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

The blow connected at the base of the man's neck.
The Libyan fell to his knees. His eyes rolled back in his head as he
pitched forward onto the floor. He did not move. His breathing was an
uncertain rattle. He would be out for at least half an hour.
Bolan frisked him. The guy was unarmed. So Bolan would not kill him.
The Executioner grabbed the unconscious figure under both arms. He
dragged the servant back to a walk-in closet next to the door. He laid him
out on the floor of the closet, then closed the door and walked on.
It took him all of eight minutes to give the sprawling two-story
residence a thorough search.
Lenny Jericho was a man who apparently lived in luxury wherever he
went. His home in the desert was a living museum of exquisite tapestries,
rugs and furniture in various Mediterranean and African styles.
Evidently the servant was the only one home.
There was no sign of Eve Aguilar. There was no sign of any part of the
house being used as a place of detention.
Damnation.
Bolan exited the house by the same open door near the unconscious
servant.
He hoped that Teckert would assume by now that Rideout had been
assigned some other duty during his time below the parapet.
He kept to the shadows and eased out from the corner of the private
residence to the rear wall of a one-story building that formed part of the
villa's square courtyard.
Bolan's finger stayed curled around the trigger of the Browning
hi-power. His senses scanned the darkness around him as he stayed close to
the wall, stealthily moving toward another single lighted window.
He bent his knees slightly when he reached it, and edged an eye to the
lower corner of the window. He looked in.
The room was an office.
Kennedy and Doyle stood near the office doorway. They were earnestly
discussing something that Bolan could not hear. The windows had been
double-glazed to facilitate the air conditioning.
Bolan watched.
Doyle snapped a curt salute at Kennedy. The subordinate left the
office. When the door was closed, Kennedy turned and crossed over to the
window through which Bolan was looking.
Bolan ducked down out of sight. He took care to prevent the barrel of
the Galil from poking out over his shoulder.
As he crouched against the cool brick of the building and looked up, he
had a good chance to study Kennedy's features.
The merc honcho stared out above him into the blackness.
It looked to Bolan as if Kennedy had plenty on his mind. The merc's
too-perfect good looks were intact and unruffled. But Bolan was close enough
to see that Kennedy's eyes were not as clear as before. They were heavy
lidded, as if important matters were weighing on Kennedy's mind.
Close to two minutes passed before Kennedy turned from the window. Then
Bolan took another chance and peered into the room.
Kennedy was locking the office door. Bolan watched him cross to an
empty niche in the wall across from the window.