The Infant of Prague
- Автор: Granger Bill
- Серия: November Man #8
- Год: 1987
- Язык: французский
- Год: Warner
- ISBN: 0446347809
- Жанр: Триллеры
Электронная книга - «The Infant of Prague». Краткое содержание книги:
For in a humble Chicago parish church, the sacred statue of the Infant of Prague is found weeping real tears. A visiting Czech child star actress, transfigured by the wondrous event, declares, on live television, her intent to remain in American in the name of Christ and freedom.
Only an operative as cynical and seasoned as the November Man can sense the sinister link between two dramatic, yet apparently unrelated defections. A miracle has plunged him into a vast global adventure. And it will take a miracle to get him through it alive.
The defection of a highly visible Czech sparks an international crisis, and the November Man is caught in the middle.
“I cannot understand.”
Devereaux said, “Neither can I.”
“It is too much for my years,” Cernan said.
“She said ‘God seized my soul.’ ”
Cernan was suddenly overwhelmed with sadness for the world. They stood apart on the sidewalk and it began to rain. They were creatures of sensibilities and they had too many years to carry around. Too many bad thoughts and bad deeds.
36
The North Sea was heaving and gray. It pounded the concrete walls of the harbor at Zeebrugge and moaned in front of the shuttered cottages and old hotels.
It was one hour by car from Brussels and the Mercedes-Benz had eaten the miles at a stately eighty-five miles an hour. The day was gray but the clouds scudded furiously across the sky. Now and then, sunlight shattered on the roadway.
Miki’s face was white with shock and pain. He sat in the backseat, next to Cernan. Rita Macklin sat in the front seat next to Karl. None of them spoke and it seemed odd to her not to hear Miki’s chatter. Miki’s left hand was wrapped in a bandage that Karl had fashioned.
She felt so tired. She stared at the grayness of the countryside and it exhausted her.
Cernan spoke once to her, in polite English: “You come to even give up your life for that man. Would that man do that for you?”
She had stared at him for a long time, and in the end she didn’t respond. What could she say? That she didn’t know?
She could explain that he loved her, that she knew it in her bones, but that when you asked her questions about him, she couldn’t answer them. He was always a stranger to her. His touch was always unexpected. When they made love, it was always for the first time. When he spoke her name, she knew it was the act of a lover, but all the other places in him were hidden. Hidden from her, perhaps hidden from himself as well.
Zeebrugge was the most savage place in the world this day. It was cold and the harbor entrance was filled with trucks and buses and cars, waiting for the next ferry to England.
The big gray car pulled down the road that ran along the beach side and Rita Macklin saw him, standing in the doorway of the café. He disappeared inside. Cernan said, “Now we wait a little while.”
They waited in the damp silence of the car. Now and then, Miki moaned. He rolled his eyes. His hand was swollen with pain.
“All right,” Cernan said to Karl.
Karl got out of the car and went into the café and made the call on the public phone. The embassy assured him the child was unharmed. He went to the window and nodded to Cernan.
“All right,” Cernan said with immense weariness. “Go now. He is waiting for you.”
She couldn’t believe it. She had adopted the guise of a prisoner killing time and now it was over. It seemed unbelievable for the gate to open.
She pushed the door open and felt the stiff wind slap her face.
She slammed the door and ran across the road to the café and he was standing in the doorway. She buried her face in his coat. She said his name.
Karl went back to the car.
The door opened again in the car and this time it was Miki who was shoved out. Miki stumbled, fell on the walk.
The Mercedes pulled away.
For a moment, Miki did not understand. Then he saw the American approach, the man who had tried to take him across once before. The American stood over him and helped him up.
“We finish the train journey now,” Devereaux said to Miki.
Mrs. Neumann and the director of National Security and the director of the Federal Bureau of Investigation sat in her office with the door closed for a long time. Hanley waited in his bare, windowless office down the corridor with the familiar feeling in his belly. He wanted to retch but that would only make him feel worse. He sat behind his desk and arranged pencils and waited. The whole bill was $112,560, not counting slush that would have to be used to pay Denisov. Devereaux never told him everything all at once.
It was just after four P.M., which meant it was night in Paris. Devereaux would be in Paris by now. He would be pumping it all out of Miki, not just the outline he had given Hanley on the telephone two hours ago.
Why did he have to take the Concorde back?
He liked to travel first class.
Why did he delay?
He wanted guarantees.
He would get them when he came home.
No. He would get them before he came home.
Didn’t he trust Hanley?
The question wasn’t answered; there was no need. Hanley had gone the extra mile for him, Hanley reminded him. Hanley’s neck was on the block, too. Hanley reminded him of loyalty and duty. Hanley realized it was pointless but it was something he had to do. When Hanley finished, Devereaux explained the guarantees he wanted. About the matter in Chicago and the illegal return of the little girl named Anna to her own country. History must be rewritten so that certain acts had never happened.
The telephone on Hanley’s desk buzzed.
He picked it up.
Mrs. Neumann said, “Come in.” Her voice was cold. She had not been pleased at all. She had told Hanley she was not pleased.
He knocked at the closed door of her office and then opened it. The director of the FBI was a thin, thoughtful man with sallow skin and dark hair. The National Security director was an Italian with an open face. He was so tough he did not have to look tough.
“Sit down,” Mrs. Neumann said.
The FBI director looked with curiosity at Hanley. Hanley sat up straight in the straight chair.
“You presented us with a problem,” the NSC director said.
“And an opportunity,” the FBI director said. “No one wants to cause this administration any harm, but some very strange things were done, very strange. We were interested in the domestic side, in the Hollywood connection and the skim going on at Atlantic City. We had no idea this was so much larger.”
Hanley said nothing.
The FBI director cleared his throat. “The problem is there was a crime committed in Chicago.”
“Which one?” Hanley said. The voice was civil but the question carried the edge of sarcasm that Mrs. Neumann knew. She glared at Hanley.
“Kidnapping. Four homicides. Was this sanctioned by Section?”
“Section does not sanction killing,” Mrs. Neumann said.
“Then I don’t see what we can do,” the NSC director said. He looked at Mrs. Neumann.
“Then you don’t want Miki, is that it?” Hanley said.
“I don’t think it’s a question of that,” FBI said.
“Do you want him or don’t you want him? He won’t bring him in, you know.”
“So what is he going to do then? Adopt him?” NSC said.
“Sanctions,” Hanley said.
“Well, if that’s—”
Hanley pursed his lips. They were willing to drop it, both of them. They really didn’t want a scandal thrown on their laps. He looked at Mrs. Neumann. He saw it in her eyes. She didn’t like it either. The two of them were most involved in this and they were going to drop it. Let him kill Miki or let Miki go, but they weren’t going to break the rules and regs to safe-conduct Devereaux back to the States. No sirree.
“There are no rules,” Hanley said. He said it to Mrs. Neumann. She looked at him with sad eyes. Understanding brings sadness, Hanley thought.
Hanley looked at the tough one. That would be the National Security Council director. He really had not made himself clear.
Hanley spoke. “The agent we speak of was involved because of a woman. A woman he lives with.” For once, he did not wrinkle his Protestant nose when he described their relationship. “The woman is a journalist. She is accredited with several publications.” He named a news-magazine, a prominent monthly magazine, and a newspaper on the Eastern seaboard.