"Дон Пендлтон. The Libya Connection ("Палач" #48) " - читать интересную книгу автора

trying to tell you that I'm worried about you for the same reason that Hal
is. And I think Eve must be a very special human being for you to care about
her the way you do."
"She is special, April. So are you, for understanding."
"Just one promise," said April Rose. "Bring the both of you back
safely, okay?"
Bolan kissed her forehead.
It was time to commence preparations for the mission to Libya.
Final preparations, as they always were for The Executioner.
April held Bolan's hand for a heartbeat more, then released it.
"On your way if you must, Colonel Phoenix," she said. "And I know you
must, Mack."
And she released him.

4

Bolan's fellow passengers from Tunis had included well-dressed European
businessmen, casually attired British and American oil-field workers, at
least two dozen other professional-looking Westerners, many of whom would
have similarly attired welcoming par ties awaiting them at Benghazi.
No one met "Michael Rideout" at the Benghazi airport.
Bolan was wearing worn denim and work shirt, the uniform of the
American oil-field worker abroad. He had one carry-on piece of luggage.
He emerged from the air terminal into the arid, 120-plus-degree midday
heat. Libya was booming.
A row of shiny new taxis were parked in the terminal loading zone.
Bolan hired one for the ride into the city. He observed with curiosity this
Mediterranean powder-keg country.
Upon touchdown in the army transport plane at Tunis, Bolan had
regretfully entrusted his Beretta and AutoMag to Jack Grimaldi for temporary
safekeeping. Mike Rideout would not be carrying heat on a commercial flight.
Bolan knew that he would be provided with firearms as soon as he made
contact, as Rideout, with Jericho's people here in Libya. Until then he was
armed with a knife, purchased from a street merchant outside the airport,
worn concealed at the small of his back.
Most of the houses along the dusty, palm-lined "highway" into Benghazi
were timeless mud-brick affairs. Street signs and all advertisements were in
Arabic, but indications of Western-style prosperity were everywhere.
In the city proper, the streets became clogged with an uncomfortable
number of Japanese, American and European cars.
Traditional Arabic architecture gave way to towering glass-walled
office buildings.
Everywhere Bolan looked, there was movement, energy and commerce. And
oppressive heat.
The country's oil fields made Libya the world's ninth largest producer.
Of all the Arab nations, Libya had used its oil as a political weapon more
than any other.
It was incredibly inflated profits that fueled the heavy activity in
trade and housing and industrialization that Bolan saw all around him.
Government-owned and -subsidized supermarkets and stores were rapidly