"downtime" - читать интересную книгу автора (Brown Eric)

Five bottles of retsina later, the sun long set and the full moon high over the bay, they finished desert and ordered coffee.

Andy leaned back in his chair. "All this..." He looked about him, spread his hands to indicate the bay, the bistro, the two of them. "I've never been so happy for a long time."

Sinclair felt something open up within him, a wound with no hope of cure.
"Andy..." Sinclair reached across the table and gripped his wrist. "It means a lot to me, too." He thought of a way to break it gently, shook his head.

Andy stared at him. "But - what?"

Sinclair braced himself. "I'm dying-" The sudden pain in the young man's eyes made him stop.

Andy was shaking his head. "How... how long?"

"I've got two months at the most. I wanted to remain here right until the end, but according to the medics I'll be too sick during the last month to maintain the link."

Andy said nothing, just sat and stared at the table.

Sinclair closed his eyes. When he opened them he saw that Andy was crying. "I don't want you to see me, back home. I'm a walking skeleton - no, I'm a bed-ridden skeleton. Have you ever seen anyone with Kaposi's sarcoma?" He paused, then put a hand to his chest. "This is how I looked six years ago, before the illness." He reached across the table and squeezed Andy's fingers. "I'm sorry. I should never have... It's my fault. I wanted to tell you right at the start, but at the same time I wanted you so much..."

Andy said through his tears, "There's no reason why we can't enjoy the time we have left together, in here."

"I lied, Andy. I wasn't truthful."

Andy looked up, met Sinclair's eyes. "I understand... I understand how difficult it must be."

A silence descended. Sinclair signalled the waiter. "Enough of this, okay? We're here to enjoy ourselves. How about a nightcap?"

Andy said, "Just one more thing..." he paused. "Out there, in the real world, do you have anyone to be with you?"

"Andy..." Sinclair closed his eyes, trying to banish the fact of the real world from his thoughts.

Seconds later the first explosion ripped through the warm night air.

The deafening crack seemed to detonate directly overhead. Instinctively Sinclair closed his eyes and ducked, and when he opened them again the sky was no longer midnight black, but blue. A second explosion followed hard on the first, and instantly a series of narrow white stripes laid themselves over the sky from horizon to horizon.

"Jesus Christ," Andy said, staring up in awe. "It's the Greek flag!"

Sinclair pointed out to the sea horizon, where letters stood as tall a buildings.
"Kriti Popular Front," Andy read. He laughed, nervously. "I think this is more than just a minor glitch."

A jeep roared into the village and screeched to a halt on the quayside. Two armed men in army fatigues, their faces covered by balaclavas, jumped out and strode over to the crowded patio of a restaurant.

As Sinclair looked on, a part of him thinking that this was some display put on by the tour company for the benefit of the tourists, the militia took aim and fired into the massed diners. Screams took up when the rattle of gunfire ceased.

Andy was up and running towards the scene of the carnage.

Sinclair tried to stop him. "Andy!" He gave chase, knocking over tables in his haste.

The armed men sprinted back to their jeep, and were in the process of jumping aboard when the air around them became agitated. For a second the two men, the driver and the jeep slipped out of focus - then vanished.