"Дон Пендлтон. Doomsday Disciples ("Палач" #49) " - читать интересную книгу автора

Carter's slow response was interrupted by a flash of headlights across
the front windows. Bolan was already moving when he heard the car outside.
"Expecting company?" he asked.
"Nobody."
Carter joined him at the window. A black crew wagon was idling in the
driveway, disgorging hard-eyed occupants. Bolan tracked two of them toward
the porch, and one was circling around the back.
"Friends of yours?"
Carter shook his head.
"They belong to Minh."
Bolan read the counselor's expression, and he gave the Universe a
silent vote of thanks. This time, the odds were running his way, the cards
of coincidence giving him an unexpected edge.
But not the victory - not yet.
That was up to Bolan.
He would have to play those cards the way they fell, and any false
move, any mistake, could make it a dead man's hand.

7

The doorbell rang and Carter jumped as if he'd brushed a live electric
wire.
"Time for choices," Bolan said. "You're all out of numbers."
Carter swallowed hard, eyes darting nervously from Bolan to the front
door and back.
"Minh wouldn't do this," he blurted.
Bolan shrugged.
"Your decision," he said. "Go along for the ride. What have you got to
lose?"
The lawyer's face showed he was already counting the losses.
"All right, dammit!" he snapped. "What should I do?"
"I'd answer the door," Bolan said.
Carter didn't seem to trust his ears any more.
"What? But you said..."
"Get them inside," Bolan told him. "And then stay out of the way."
The Beretta Belle was in his fist now, and Carter's eyes were bulging
at the sight of it. Outside, anxious fingers punched the doorbell again,
jarring the counselor out of his momentary shock.
"They're waiting," Bolan said.
Carter moved, crossing the room with jerky strides, disappearing into
the foyer. Bolan shifted to a better vantage point and listened as the door
was opened.
Muttered voices in the entry hall - Carter's tight, nervous, the others
low-keyed, insistent. Bolan wondered if the guy could pull it off.
The voices were returning, Carter in the lead. He was bitching,
demanding answers and getting nowhere. The hardmen were saying next to
nothing.
Carter reached the living room, missing Bolan on his first hasty look
around. The nonstop carping missed a beat, but he recovered quickly and
spotted Bolan standing off to one side of the doorway, his weapon up and