"Evanovich, Janet - Full Tilt" - читать интересную книгу автора (Evanovich Janet)

each twist and turn with the precision of a professional driver. A Pink
Floyd CD played from a cutting-edge sound system that would not be available
to consumers for at least another year.
Max took a great deal of pride in his automobile, the same one his friends
laughingly referred to as his Maxmobile. The car had been designed from the
chassis up by former NASA scientists. The body and frame were composed of
titanium and a newly identified polymer that offered the lightness of fiberglass

and the durability of the strongest steel. The end result had resembled a
Porsche, but Max's version was bigger, better, and could do things that car
manufacturers would not find on their drawing boards for years to come. Nothing
was indestructible, but the Maxmobile came close.
The dashboard was more complicated than the cockpit of a Leariet. A team
of first-rate computer whizzes, hired away from top government contracнtors, had
created the car's instrumentation using state-of-the-art equipment. Spread out
among luxury automotive goodies like a tachometer, an alнtimeter, and a global
positioning satellite system were a highly enhanced PDA, keyboard, a digital
speech recognition module, a photo-quality printer, a fax, a satellite phone, an
HDTV display screen, and a full video-conferencing suite, all operated by a
high-powered computer that was smaller than an ashtray. Thanks to all these
modifications, Max, if he wanted to, could run his vast business empire without
ever getting out of his car.
Only a man like Max Holt would have laid out the kind of money it had taken
to build such a maнchine; and only a man like Max would have created computer
intelligence with voice recognition techнnology and a sassy personality to
match. Just for the fun of it, he had named her Muffin and proнgrammed her with
a sexy voice that one employee claimed gave him a stiffie every time he heard
it.
There were those who'd said it couldn't be done. Max had proved them wrong. He
insisted on the best. He drove himself and his employees hard. If he exuded
confidence it was because he always sucнceeded in what he set out to do. Always.
Not a difficult task for a man with an off-the-charts IQ, and a business acumen
that put fear in the hearts of his toughest competitors. He'd created two
comнpanies, simply to put a scare into AOL and Microsoft. The television network
he'd purchased ten years ago had grown far beyond even his own imagination. He
had recently sold all three comнpanies for a king's ransom, simply because they
no longer offered the challenges he craved.
The New York Times, Newsweek, and Money magazine were clamoring for interviews,
but Maximillian Holt did not give interviews. He maintained a low profile at all
costs. Sure, photographers had grainy pictures of him slipping into buildings
wearнing expensive Italian suits, or ducking into stretch limos with a gorgeous
model or actress on his arm, but he was clever at keeping his image out of the
media. Most people wouldn't recognize him, even if they did know his name.
And that's the way Max liked it.
He had homes all over the world, but he preнferred his horse farm in Virginia,
not far from his cousin Nick who'd instilled in Max a love of horses. His
farmhouse offered sanctuary from his hectic lifestyle, and he maintained his
privacy with cameras, an alarm system he'd personally created, and enough
security personnel to guard the White House.
People called him eccentric and egotistical, but Max had never cared what others