiful work," Chiun said.
"I don't know," Remo said stubbornly. "I think weapons take the fun out of it."
"Fun?" said Chiun. "What is this? What I teach you now is fun?"
"You know what I mean," Remo said.
"Yes, I do," Chiun said. "You are right. Weapons weaken the art. But at least if one is to use them, he should use them well. Our assassin uses his knives well. See. Here. Two men, dispatched perfectly with one thrust each. And here..." He pointed to the body of the martial arts expert, "... here two knives were used. One to kill and one to prevent an outcry."
Chiun touched the body with his toe.
"You still think they're red handled knives with horses engraved on the blades?" Remo asked.
Chiun shook his head. "That is not a think. That is a know. And that is what makes this dangerous."
"Well, Pruiss is lucky. He's got us."
"I am not talking about this Pruiss. It is dangerous for you," Chiun said.
"Why me?" asked Remo, but Chiun had already started to walk away.
They went back to the practice green where Pruiss lay in the portable bed, spun around so that the sun shone in his eyes. Rachmed Baya Bam had lifted the covers over Pruiss's legs again and was intoning words to the sun, in a language Remo did not understand. Theodosia looked at him approvingly. She glanced at Remo as he and Chiun returned and she smiled. Remo smiled back. Chiun sniffed.