[ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]

- if you don't mark each word I say most carefully. Do you think anyone would
believe your
accusation? Where's the proof? In your head? In your addled head! Oh, they
just might believe, I'll grant you that - but what if they didn't? And would I
sit still and simply let you have it all your own way? Would Theo Dolgikh sit
still for that? You have any easy time here, Zek. Ah, but there are other jobs
in other places for a strong young woman in the USSR. After your -
rehabilitation? -
doubtless they'd find you one.'
Again he paused, put away the gun. He saw that he had made his point.
'Now get out of here, but don't leave the Château. I want a report on
everything you learned from Kyle. Everything. The initial report may be brief,
an outline. I'll have that by midday tomorrow.
The final report will be detailed down to the last minutia. Do you
understand?'
Page 217
ABC Amber Palm Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcpalm.html
She stood looking at him, bit her lip.
'Well?'
Finally she nodded, blinked away tears of frustration, turned on her heel. On
her way out, he softly said, 'Zek,' and she paused. But she didn't face him.
'Zek, you have a great future. Remember that. And really, that's the only
choice you have. A great future - or none at all.'
Then she left and closed the door behind her.
She went to her own small suite of rooms, the austere quarters she used when
she was not on duty, and threw herself down on her bed. To hell with his
report. She'd do it in her own time, if she did it at all. For what use would
she be to Gerenko once he knew what she knew?
After a little while she managed to compose herself and tried to sleep. But
though she was weary to death, she tried in vain..
Chapter Sixteen
Wednesday, 11.45 P.M. - fifteen minutes to midnight in Hartlepool on England's
north-east coast - and a thin drizzling rain turning the empty streets shiny
black. The last bus for the colliery villages along the coast had left the
town half an hour ago; the pubs and cinemas had all turned out;
grey cats slinked in the alleys and a last handful of people headed for their
homes on a night when it simply wasn't worth being out.
But in a certain house on the Blackhall Road there was a muted measure of
activity. In the garret flat, Brenda Keogh had fed her baby son and put him
down for the night and was now preparing herself for bed. In the hitherto
empty first floor flat, Darcy Clarke and Guy Roberts sat in near-darkness,
Roberts nodding off to sleep and Clarke listening with an anxious awareness to
the timbers of the old house creaking as they settled for the night.
Downstairs in the ground floor flat, its permanent 'residents', two Special
Branch men, were playing cards while a uniformed policeman made coffee and
looked on. In the entrance hail a second uniformed officer kept his vigil just
inside the door, smoking a slightly damp and ill-made cigarette while he sat
in an uncomfortable wooden chair and wondered for the tenth time just what he
was doing here.
To the Special Branch men it was old hat: they were here for the protection of
the girl in the garret flat. She didn't know it, but they weren't just good
neighbours, they were her minders. Hers and little Harry's. They'd looked
after her for the better part of a year, and in all of that time no one had so
much as blinked at her; theirs must be the cushiest, best paid number in the
entire length and breadth of the security business! As for the two uniformed
men: they were on overtime, kept over from the middle shift to do 'special'
duties. They should have gone off home at 10.00 P.M., but it appeared there
was this bloody maniac on the loose, and the girl upstairs was thought to be
one of his targets. That was all they'd been told. All very mysterious.
On the other hand, in the flat above, Clarke and Roberts knew exactly why they
were here -
and also what they were up against. Roberts uttered a quiet snort and his head
lolled where he sat close to the curtained window in the living-room. He gave
a grunt and straightened himself up a little, and in the next moment began to
nod again. Clarke scowled at him without malice, turned up his collar and
rubbed his hands for warmth. The room felt damp and cold.
Clarke would have liked to put on a light but didn't dare; this flat was
supposed to be empty and that was the way it must appear. No fires, no lights,
as little movement as possible. All they'd allowed themselves by way of
comfort was an electric kettle and a jar of instant coffee. Well, a little [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]

  • zanotowane.pl
  • doc.pisz.pl
  • pdf.pisz.pl
  • thierry.pev.pl

    •