"Дон Пендлтон. The Iranian Hit ("Палач" #42) " - читать интересную книгу автора

A few short hours. But Bolan knew that a hell of a lot could go down in
much less time. The complications seemed to be starting already. Right. It
promised to be that kind of mission. It was the only type of mission that a
man of Bolan's capabilities ever drew.
So the big warrior's battle senses had all been on high as he
approached the walled property.
That was how he spotted the woman.
The main entrance to the property was another half-mile up and around a
corner from the direction in which the lady was heading. But Bolan had
shifted his priorities. He reached behind the Vette's bucket seat and
withdrew the Startron spotting scope, which was fixed with a window support
clamp. He focused behind him on the woman. He couldn't shake his sixth-sense
premonition that something was about to happen....
She was still moving away from him at a fast clip along the base of the
wall. She seemed too caught up in her own thoughts to have noticed him slow
down and pull over. For brief seconds - the one time she glanced back over
her shoulder, still not at him but in the general direction of the high,
imposing wall - he caught a stunning vision of high-cheekboned loveliness in
the scope's greenish glow.
That beautiful face wore an expression of pure, naked terror.
A four-year-old Datsun entered the Startron's field of vision and
braked to a stop at the curb near the woman. Bolan implanted the license
number in his memory, then shifted his attention to the youthful-looking guy
in his mid-thirties who leaped out from the driver side of the Datsun and
dashed directly toward the lady.
Bolan felt himself tensing. He wondered what this confrontation he was
witnessing was about. Did it concern his mission?
He relaxed.
There was no danger to the blonde from that quarter. No danger at all.
The man and woman met in a passionate embrace and a long, soulful kiss. Then
the guy took her hand and led her back toward the car. She accompanied him
willingly, taking time for only one more apprehensive look over her shoulder
at the wall.
Bolan pulled back from the scope, relieved that this was a false alarm.
Now he could be on his way and about his business. About the mission. He
only had a few short hours. And those numbers had already started falling,
even before he'd been sent in on this job. But the coming confrontation was
to be inside that walled estate. Not out here. Not playing voyeur on some
girl from the household or staff who had chosen this moment and this place
for a romantic assignation. Bolan would rather have all civilians out of
range anyway.
He began unscrewing the Startron's window clamp when everything
changed. And Bolan suddenly knew that this was the time.
Yes, by God.
He heard a loud squeal of braking rubber back up where the couple were
and brought his eye back to the scope.
A '78 Malibu had swerved into the curb, blocking in the Datsun's front
end. Four big dudes came barreling out of the Malibu and charged the couple
on the sidewalk. The guy with the woman swung away from her to meet the
onslaught, shielding her with his body. Then he died. Silenced saffron