"Steven Gould - Jumper 02 - Reflex" - читать интересную книгу автора (Gould Stephen Jay)

high meadows on the Cambrian Way in the mountains of Wales. Late afternoon in Oklahoma was a
great time to snorkel at Hamoa Beach on the east side of Maui or to hike up to the Puako
Petroglyphs on the Big Island.

Staying in one place, indoors, was getting to him. Davy had definitely progressed into the "getting
well enough to be really cranky" phase of his recovery. Coming out of surgery was bad enough when
you weren't chained to the wall. When you wereтАФwell, cranky didn't really cover it.

They'd removed the catheter and brought in a bedside portable toilet, then, apparently working
on the far side of the wall behind his bed, they let out enough chain so he could reach the toilet, the
sink, and even as far as the foot of the bed.

He took to pacing, moving from the wall to the foot of his bed, stopping just short of the chain's
reach before turning back again. The management of his chains became second nature, their rattling
and slithering across the floor, background noise.

Just call me Jacob Marley.

He didn't care that the hospital gown was all he was wearing and every time he turned, he
mooned the watchers behind the mirror. He suspected the pacing was beginning to bother his
keepers. The computerized voice said, "Would you like to watch some videos?"

He laughed a short unfunny bark. "Yes, I'd like Stalag 17, Chicken Run, Alcatraz, and The
Great Escape." And when there wasn't any response, he added, "And a baseball and a baseball
glove."

They didn't say anything after that but when lunch was served, there was a paperback novel on
the tray: The Count of Monte Cristo.

Well, someone has a sense of humor. He opened the book. On the 24th of February, 1810,
the look-out at Notre-Dame de la Garde signalled the three-master, the Pharaon from Smyrna,
Trieste, and Naples.

He'd read it before, a couple of times, but as there wasn't anything else to do, he started it again,
the first three chapters, then threw it across the room, to bounce off the mirrored observation
window.

It had been some time since he'd read it and, while he remembered The Count of Monte Cristo
was a book about a prison breakout and revenge, he'd forgotten how much, first of all, to justify the
later revenge, it was a book about betrayal. And Davy was feeling very much betrayed.

Somebody knew about that meeting. Or at least they knew enough to follow Brian. And it
wasn't Brian. Brian had cleared himself from suspicion very thoroughly.

He glared at the book where it lay. He'd meant to hurl it out of reach but its rebound had carried
it back to the foot of the bed. He put out his hand and jumped.

The chains writhed like snakes, a crack-the-whip movement that moved to the wall and then
back down toward him, smacking his wrists and ankles painfully, but he was standing at the end of the
bed, his hand on the book.