"Linda Evans - Time Scout 1 - Time Scout" - читать интересную книгу автора (Evans Linda)

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The tycoon scanned his card and glanced back up. "You're a freelancer?" The
tone was more dubious than ever.
"My specialty is ancient Rome," Malcolm said with a warm, sincere smile. "I
hold a Ph.D. in Classics and Anthropology and have nearly seven years
experience
as a guide. The formal tour," he nodded toward uniformed Time Tours employees
taking tickets and answering questions, "includes the Circus Maximus chariot
races and gladiatorial combats, but Time Tours is bypassing the extraordinary
experience of the..."
"Thank you," the man handed back the card, "but I'm not interested."
Malcolm forced the smile to remain. "Of course. Some other time, perhaps."
He moved on to the next potential customer. "Please allow me to introduce
myself..."
Begging never got any easier.
Given the chill of this crowd, Time Tours had been poisoning their
customers
against freelancers. Skeeter Jackson, drat the boy, seemed to be doing fine,
whatever he was up to in that far corner. His smile glowed brighter than the
overhead lights.
 By the time the countdown clock read T-minus-ten minutes, Malcolm had begun
to consider offering his services as a baggage handler just to pick up enough
cash for a few meals, but a man had his pride. Malcolm was a guide and a
damned
good one. If he lost what was left of his reputation as a professional, his
life
here would be over. He scanned the crowd from one edge, counting heads and
costumes, and decided glumly that he had, in fact, talked to everyone.
Well ...damn.
A desperate attempt to hold onto the shreds of his dignity sent Malcolm in
retreat. He retired from the immediate vicinity of Gate Six, accompanied by a
return of nagging worries about how he might pay for his room and the next few
meals. Overriding that; Malcolm suffered a keen disappointment that had very
little to do with money or the loss of his old, full-time job. Malcolm Moore
had
no idea how guides for the big outfits like Time Tours felt; but for him,
stepping through a portal into another century was a thrill better than eating
regularly, almost better than sex.
It was that thrill which kept him at TT-86, working every departure, no
matter the destination, for the chance to try it again.
Malcolm headed for the shadows of a vine-draped portico, close enough to
Gate
Six to watch the fun, but far enough away to avoid attracting attention from
friends who would want to sympathize. Montgomery Wilkes, looking very out of
place in his dark, up-time uniform, strode through the crowd with the singular
intensity of a charging rhino. Even tourists scuttled out of his way. Malcolm
frowned. What was Wilkes doing out of his inner sanctum? La-La Land's head ATF
agent never attended a Gate opening. He glanced again at the nearest overhead