Line of Succession
- Автор: Гарфилд Брайан
- Год: 1972
- Язык: английский
- Год: Delacorte Press
- ISBN: 978-0440048473
- Жанр: Политические детективы
Электронная книга - «Line of Succession». Краткое содержание книги:
It all happened so fast: the terrorist bombings of Congress which killed nearly a hundred senators and congressmen; the incredible kidnapping of the President-Elect, Clifford Fairlie.
Tough, veteran agent David Lime was summoned to track down the kidnappers, who threatened to kill Fairlie if the captured terrorists were not set free. And behind the scenes, ruthless men battled for the glory of the highest office in the land.
The rescue efforts swung into high gear. It became a vast, global manhunt. The entire world watched in frozen horror.
But only two men had the power to shape the end of this chilling, savage drama — agent Lime and the terrorist leader for whom hate had become a holy mission.
Satterthwaite said, “I understand you have a theory.” Icily polite.
“Well theories are a dime a dozen, aren’t they.”
“Tell me about it.”
“I didn’t think we had time to waste trotting out every wild speculation that comes along.”
“David when I ask you to give me details I think we can assume we’re not wasting anyone’s time.”
Lime scowled furiously at him. “By what curious process did you arrive at the conclusion I had anything useful to contribute?”
“It’s not a conclusion, it’s a surmise, and it’s not mine. It’s Ackert’s. He saw you staring at the map as if you’d discovered a message in secret ink. Come on David, I haven’t time to drag it out of you word by word.”
“If I had anything hard do you think I’d keep it to myself? What do you think I am?”
“I’m sure you don’t really want an answer to that question. It’s throwing raw meat on the floor.”
“Look, I admit I had an idea. I played around with it but it shot itself full of holes. It turned out to have far too many ifs in it. It’s not a theory any more, it’s a pipe dream — acting on it would distract us from what we ought to be doing. We need more to go on.”
Satterthwaite tucked his chin in toward his Adam’s apple, showing his displeasure and his determination to carry on. “I think I know the direction your theory’s taken. Are you afraid to risk getting thrown into the arena personally? David, we’re talking about one of the most despicable crimes of the century. They’ve taken an innocent hostage — a man who’s vitally important to the whole world. It’s the kind of buck you just can’t pass.”
Lime grunted.
“David, we’re talking about needs. Realities.”
Lime looked down at his shoes as if he were at a high window looking down through smoke at a fireman’s rescue net. “I guess we are,” he said. “I do tend to hate an amateur who tries to tell a professional how to do his job.”
“Get off it. Do you think I’m a patronage hack? I’m a dollar-a-year man, David, I’m not in this for glory. I do my job better than anyone else who’s available.”
“Modesty,” Lime breathed, “is an overrated virtue.”
Satterthwaite gave him a cold look. “You were born with an innate grasp of the subtleties of the hunt which most men will never learn from years of training. When it comes to operating in the western Mediterranean you’re the only expert alive Worthy of the name.” And now Satterthwaite sank the knife, twisting it: “And when it comes to the Western Desert who else can you possibly pass the buck to, David?”
“I haven’t been out there since Ben Bella.”
“But I’ve hit it, haven’t I.”
“So?”
“You want Sturka for this one too, don’t you. Why? Intuition?”
“I just don’t believe in coincidences,” Lime said. “Two well-organized capers, both on this scale, both with the same target... But there are no facts. It was just an idea. You can’t put it in the bank.”
Satterthwaite jabbed his finger toward the chair. “Come back here and sit down. Are you ready to start working?”
“It’s not my department.”
“Whose job do you want? Hoyt’s? He’s due for the chop anyway.”
“You can’t fire civil servants.”
“You can find shelves to put them on where they can’t do any damage. Ackert’s job? Would you settle for that? Name your price.”
“There’s no price for a fool’s errand.” He hadn’t stirred toward the chair. A cigarette hung from the corner of his mouth, the smoke stinging his right eye.
“Come on, let’s finish thrashing this out. You know I’ve got you over a barrel.”
“I’ve got no facts to go on. Can’t you understand that? No facts!” He took a step forward, filled with anger. “I’ve got no price — I’m not auditioning for your approval or anybody else’s. I’m not lacking in conscience — if I knew I was better equipped to handle the field assignment than anybody else I’d take the job, you wouldn’t need to degrade us both with stupid bribe offers.”
Satterthwaite pushed his glasses up against his eyebrows. “You’re not a superman, David, you’re only the best chance we have among a variety of poor chances. You spent ten years of your life in that part of the world. You grew up in NSA before it rigidified into the kind of bureaucracy that became capable of fucking up the Pueblo affair — in your day imagination still counted for something. Do you think I don’t know your secrets? I’ve sized you up, I know your talents, your choice of friends and entertainments, your record, how much you drink and when. You were the man who opened the channel between Ben Bella and De Gaulle. Christ if they’d only had the sense to send you into Indochina.”
Lime shook his head. “It’s no good, you know that.” It wasn’t altogether that he didn’t want a crack at it. He had wanted this boredom; now he was eager to get away from it; the old warhorse, he thought, but he turned back before reaching the point of commitment. “Look, things have changed, it’s a different world from the one I operated in. The quality of your mind doesn’t count — only the quality of your marksmanship. I’m a lousy shot.”
“That’s a crock of shit and you know it.”
“No. Nothing’s decided by brains any more — in spite of that think tank of yours across the hall. There’s no room left for chess players, you know that — it’s all decided by assassination and counterassassination.”
“All right. Assassinate them. But find them first. Find Fairlie and bust him out.”
Lime laughed off key. “Use the local boys over there. Spanish cops, Bedouins, desert rats — hell it’s their territory.”
“I think it’s important to have an American in charge.”
“It’s not Barbary pirates you know — these aren’t gunboat days.”
“Look, it’s an American they’ve kidnapped and I suspect the kidnappers themselves are Americans. How would it look if a Spanish cop got too close to them and then bungled things? Do you have any idea what that would do to relations between Washington and Madrid? A little stupidity like that could slide Perez-Blasco right into Moscow’s camp. At least if an American runs the show it’s our success or our failure. If it’s a success I think we’ll climb quite a few notches in international esteem and we could use that right now, God knows.”
“And if it’s failure?”
“We’ve had them before, haven’t we.” Satterthwaite sounded abysmal. “It wouldn’t be anything new. Don’t you see that’s why I don’t want the CIA clumping about in their jackboots? They’re such clumsy idiots — they’re all hated over there, they’d never get the cooperation you’ll get.”
Satterthwaite stood up. He was too short to be imposing but he tried.
Lime shook his head — a gentle stubborn negative.
Satterthwaite said, “I don’t give a shit what your motives are but you’re dead wrong. You’re the best we’ve got — for this particular job. I recognize what you’re really afraid of is the responsibility — suppose you take the job and you fail, and they kill Fairlie. You don’t want that on your conscience, do you. But how do you think I’ll feel? What about all the rest of us? Do you think you’ll be the only one who’ll have to cover himself in sackcloth and ashes?”
Lime’s silence was a continuing refusal.
But then Satterthwaite punctured him. “If we lose Fairlie because you refused to try — you’ll be far more to blame.”