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

"Your briefing is being prepared now. I'll have the courier meet you at
your flat to deliver it. Jump to it! You've got two hours to pack and
get to the airport. You'll receive your ticket at the information
desk." He picked up the telephone and dialed an internal number. "I'm
calling a car for you from the motor pool. You'll never get a cab at
this hour of the afternoon."

"No, sir," Elizabeth breathed, watching with awe as he spoke tersely
into the mouthpiece and replaced the receiver. "Thank you for giving me
the chance, Mr. Ringwall."

"I'm sure you'll do well," Ringwall said, nodding significantly and
touching the side of his nose with his finger. "We're all counting on
you, Mayfield." The director put out a hand to her. Elizabeth shook it
energetically. "Good luck."

"Thank you, sir," Elizabeth said. Her head was quite spinning with joy,
fear, and lists. She had so much to do. In only a little while she'd be
on her way to her first international assignment! What should she pack?
How much could she take with her?

Ringwall's voice penetrated into the whirlwind of speculation bumping
around in her mind. She looked back.

"And, Mayfield, don't let the woman out of your sight, whatever you do.
As I told you, this assignment comes from Upstairs." He pointed toward
the ceiling. Elizabeth nodded reverently.

"What's all that about?" asked Michael Gamble, springing out from the
wall behind Ringwall's door the moment Elizabeth emerged. He was a
fellow agent, nice to look at with his shock of dark hair a la Tom
Cruise, but prone to popping up almost under one's nose. He trailed
behind her as she hurried to her desk.

"I've got to follow an Irish singer around and see if she's being
haunted by something from the unknown," Elizabeth said, yanking open
her desk drawer for her purse and briefcase. She might as well tell
him; he'd uncover it soon enough from office gossip as soon as she was
gone.
"What, not another alleged poltergeist?" Gamble laughed derisively.
Elizabeth made a face at him. "Is her boyfriend beating her up, eh?
Sifting through her purse while she sleeps?"

"Need to know, Gamble!" Ringwall's voice roared from the office door.

"Yes, sir," Gamble said, disengaging without a trace of guilt, and
sliding smoothly back into his desk chair. "Bugger all. Good luck,
Mayfield."

"Thanks, mate," Elizabeth said. With her possessions in her arms, she