"Linda Evans - Time Scout 5 - License Invoked" - читать интересную книгу автора (Evans Linda)

assignment. Though it was only logical to use a woman to protect a
woman closely, giving her the job still meant that the brass believed
in her ability to do the job. She was very proud.

Proud and astonished, when, instead of the usual antique, miniature
Peugeot minicab, the car that pulled up to carry her to Heathrow was a
long, black limousine, the kind used to convey senior officials to
white tie dinners at Buckingham Palace. The driver, an older man in a
peaked cap, leaped out to open the door for her. Feeling like royalty,
albeit royalty in a hurry, she jumped into the back seat. As the car
pulled away, Elizabeth got a glimpse of her co-workers gazing enviously
down from the office windows. This piece of luck boded well for her
mission.



"Just five minutes, miss, or you'll be late for the arriving flight,"
the driver said as he double-parked at the kerb outside of her flat.
Elizabeth hopped out the door.

"I'll hurry," she said, giving the limousine door a pat as she closed
it. It was so nice to be given a bit of luxury. She glanced up and down
the street. No sign of the courier as yet. It would probably be some
spotty youth wearing a Day-Glo tabard and mounted on a motorbike who
could negotiate the traffic faster than her car. No doubt he'd be
waiting when she came down.

Although she had always regretted not being able to have a cat in the
apartment, this time she was grateful. Now she had no need to call a
friend or relative to come and feed it, unable to explain how long
she'd be gone. At last, Elizabeth experienced the excitement she'd
always pictured when she first joined the service. She was the agent in
charge of a high profile international case! She was still quite
breathless over the suddenness of it all.

Elizabeth ran upstairs, mentally sorting out her wardrobe. She had no
idea what kind of clothing she'd need in New Orleans, a place whose
name she recognized, but had no actual knowledge of. She had a vague
idea that it was hot there. That would be a welcome change from the
chilly London spring where it had yet to rise above 15 degrees Celsius.

She sorted through the built-in closets in her tiny, well-lit bedroom.
Very little of her everyday wardrobe was suitable for high
temperatures, and she didn't think that the colorful bandanna skirts
and halter tops she wore on Costa del Sol holidays would be appropriate
for an MI-5 field agent on the job. Still, on a high-profile assignment
like this she could surely cadge a clothing allowance out of the
accounting department, the better to fit in with the locals. In the
end, she stuffed her suitcase full of clean knickers and all the
protective spell impedimenta that would fit. Always pack your own