"Fontana,.D.C.-.Questor.Tapes" - читать интересную книгу автора (Fontana D C)

The home office undersecretary was waiting in a chauffeured limousine when the sleek private jet landed at Heathrow. As soon as the plane rolled to a halt, the chauffeur guided the limousine up to the set of stairs being wheeled into place by airport technicians. A pair of London police vehicles followed the official car.
Darro stepped out of the plane, followed by member of his staff. He paused at the top of the stairs and looked down, frowning deeply at the undersecretary and his assistant, two police supervisors, and several uniformed policemen who were converging on the plane. He didn't like the idea of the government and the police getting into this. The more people who knew the real facts, the greater chance of the truth getting out and causing a panic. He braced himself and moved down the steps.
"Mr. Darro?" said the undersecretary. When Darro nodded, the official held out his hand. "Culwait, home office undersecretary. May we talk privately a moment?"
Darro bobbed his head in the briefest of nods. Culwait led him several yards away from the others and lowered his voice as he spoke. "I'm instructed to inform you the
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government will cooperate fully on one condition-that there must, under no circumstances, ever be a mention of the word 'robot.'"
Darro smiled coldly. Remarkable how certain minds seem to run in the same patterns. "I understand. The risk of what it might do is far less important than the risk of bringing down the party in power."
Culwait drew himself up in annoyance, and his voice grew ponderous with dignity. "Our concern happens to be for public safety, Darro. We are simply nervous over the possible panic-"
"-which the word 'robot' would create among the labor bloc," Darro interrupted. "I've gotten the same message from the other governments." He permitted himself the slight bend of his mouth that served as a smile. "Which makes me certain you'll cooperate in every way, no matter what I ask. You have no choice."
He turned and walked away, back to his staff. Culwait glared after him angrily. No wonder Darro had been chosen to head up so many national and international projects. He had a personality like a sledgehammer-and about as much in the way of diplomacy. A man like that had to be honest to stay alive.
9
The London cab cruised along the country road at a modest speed, and Questor's head never seemed to stop moving as he took in the scenery. Jerry sat in a corner of the wide back seat, glumly staring out at the green hedges and meadows at the roadside. The cabbie had more important things to watch . . . oncoming drivers and a meter that read over thirty-two pounds and was still climbing. He glanced back at the two men and cleared his throat nervously.
"It's a bit of a bill you're runnin' up, gentlemen."
"Our journey will terminate in precisely three-tenths of a mile."
The cab driver nodded dubiously. That did not answer the question of whether or not they could pay the tab, but they seemed to know where they were going. Presumably, they also anticipated the size of the bill.
Jerry leaned over to Questor confidentially. "What do we ask for when we get where we're going?"
"C."
Jerry blinked. " 'C'?"
"This entire portion of my creator's records was cryptographically encoded to resemble casual social notes."
"Code?" Jerry hissed. "What kind of business did he do with this C?"
"Principally information exchange on international matters."
"Questor, we can't just knock at a door and ask for a code name which . . ." He trailed off as he noticed the private drive the cab was traversing.
A long, tree-lined drive threaded its way through a cleft 79
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in natural rock and then burst out into an open expanse of lawn that was dotted with carefully planned flower beds. The house that rose at the end of the drive was vast, classic in style, ancient stone only lightly touched by modern architects on the outside. This was the first genuine stately mansion Jerry had ever seen.
"Questor," he said weakly, "especially not on the door of that house."
The cabbie pulled up before the massive main door and stopped. Jerry stepped out, still taking in the immensity of the house, the obviously expensive setting. He turned back to find Questor handing a thick wad of pound notes to the driver. "Wait, Questor. We may need him."
Questor ignored him and nodded to the cabbie. "You may go now."
The driver ran a finger through the stack of bills and figured out the large tip. "That's very generous, gov'nor. Thank ya kindly." He drove away, and Questor turned to Jerry.
"I am convinced you will not fail me, Mr. Robinson."
Jerry had no answer for that kind of remark. He and Questor approached the heavy door, and Jerry lifted and dropped the ornate knocker almost timidly. Questor's eyes ticked around the entrance area and stopped on what appeared to be an ornamentally carved projection in the architecture.
"Curious. It appears we are being scanned by an electronic camera device."
Jerry frowned doubtfully. "I don't see anything. How can you tell?"
Questor promptly reached up to the projection, twisted, and revealed the end of a closed-circuit television camera aimed at where they were standing. Jerry waggled a hand anxiously.
"Put it back ... quick!"
Questor complied, just getting the decorative cover back on the lens as the door opened. A formally attired butler stared out at them inquiringly.
Jerry looked at Questor, but Questor waited for him. "Ah ... tell your . . . uh, master, that . . ."
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The butler started to close the door. Questor still made no move, and Jerry jumped forward in time to get his foot in the door and push it open again. The cold disdain of the butler had started to annoy him. "Listen, I clearly said 'tell your master . ..'"
The butler interrupted contemptuously. "There is no master, sir." He tried to close the door again, but Jerry held it open.
"Then tell whoever that we're here to talk to C about Vaslovik."
Unblinkingly, the butler scanned them, but a slight frown indicated that he was undecided. Finally he opened the door all the way and gestured them in with a tiny wave. "I shall inquire of Lady Helena if that message is of any interest."
"Lady Helena?" Robinson said.
"Lady Helena Alexandre Trimble, sir." The butler turned and moved up a marble staircase that circled up to the second floor. Jerry stared after him, alarmed.
"Questor, Helena Trimble is world . .. world infamous. Vaslovik couldn't possibly have had anything to do with--"
Jerry bit off his words when a capable-looking, coldeyed man appeared at the bottom of the short flight of stairs leading to the main room. To Jerry, he looked broad as a door and quite out of place in a conservatively cut business suit. The man ignored Jerry and Questor, but took a chair positioned exactly where he could keep an eye on them and be ready for anything they might attempt. Jerry did not like the way the man's jacket bulged out slightly precisely where a shoulder holster would be. Then he noticed Questor's head swivel toward the head of the stairs, and he followed the android's look.
Lady Helena Alexandre Trimble was as beautiful and as expensive as the surroundings. The pale blue culottes, topped by a matching bolero sweater trimmed with pearls, served to emphasize her height, her perfect figure, her dark hair and exquisite beauty. She had been about to make an entrance, an aloof smile on her lovely lips. But the smile froze as she stared down at the two men at the
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foot of the stairs. A slight, puzzled frown flickered across her face as she held Questor's look for a long moment. There was something about him . . . something both strange and familiar .. . she could not define it, but it was troubling. She gathered her composure and moved down the stairs in a flowing, floating motion, trailing one hand on the marble banister.
Jerry watched her, stunned into silence by her poise, her sensual beauty, and the fact that she could not seem to remove her eyes from Questor. Questor, on the other hand, merely waited. It was up to Jerry to make the explanations, and he was not sure he had the savoir faire to carry off conversational gambits with this woman.