"Clancy, Tom - Jack Ryan 02 - Patriot Games" - читать интересную книгу автора (Clancy Tom)

marvelous objectivity.
"Ah, we're awake." A voice other than the distant, muffled tone of the
PA system. Ryan dropped his chin to see a nurse of about fifty. She had a
Bette Davis face crinkled by years of frowns. He tried to speak to her,
but his mouth seemed glued shut. What came out was a cross between a rasp
and a croak. The nurse disappeared while he tried to decide what exactly
the sound was.
A man appeared a minute or so later. He was also in his fifties, tall
and spare, dressed in surgical greens. There was a Stethoscope hanging
from his neck, and he seemed to be carrying something that Ryan couldn't
quite see. He seemed rather tired, but wore a satisfied smile.
"So," he said, "we're awake. How are we feeling?" Ryan managed a
full-fledged croak this time. The doctor -- ? -- gestured to the nurse.
She came forward to give Ryan a sip of water through a glass straw.
"Thanks." He sloshed the water around his mouth. It was not enough to
swallow. His mouth tissues seemed to absorb it all at once. "Where am I?"
"You are in the surgical recovery unit of St. Thomas's Hospital. You
are recovering from surgery on your upper left arm and shoulder. I am your
surgeon. My team and I have been working on you for, oh, about six hours
now, and it would appear that you will probably live," he added
judiciously. He seemed to regard Ryan as a successful piece of work.
Rather slowly and sluggishly Ryan thought to himself that the English
sense of humor, admirable as it might otherwise be, was a little too dry
for this sort of situation. He was composing a reply when Cathy came into
view. The Bette Davis nurse moved to head her off.
"I'm sorry, Mrs. Ryan, but only medical person --"
"I'm a doctor." She held up her plastic ID card. The man took it.
"Wilmer Eye Institute, Johns Hopkins Hospital." The surgeon extended
his hand and gave Cathy a friendly, colleague-to-colleague smile. "How do
you do. Doctor? My name is Charles Scott."
"That's right," Ryan confirmed groggily. "She's the surgeon doctor.
I'm the historian doctor." No one seemed to notice.
"Sir Charles Scott? Professor Scott?"
"The same." A benign smile. Everyone likes to be recognized, Ryan
thought as he watched from his back.
"One of my instructors knows you -- Professor Knowles."
"Ah, and how is Dennis?"
"Fine, Doctor. He's associate professor of orthopedics now." Cathy
shifted gears smoothly, back to medical professional. "Do you have the
X-rays?"
"Here." Scott held up a manila envelope and extracted a large film. He
held it up in front of a lighting panel. "We took this prior to going in."
"Damn." Cathy's nose wrinkled. She put on the half-glasses she used
for close work, the ones Jack hated. He watched her head move slowly from
side to side. "I didn't know it was that bad."
Professor Scott nodded. "Indeed. We reckon the collarbone was broken
before he was shot, then the bullet came crashing through here -- just
missed the brachial plexus, so we expect no serious nerve damage -- and
did all this damage." He traced a pencil across the film. Ryan couldn't
see any of it from the bed. "Then it did this to the top of the humerus