"Jerry Davis - Scuba (2)" - читать интересную книгу автора (Davis Jerry)

closed the door behind him, cutting off the sound. For a moment
while he stood beside Jack in the silence he considered ripping
the face mask off Jack's face. He finally decided he was above
such petty gestures and, instead, walked over to his desk and sat
down.
"I don't know what you have to gain from this, this . . .
stunt."


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Jack remained silent except for his amplified breathing.
Cromwell tried to stare him down, but he could only see his
own face reflected in the glass of the mask. Bastard, he thought.
You're trying to unnerve me. Well it isn't going to work. Cromwell
took the envelope and dumped the pictures back onto the desk. The
feeling of triumph he'd been expecting was not there. He forged on
anyhow, saying, "Well, Jack, take a dive into these while you're
standing there."
Jack made no move to look at the pictures.
"Look at them, Jack. What do you think?" Still no reply, no
move to look at the photos. It doesn't matter, Cromwell thought,
he knows what they show. "How long have you been married to, er
. . . Peggy, isn't it? What will she think of these?"
Jack's amplified breathing echoed through the office. He made
no reply, no gesture. The man has gone insane, Cromwell thought.
He's lost touch with reality.
"Are you ready to sell your father's stock?"
Jack took several more breaths, then held one. He pulled the
regulator out of his mouth, and said, "No." The word was followed
by what Cromwell thought was smoke. "I'm not selling the stock,
I'm leaving it where it is." Jack took another breath from the
mouthpiece. "I'm here to tell you I'm leaving, which should make
you happy."
"I don't care if you come or go, I want you to sell me that
stock. If you don't, then these go to your wife. Period. Also,
since it has come to this, I will set the price."
"Not selling." The smoke that came from his mouth was not
smoke, it was streams of bubbles. They raced from his mouth to
crowd together at the ceiling.
Cromwell stared, not understanding. He opened his mouth to
speak, but choked on the words. Something was wrong.
"I'm leaving now," Jack said. He raised a few inches on his
flippers, nudging himself upwards. He turned toward the door,
fumbling with it to open it, then pulled himself through,
swimming.
People in the outer offices gasped and dropped bundles of
paper and cups full of coffee. Jack swam past them, kicking
lightly with his fins. He made his way past the coffee machine,