Читать книгу "Struggle. Taste of power - Владимир Андерсон"

he already smelled his stink, he could have a drink. He took out two glasses from the minibar, took a bottle of old Armenian cognac and went back to the table. — Here, have a shot for a fallen soldier.

Seversky looked at the shot glass, then picked it up and raised it before his eyes. And began to gaze into its contents. It looked as if he were remembering, remembering in great detail this fighter and everything that had touched him before. And then, as if he was remembering those who had passed away before him… The Spetsnazov drank the shot glass in one fell swoop and put it back on the table.

"At last," Zubkov thought. He was beginning to doubt that it was worth pouring this shot glass. But no, it turned out that this decision is even better than he had assumed in advance. After all, he knows how to judge people properly. Not like that old geezer Khmelnitsky, who treated everyone like a "big daddy". You have to be a commander, a boss, a big boss. Then it works. Then you are not only respected, but feared, the main thing. And only then you can show a bit of humanity, like this shot for peace.

The fact that Seversky's man had failed to take out the Mountain was not particularly surprising. It was, in fact, more expected than a possible success. The point of the action was not to achieve the immediate goal. It was to make Gora more suspicious, more suspicious, more fearful. Now he will be afraid of every shadow in every pissed corner, and more cautious in accepting any offer. He's got all sorts of people out there who want to succeed him: hewis, plagues, even his own. He ain't got nothing on the Maquis to think about. Maki doesn't even need him, he doesn't interfere with anything.

Even on the contrary, one could decide that only the Maquis would benefit from his elevation. That only the Maquis will remain his loyal friends, trying to make life better for ordinary people. Not just fighting for influence like everyone else. He may well think so… And the fact that he didn't leak us an informant at all, but someone who fell into his hands, it's not known at all. Maybe he was sure who he was leaking, maybe he wasn't. But it is unlikely that he knows that in the end we let Ranierov go, having found the real traitor. Gora doesn't need to know that. Let him believe that he supplied us with good and timely information.

And the big problem is that now he's got the heebie-jeebies backing him up. Together they might even have a very successful symbiosis. As long as he feeds them economically and provides his, albeit meager, transportation capabilities, the quiwi will successfully defend him from any dangers. And it would be best if he thought of the act he had just made in the form of an assassination attempt on him as an act on the part of the hivi who want to take his place and control everything themselves. There's not much hope for that, but it's still better than just waiting for their conglomerate to gain momentum.

And I think that once the Jackal did not tell everything he knew about his own people and the prefect. I don't think you should have trusted Seversky, who knows nothing else but brute force, with this job. His abrasions healed in one fell swoop while his head was cut in half. He could still be useful. If only for a visible exchange… They had approached him through closed channels with an offer to exchange Jackal for thirty of our fighters. And we had nothing to give … On the other hand, and our 30 fighters would have to give all of them to the Penal Corps and only strengthen Khmelnitsky … Everything always has two sides. There is no one side…

— I'll kill him myself. — Seversky said, sitting menacingly in his chair and looking at the empty shot glass.

— Who?

— The Prefect. I'll come and slit his throat myself.

No, he's a sick fuck. He doesn't think about consequences or reality. They'll know who he is, where he's from. And it'll be clear to everyone who authorized him to go there. All the conspiracies and intrigues for the miners will be forgotten.

— Someone will recognize the commander of the Special Forces of Detachment 14… — the Commander-in-Chief started.

— Let them find out! I'll cut them too.

— Well, as you know… When you put your head down, I'll have no difficulty in putting Bolotnikov in your place. He's a good soldier. He won't let your boys get hurt.

Seversky gave his commander a rather menacing look and stood up:

— I'll still find a way to get the prefect… Permission to go.

— Permission granted.

Seversky bowed out. At least for a while he would be quiet and think about not only his future, but also the future of his favorite special forces, which he no longer separated from himself. There are still times when grown men play with something and begin to treat this something not quite objectively. And as to his brainchild… In short, Khmelnitsky again… He also treated Unit 14 as his brainchild and was afraid of its split. That's weakness, not strength. When you're afraid that the business will burn out, so you give it to someone else… Strength is in the fact that the business does not live without you. Then you can hold it together properly.

Even Bolotnikov's pointing to the right place was good. Of course, I'm not such a fool as to put the disgraced Bolotnikov in the place of the commander of the special forces. But besides, he knows what's on my mind. It can be done out of spite. I'll do it or I won't. No one knows what I will or won't do. Except me. But you can