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

Pornov would supply the weaponry and financing needed to launch such a
military overthrow.
It was set to happen in two days. All was in readiness. The plan, to
Shahkhia's mind, was perfect. Shahkhia had given arms to members of rogue
Bedouin tribes who roamed the desert. The tribesmen would do the dirty work,
attacking key military installations around the country that had been
carefully selected by Ahmad and his fellow plotters. Well-coordinated
attacks by the Bedouins would weaken Khaddafi politically as well as
militarily.
Brother Colonel would be disgraced, seen as a leader too weak to
control civil disorder.
Troops loyal to Colonel Shahkhia would then march in and restore order
from chaos. And of course the tribesmen would be duly paid for their work,
clandestinely.
Yes, only two days... and Ahmad Shahkhia would never again stand in
another man's shadow.
But why had Pornov issued this summons to a meeting in the center of
nowhere? There was no traffic whatsoever along this stretch of desert
highway. Only the sand, the Russians and the line of telephone poles and
wire, reaching from horizon to horizon.
The uniformed Russian KGB man stood at the very edge of the tent's
shade. He was waiting for the approaching rider.
Pornov was squat, oxlike. To Shahkhia, the Russian pig farmer always
seemed to be slick with perspiration in his confining brown uniform.
The "shepherd" pulled rein short yards from the tent, dismounted and
approached the KGB man. The Russian spoke in clipped English as the two men
exchanged a handshake. English was the only language known to them both.
"Colonel Shahkhia, I am glad you were able to keep our appointment."
There was a smugness in the Russian's voice that was vaguely
unsettling.
"General Pornov." Ahmad noticed that the general's camp chair was the
only furniture in the small tent. The Russian and the Arab remained
standing. "I trust there have been no complications in our arrangements."
"Not from our end," said Pornov. His small eyes glittered like polished
beads. "But complications, yes. It seems, my dear Colonel, that you have
underestimated myself and the people I represent."
Shahkhia felt cool fingers of fear caress his spine.
"Underestimate you? How?"
"Fool!" snapped Pornov. "You deal with others. You are to meet the
American, Leonard Jericho, this evening at the army base at Aujila, to close
a deal you have made with him without my sanction."
Shahkhia prayed that he was not showing outwardly the rising panic he
felt inside.
"My General, you must be mistaken ..."
Even to Ahmad, the voice did not sound like his own.
"I am not mistaken," said Pornov icily. "It need not concern you how I
came by this information. I believe that two words will suffice to persuade
you, Colonel Shahkhia, that I do know of what I speak. The two words...
Strain-7."
"General Pornov, I'm sure there has been some mistake ..."