"Archer, Geoffrey - The Burma Legacy" - читать интересную книгу автора (Archer Geoffrey)

took a shower, then dressed in some of the winter clothes he'd left in the
wardrobe a year ago. He walked into the small kitchen and made fresh
coffee to take away the taste of the stuff on the plane. By the time he felt
ready to face the world it was nearly ten. He rang his controller to check in.
"Welcome back!" Duncan Waddell had a much deeper voice than
seemed right for a man of diminutive stature. The accent betrayed his
Ulster upbringing. "I thought we'd do our briefing over lunch, if that suits."
"A scoff at the tax-payer's expense ..."
"The! Careless talk. You'll have a Parliamentary Oversight Committee
breathing down our necks."
"D'you have somewhere in mind?"
"There's a Spanish restaurant in Pimlico that has little alcoves where we
won't be overheard. I've booked a table for one o'clock."
He gave the address and they rang off.
Sam had a couple of hours to kill before taking the underground into the
centre of town. He paced round the flat, pausing to peer from the
windows, then let his eyes fall on the things that were his in the place. A
pair of armchairs in the living room, a few maritime prints on the walls and
an old bracket clock that had once belonged to his father. He'd owned his
own apartment for several years, until forced to bed hop when the address
became known to people out to kill him. Most of his meagre stock of
furniture had been in store ever since.
Sam had been told nothing about his new operation. Waddell had
refused to say on the phone. The travel and the time shift had left him
feeling out of touch, so he put on a warm coat and slipped out of the house
to buy a fistful of newspapers. There were no world crises troubling his
fellow countrymen, it turned out. The headlines were all about a "flu
epidemic.
Two hours later Packer emerged at the top of the escalator at Pimlico. It
was five to one. The cream-painted terraces of Bessborough Gardens
gleamed in the wintry sun. After the humid heat of the Far East, he found
the crisp winter air invigorating. He walked west towards the restaurant his
controller had chosen. Suddenly a hand on his arm made him jump.
"Well met!" It was Duncan Waddell, dressed in a long black coat with the
collar turned up. They shook hands. "Coping with the cold okay?"
"Nice change, actually.'"
They strode on. "Next turning on the right. Good flight?"
"Passable."
When they reached the restaurant, warm food smells wafted up from the
basement. Their coats were taken by a waiter who introduced himself
without irony as Manuel and they were shown to their alcove. Waddell
ordered a bottle of sparkling mineral water, then waited for the server to be
out of earshot.
"Ever been to Japan?" he asked. He had a pointed, terrier face, and fired
the question like a dart.
"No."
"Interesting lot."
"Yes?" Sam waited to be told what this was about.
"This culture they have. Honour and duty ..." Waddell broke a bread
roll and bit off a piece. His short, fair hair was showing hints of white. "The