"Brown, Dale - Patrick 2 - Day of the Cheetah" - читать интересную книгу автора (Brown Dale)

their time at the Academy. The Academy had a reputation to
uphold. How would this Kenneth Francis James fit in?
His grades were never in question-he had scored in the
upper one percent of his Scholastic Aptitude Tests and had
passed advanced placement exams in mathematics and biology,
allowing him to take nine credits of college-level courses even
before stepping onto a college campus. He had even taken
several Law School Admissions Tests for practice and had
scored high on all of them. He had requested only the best-
Columbia, Harvard, Georgetown, Oxford. It was his intention
to study under such as Kissinger, Kirkpatrick, Brezezinski-
and pursue a career in the Foreign Service or in politics.
Mostly autonomy was what James craved, autonomy and
control, but his extremism could destroy him and hurt the
Academy. In the Foreign Service, in government, one had to
be a team player. Which left out Kenneth James.
But the Academy tried not to discard its students who did
not fit. Especially the highly intelligent ones. The problem now
was to find James a niche for his particular talents and person-
ality and at the same time channel usefully his considerable
energy and intelligence.
Roberts began to stack the folders on his desk and buzzed
his secretary. "You are dismissed, Mr. James."
The sudden announcement took James by surprise, but he
tried not to show it. He stood and headed for the door.
"Das svedanya, tovarishchniy Maraklov, " Roberts called
out, glancing up at the retreating figure, waiting to catch his
reaction.

There was none. James turned, hand casually on the door-
knob. "I beg your pardon, sir?"
Roberts remained stone-faced but inwardly was pleased.
Good, Mr. James, he said to himself. No sign of recognition-
and more importantly, no sign of trying to hide any recogni-
tion. You have learned your lessons well. I think you may be
ready for graduation .
"Dismissed, Mr. James."
"My name is Janet."
Ken James moved closer to the woman and stared into her
bright green eyes. Janet Larson was thirty years old, five feet
tall, with long, bouncy brown hair. She was wearing stone-



8 DALE BROWN
washed jeans and a red flannel shirt, the sleeves rolled up and
the top three buttons unbuttoned against the warming late spring
weather. Sitting in her apartment, Ken let his eyes travel from
her shining eyes to her white throat and down her open neck-
line to the deepening crest between her breasts. When his eyes