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

"inspection," he installed some sophisticated "extras" of his own design,
improving the system in ways that would have startled Ma Bell.
Bolan punched the first six digits of Carter's office number, then
removed a small pitch pipe from a pocket of his overcoat and blew a long
E-flat into the mouthpiece. He then tapped the final digit.
The telephone in Carter's office didn't ring. Instead, the tone from
Bolan's pitch pipe tripped a tiny relay mechanism; Carter's phones were
"sensitized" and instantly converted into listening devices with an
effective radius of half a mile. Bolan could hear everything in the office
through a small transistorized receiver in his pocket.
Bolan kept the telephone receiver in his hand, feigning urgent
conversation, but his full attention focused on the signal out of Carter's
office. He waited, giving Carter time to park his car and take the elevator,
clicking off the numbers in his mind. Any moment now...
A door opened, closed again. Footsteps crossed the large reception room
and hesitated at the door to Carter's inner office. Inside, he tracked the
counselor by following his sounds, picturing the office layout. He marked
the sound of file drawers opening, papers being shuffled, stacked and
briefcase latches snapping in the stillness.
Carter was cleaning house, preparing to desert the sinking ship. All he
needed was a lifeboat.
Bolan pictured him, standing in the office and saying goodbye to all of
it. He could feel for the guy, watching his life disintegrate around him,
but it didn't change a thing.
The counselor picked his game, and it was too late to change the rules.
He had to live with his decision, or die with it.
Bolan heard his target lift the telephone receiver and start to dial.
The distant ringing was as clear as if the Executioner placed the call
himself.
Carter got his answer on the third ring.
"Yeah?"
Bolan didn't recognize the man's gruff voice.
"Is he in? "Carter asked.
"Who's calling?"
The lawyer was impatient, angry.
"Carter, dammit. Put him on."
If his anger phased the other guy, it didn't show.
"Hang on a second."
It was more like a minute before another voice came on the line.
"Mitchell... I've been expecting you."
There was no mistaking that voice.
Nguyen Van Minh.
The counselor was burning his bridges, but cautiously.
"What's the idea of sending men to pick me up?" he asked.
"A security precaution," Minh explained. "We have encountered some, ah,
difficulties here."
Bolan smiled. Minh was playing it close to the vest.
"You should call me if you have a problem," Carter said.
"We have a problem." Minh corrected him. "The telephone was
considered... unreliable."