"Дон Пендлтон. Death Squad ("Палач" #2) " - читать интересную книгу автора

"Zitter?" Bolan called out softly.
"Zitter," came an immediate reply. "That you, Mack?"
"It's me." Bolan was rolling slowly as he spoke. "You okay, Zit?"
"Yeah. There's three of 'em. You get all three?"
"Check-three," Bolan replied. He sighed and got to his feet, returned
to the door and found the light switch, then closed the door and turned on
the lights.
Three men were lying about the small room like grotesque statues of
death. Zitka sat in a corner on the floor, ropes binding his wrists and
ankles. Bolan produced a pocket knife and cut the ropes. "You should have
told your buddies the password," he said, grinning.
"Buddies hell!" Zitka muttered. "What'd you do to your hair?" He was
rubbing the circulation into his hands and feet.
"Bleached it," Bolan said. "Cute huh? Tried the mustache route too but
couldn't stand the filthy thing. What'd you let them tie you up for?"
Zitka growled an unintelligible response and reached for a pack of
cigarettes on a nearby table. A dark man, heavily built, he moved with
surprising grace. He was dressed only in a swimsuit.
Bolan had moved to one of the dead and was busily searching pockets and
laying the contents out for inspection. "How'd you know they weren't cops?"
he asked off-handedly.
"Cops don't slap you around and tie you up like a turkey," Zitka
growled.
Bolan nodded. They're Maffios," he reported.
"Dammit, I told you to stay clear."
Bolan smiled and moved to the next body. Thanks for the tip. But the
ambush at Kwang Tri was a helluva lot hotter than this one."
These bastards ain't playing games, Mack."
Bolan was still smiling. "Weren't much of a match for a couple of old
jungle fighters, were they? Pretty cute the way you tipped me, Zit. Of all
places to go for R and R. Kwang Tri, for God's sake."
"Yeah," Zitka said sourly. He had yet to find a glint of humor in the
situation.
"How long they been encamped, Zit?"
The big guy there has been hanging around a coupla days. I knew he was
reconning. I figured they had a phone tap on me. The TV and papers here were
full of your private little war with the Mafia. I had the setup figured, all
right. The phone was tapped. Soon as you hung up they came busting in here.
Hell, I hadn't been worried until I got your call, Mack. You're the last guy
on earth I expected to show up here. You shoulda stayed clear. You really
should've."
Bolan's smile became a dark scowl. "I couldn't stay clear, Zit," he
replied. The bastards have backtracked my entire life. I found stakeouts
every place I went. They were waiting for me in Omaha, in Denver, at
Gordon's place up in Evergreen, at Vegas-and now here. It's getting to be
too damn much, Zit, Dammit, I need ..." His voice trailed off, and he raised
baffled eyes to his friend.
"What you need, buddy, is a miracle," Zitka declared. His eyes dropped.
"And what I need is to get this garbage the hell out of here."
Bolan sighed. "Call the cops, Zit. Tell them what happened. Meanwhile