cc.fireice-第17部分

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was　barely　discernible；　and　his　lethargic　heartbeat　would　have　alarmed　a　cardiologist。　The　heavy…lidded　eyes　over　the　prominent　nose　were　closed；　but　he　was　neither　asleep　nor　awake。　The　thick　lips　were　curled　in　a　beatific　smile。　Unseen；　behind　the　thorny　brambles　that　guarded　the　dense　thicket　of　his　mind；　lurked　the　unfathomable　musings　of　a　madman。
　
　A　soft　knock　came　at　the　door。　The　bearded　man　showed　no　sign　that　he　had　heard　it。　The　knock　repeated；　louder　and　more　insistent　this　time。
　
　〃Yes；〃　the　man　said　in　Russian。　His　deep　voice　sounded　as　if　it　issued　from　the　depths　of　a　catab。
　
　The　door　opened　a　crack　and　a　young　man　dressed　in　the　uniform　of　a　ship's　steward　peered　into　the　room。　Light　from　the　passageway　fell　on　the　face　of　the　sitting　man。　The　steward　murmured　a　silent　prayer　his　grandmother　had　taught　him　to　ward　off　demons。　Mustering　the　courage　to　speak；　he　said；　〃Forgive　the　interruption；　sir。〃
　〃What　is　it？〃
　
　〃Mr。　Razov　asks　to　see　you　in　the　main　cabin。〃
　
　Deep…set　eyes　of　pale　yellow　opened　and　stared　out　of　the　bony　skull。　They　were　the　hypnotic　eyes　of　a　predator；　large　and　lustrous。
　
　A　pause。　Then；　〃Tell　him　I　will　be　there。〃
　〃Yes；　sir。〃　Under　the　spell　of　the　unrelenting　gaze；　the　terrified　steward　felt　the　strength　start　to　leave　his　legs。　He　slammed　the　door　shut　and　bolted　along　the　passageway。
　
　The　man　unfolded　his　body　and　stood　to　his　full　height　of　six　feet　four。　He　was　dressed　in　a　belted　tunic　of　black　cotton。　The　military　collar　of　his　shirt　was　tight　against　the　neck；　and　his　pants　were　tucked　into　low　boots　of　shiny　black　leather。　His　dark　brown　hair　was　worn　long　over　the　ears；　blending　into　a　full　beard　that　spilled　down　to　his　chest。
　
　He　worked　the　stiffness　from　his　muscles　joint　by　joint　and　took　great　gulps　of　air　into　his　starved　lungs。　When　all　his　vital　systems　were　operating　normally；　he　opened　the　cabin　door；　ducked　his　head；　and　stepped　out　into　the　corridor。　Moving　silently；　he　followed　the　passageway　and　climbed　onto　the　deck　of　the　four…hundred…foot　yacht。　Crewmen　who　saw　him　ing　stepped　aside。
　
　The　yacht　had　been　designed　with　a　wide　uncluttered　deck　and　low；　streamlined　superstructure　that　minimized　wind　resistance。　Based　on　a　design　for　a　FastShip　freighter；　the　vessel　was　built　with　a　deep　V…shaped　hull　that　cut　through　the　waves　and　a　concave　stem　that　reduced　drag。　Powered　by　gas　turbines　and　using　an　innovative　water　jet　propulsion　system；　the　vessel　could　go　at　speeds　that　were　twice　those　reached　by　vessels　of　parable　length。
　
　The　bearded　man　came　to　a　door；　opened　it　without　knocking　and　stepped　into　a　spacious　stateroom　as　big　as　a　small　house。　He　walked　through　the　living　area　with　its　sofas；　chairs　and　a　dining　table　of　medieval　size。　The　floors　were　carpeted　with　antique　Persian　rugs；　anyone　of　which　was　worth　a　small　fortune。　On　the　walls　were　priceless　masterpieces；　most　stolen　from　museums　and　private　collections。
　
　At　the　far　end　of　the　room　was　a　massive　desk　made　of　the　finest　mahogany　inlaid　with　gold　and　pearl。　On　the　wall　behind　the　desk　was　a　stylized　logo　that　depicted　a　military　fur　hat　crossed　by　an　unsheathed　saber。　Printed　in　Cyrillic　letters　under　the　symbol　were　the　words：　ATAMAN　INDUSTRIES。　Seated　at　the　desk；　talking　into　a　telephone；　was　Mikhail　Razov；　president　of　Ataman。
　
　Although　Razov　hardly　spoke　above　a　whisper；　his　seemingly　gentle　tone　couldn't　mask　the　cold　menace　in　his　voice。　His　pale　white　face　could　have　been　carved　from　Carrara　marble；　but　no　one　would　mistake　the　hard…edged　profile　as　the　work　of　a　Renaissance　sculptor。　It　was　a　face　that　countless　victims　had　seen　with　their　dying　breath。
　
　Two　lean；　white　Russian　wolfhounds　lounged　at　his　feet。　When　the　tall　man　approached；　they　began　to　whimper。　Razov　hung　the　phone　up　and　shushed　the　dogs；　who　crawled　under　his　desk。　Razov　underwent　an　astounding　metamorphosis。　Unexpected　warmth　came　into　the　slate　gray　eyes；　the　cruel　lips　widened　in　a　smile　and　the　rough…hewn　features　softened。　Razov　could　have　been　anyone's　favorite　uncle。　Career　criminals　like　Razov　bee　acplished　actors　if　they　live　long　enough。　Razov　had　cultivated　his　natural　chameleon's　talent　under　the　tutelage　of　professional　actors。　In　an　instant；　he　could　transform　himself　from　a　murderous　thug　into　a　hard…driving　businessman；　a　charming　host　or　a　charismatic　orator。
　
　Razov's　powerful　shoulders　and　muscular　thighs　offered　a　hint　of　humbler　beginnings。　Born　on　the　steppes　of　the　Black　Sea；　the　son　of　a　Cossack　horse　breeder；　Razov　had　ridden　from　the　time　he　was　big　enough　to　climb　into　a　saddle。　He'd　had　a　keen　mind　and　quickly　saw　the　disadvantages　of　the　brutal　farm　toil　that　had　killed　his　mother　and　was　ruining　his　father's　health。
　
　He　ran　away　to　the　city　and　put　his　muscle　to　work　as　an　enforcer　for　a　gang　of　extortionists。　Razov's　skill　as　a　bone　crusher　and　killer　earned　him　top　wages。　He　had　forgotten　how　many　times　he　had　put　a　bullet　into　the　kneecap　of　a　recalcitrant　merchant　or　the　head　of　a　tardy　loan　customer。　He'd　lost　count　of　the　wayward　prostitutes　he　had　strangled。　In　fact；　he'd　used　his　newfound　wealth　to　buy　a　house　of　prostitution　for　himself。
　
　Soon；　by　eliminating　his　former　employers；　he　gained　control　of　a　network　of　brothels。　He　protected　his　investment　with　a　private　army　of　ruthless　thugs　and　branched　out　into　gambling；　drugs　and　loan…sharking。　With　generous　bribes　and　strategic　killings；　Razov　put　himself　beyond　the　reach　of　Soviet　authority　and　became　a　multimillionaire。　He'd　bee　the　quintessential　Soviet　mobster；　and　it　seemed　as　if　he　would　go　on　until　a　more　aggressive　rival　surfaced。
　
　The　bearded　man　came　over　and　stood　in　front　of　Razov's　desk；　hands　clasped　in　front　of　him。　〃You　called　for　me；　Mikhail？〃
　〃Boris；　my　dear　friend　and　advisor。　I'm　sorry　if　I　disturbed　your　meditation；　but　there's　important　news。〃
　
　〃The　test　was　a　success　then？〃
　
　Razov　nodded。　〃The　early　damage　reports　are　most　impressive；　considering　the　small　scale　of　the　experiment。〃　He　hit　a　button　on　the　desk　and　an　orderly　appeared；　as　if　by　magic；　with　a　tray；　two　glasses　and　a　bottle　of　vodka。　Razov　poured　the　glasses　full　and　handed　one　to　Boris。　Dismissing　the　orderly；　he　indicated　a　chair；　took　a　seat　opposite　and　raised　his　glass　in　toast。
　
　Boris's　large　Adam's　apple　bobbled　as　he　noisily　slugged　his　drink　down。　He　drained　the　glass　as　if　the　contents　were　no　stronger　than　herbal　tea　and　wiped　his　mouth　with　the　back　of　his　hairy　hand。　〃How　many　dead？〃　he　said；　hardly　able　to　control　his　eagerness。
　
　〃One　or　two；〃　Razov　said；　with　a　shrug。　〃Apparently；　there　was　a　warning。〃
　
　The　monk's　strange　eyes　blazed　with　a　killing　anger。　〃An　informer？〃
　〃No；　it　was　pletely　unanticipated。　A　fisherman　warned　the　townspeople；　and　the　harbor　was　evacuated。〃
　〃A　pity；〃　Boris　said；　with　genuine　sadness　in　his　voice。　〃We　must　be　sure　next　time　that　there　is　no　warning。〃
　
　Razov　nodded　in　agreement　and　pointed　to　a　large　puter…generated　monitor　on　one　wall。　The　screen　displayed　a　map　of　the　world。　It　sparkled　with　lights　that　showed　the　positions　of　the　far…flung　Ataman　fleet。　Using　a　remote　control；　he　zoomed　in　on　the　map　to　bring　up　a　line　of　lights　assembling　off　the　East　Coast　of　the　United　States。
　
　〃Our　assets　are　moving　into　position。〃　His　eyes　grew　colder。　〃I　can　assure　you　that　when　we　have　acplished　our　work；　there　will　be　many　dead　to　count；　and　much　more。〃
　
　Boris　smiled。　〃Then　the　North　American　project　is　on　schedule？〃
　
　Razov　refilled　their　glasses。　He　seemed　troubled。　〃Yes　and　no。　There　are　some　matters　of　vital　importance　that　I　want　to　discuss　with　you。　They　have　a　bearing　on　our　plans。　We　must　deal　with　an　unexpected　problem。　There　have　been　intruders　at　our　Black　Sea　operation。〃
　〃Moscow　has　heard　of　our　activities？〃
　〃The　fools　in　Moscow　are　still　unaware　of　our　plan；〃　Razov　replied　with　unveiled　contempt。　〃No；　it　was　not　the　central　government。　An　American　television　crew　landed　near　the　old　submarine　pen。〃
　〃Americans？〃　He　lifted　his　arms　toward　the　sky。　〃A　gift　from　heaven；〃　he　said；　eyes　glittering。　〃I　hope　their　necks　felt　the　sharp　edges