"Дон Пендлтон. Caribbean Kill ("Палач" #10) " - читать интересную книгу автора

didn't know for sure, I mean nobody told me. They just said Glass Bay
instead of San Juan. That was the tip-off, I mean I knew something was up.
And I put it together myself."
"Sure."
The guy was reaching for life. "You got to believe me, I wasn't in on
the setup."
"I believe you," Bolan muttered.
A strangled sound from the rear announced that the bagman was not quite
ready to die, either. He was cowering against his bags of bucks and
trembling as he croaked, "Me, too, Mr. Bolan. Honest to God I didn't know
until just now."
"Okay, get out," Bolan groaned.
"Right here?" the accountant warbled hopefully.
Bolan nodded. The pier was less than fifty yards ahead now. "Not the
money, just you." To the pilot, he commanded, "Pre-set those controls for a
quick lift-off. Then you follow Lemke."
"Too late," Grimaldi replied, sighing. "Can you fly this crate?"
"Watch me," Bolan told him.
"You'll never make it out of here now. They'll blow this thing out of
the water before you can get it turned around. You waited too long, Bolan."
"Just set it up," the Executioner commanded.
Lemke pushed the hatch open and gazed apprehensively at the water
slipping gently by just below, then he jumped and disappeared from view. The
two men on the pier reacted immediately, and a sudden film of perspiration
appeared on the pilot's brow.
"Okay she's set!" he yelled, and pushed himself clear of the seat.
The people on shore were beginning to look alive. A man on the pier
cupped his hands and shouted something toward the house. A clump of men
wearing bathing suits and openly displaying, weapons broke into a run for
the seaplane dock.
Girmaldi threw himself through the hatch and Bolan swung around behind
him to punch a pair of Parabellums into the two agitated figures on the
pier. They went over backwards, their own weapons firing reflexively and
wildly, and Bolan made a lunge for the throttle.
That precise moment had arrived.
He gave the little craft full throttle, swung the nose around to the
desired course and locked the controls in that position, then he moved
swiftly to the blind-side hatch as the seaplane hunched into the sudden
acceleration.
He had no intention of trying to fly that water bird out of there. The
intention was to make the opposing troops think that he was.
A startled moment of confusion was all he'd been bidding for. And he
got it, sliding into the calm Caribbean depths just as the reaction-fire
came crashing into the speeding craft.
Bolan remained shallow and concentrated on achieving maximum underwater
distance. By the time he surfaced, the pilotless plane had reached
nightspeed and was just beginning a rather ragged lift-off. It broke land
with only inches of clearance between pontoons and beach, then rose swiftly
in a steady pull for treetop level, winging through a sustained and
withering fire that was reaching out from every spot about that lagoon.