Death Dealers. Don Pendleton
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Название: Death Dealers
Автор: Don Pendleton
Издательство: HarperCollins
Жанр: Приключения: прочее
isbn: 9781474008532
isbn:
Hawkins fought the urge to scowl, instead allowing himself a laugh to echo his newfound friend’s. In the Russian Federation, the horrors inflicted by Nazi Germany had long been forgotten. With the country receiving huge influxes of immigrants, stealing jobs in an already tight employment market, neo-Nazism had surged. This man was one of them, and suddenly found a comrade. Though the biodegradable ink would fade within a few weeks, Hawkins never wanted to hide his bare arms so much before, as if he were displaying diseased flesh.
“Slap me and call me a groundhog!” Hawkins spoke with a pride and fellowship he didn’t feel in his gut. At least he had a means of sparking a conversation with this guy, and now he could see just what local security was like.
He noted that the security force was using 9 mm autoloaders and 5.45 mm rifles. He watched Yuri’s eyes widen at the sight of a “high-tech” American Magnum as small as a Makarov. Hawkins also learned that Yuri wasn’t the only member of his militia present here in Hawaii, but the Russian was smart enough not to mention numbers, which in itself was informative to the Phoenix Force pro.
Hawkins did know that there were three shifts of guards, meaning that even if he counted every one of them, he’d still need to do some math, especially since it didn’t look as though they would all take off from their shifts at the same time. A smart leader would stagger who went off duty and who came on duty at varying segments, so that there was always the same number on the field, even double in a particular area at certain times.
Hawkins also noted that while there were sections of the hotel and surrounding resort facilities that seemed unfinished, there were definitely off-limit areas. Through his conversation with Yuri, trading stories about motorcycles and favorite shooting trips, Hawkins also managed to burn up the minutes that normally would have dragged on as he waited to see what would be on display. Also, as he talked, he made note of different men.
He even recognized several who were on most-wanted lists, both for Interpol and Homeland Security. This was truly a global assembly. Asians. Middle Easterners. Europeans. Africans.
All were clean and well dressed, and there was plenty of iron on display, both in terms of handguns in open and concealed holsters, as well as knives. This was a den of many wolves, and Hawkins could see that one mistake would serve him and the rest of Able Team up as appetizers to a bloody feast.
Hawkins wrapped his fingers tightly around the rubber grip of his pocket Magnum as the ballroom doors opened in three spots along the hallway. Curious criminals and terrorists lined up, invites checked, and filtered into the showroom.
Hawkins passed through the doors and stopped cold, his jaw dropping as he saw a ten-meter-long Dong-Feng missile sitting on a support scaffold. Huge, ominous, it was an unmistakable display of the vulgar firepower the auctioneer Jinan had assembled.
Hermann Schwarz gave T. J. Hawkins a prod in the back, urging him not to drop his jaw. “C’mon, Tex. We got a shopping list to fill.”
Hawkins tore his attention away from the massive DF-21 antishipping ballistic missile. Though he’d been aware that Able Team might encounter such a mighty weapon, seeing it sitting in the showroom right in front of him was unmistakably a jaw-dropping sight. He’d idly wondered how the Chinese design was such a looming, powerful threat, but up close, he could tell the sheer power of it thanks to its girth and the large, bell-like nozzles of its rocket motors. Now he could see the kind of thrust that could push the Dong-Feng into low orbit at ten times the speed of sound, and then drop it on an American aircraft carrier and its support group. The nose cone was blunt and wide, big enough, he noted, for easily six or seven smaller warheads, or a full-blown nuclear missile or massive ordnance air burst bomb.
“Is that...?” Hawkins began.
“Obviously not,” Schwarz answered. “It’s a dummy, like the Soviets often used for their May Day parades. There’s no smell of any form of fuel.”
“It’s a hell of a sight,” Hawkins said. “And it’s got MIRVs?”
“No. A Maneuverable Reentry Vehicle—a MaRV,” Schwarz corrected him. “And even though it’s capable of nearly 1700 miles of range, there’re still a lot of questions about how it will track its target.
“We’re not certain about their over-the-horizon radar systems or other sensors. Any long-range targeting might have to come from an outside third party.”
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