The Night Manager полностью

And you stayed in the room, Burr thought, watching Apostoll inflate with his story. On somebody's ranch or in somebody's apartment, surrounded by the hookers and the peasant boys with jeans and Uzis, lounging among the leopard-skin sofas and the mega-sized television sets and the solid-gold cocktail shakers. With your clients. Captivated by the aristocratic English charmer with his film show.

"He showed us the British special soldiers storming the Iranian Embassy in London. He showed us American special forces on jungle training, the American Delta Force, and promotion film of some of the world's newest and smartest weaponry. Then he asked us again who the strong were, and what would happen if the Americans ever got tired of spraying herbicide on Bolivian crops and seizing fifty kilos in Detroit, and decided instead to come and drag my clients from their beds and fly them to Miami in chains and subject them to the humiliation of a public trial under United States law in the manner of General Noriega. He asked whether it was right or natural that men of such wealth should be unprotected. 'You do not drive old cars. You do not wear old clothes. You do not make love with old women. Then why do you deny yourselves the protection of the newest weapons? You have brave boys here, fine men, loyal; I see it in their faces. But I wouldn't think there's five in a hundred of them would qualify for the fighting unit I'm proposing to put together for you.' After that, Mr. Roper described his fine corporation to them, Ironbrand. He pointed to its respectability and diversity, its tanker fleet and transportation facilities, its noted trading record in minerals, timber and agricultural machinery. Its experience in informal transportation of certain materials. Its relations with compliant officials in the major ports of the world. Its familiarity with the creative use of offshore companies. Such a man could cause Mary's message to shine in the darkest pit."

Apostoll paused, but only to sip some water from the glass that Father Lucan had poured him from a plastic bottle.

"Gone were the days of suitcases packed with hundred-dollar bills, he went on. Of swallowers with olive-oiled condoms in their bellies being hauled off to the X-ray room. Of small planes running the interdiction gauntlet across the Gulf of Mexico. What Mr. Roper and his colleagues were offering them was trouble-free, door-to-door shipment of their product to the emerging markets of Central and Eastern Europe."

"Dope," Strelski exploded, unable to endure any more of Apostoll's circumlocutions. "Your clients' product is dope. Michael Roper is trading guns for refined, processed, nine-nine-nine fucking cocaine, calculated at airstrip fucking prices! Mountains of the shit! He's going to ship it to Europe and dump it there and poison kids and ruin lives and make mega-millions! Right?"

Apostoll remained aloof from this outburst. "Mr. Roper wished for no cash advances from my clients, Doctor. He would finance all of his side of the bargain out of his own resources. He did not hold out his hand. The trust he bestowed on them transcended the normal trust of man. If they cheated on the deal, he assured them, they could ruin his good name, bankrupt his corporation and turn away his investors forever. Yet he had confidence in my clients. He knew them as good men. The greatest blessing, he said ― the greatest guarantee of security from interference ― was to finance the entire enterprise a priori out of his own pocket until the day of reckoning. That was what he proposed to do. He placed his faith in their hands. Mr. Roper went further. He emphasised that he had no intention of competing with my clients' customary European correspondents. He would enter and leave the chain entirely in accordance with my clients' wishes. Once he had delivered the merchandise to whomever my clients chose to nominate as the recipient, he would regard his task as done. If my clients were reluctant to name such persons, Mr. Roper would be happy to arrange a blind hand-over."

Pulling a large silk handkerchief from his pocket, Apostoll wiped away the sweat that had formed below his toupee.

Now, thought Burr in the hiatus. Go.

* * *

"And was Major Corkoran present on this occasion, Michael?" Burr asked innocently.

Immediately, a scowl of disapproval settled over Apostoll's darting features. His voice became snappish and accusing.