"Simon R. Green - Nightside 3 - Nightingale's Lament" - читать интересную книгу автора (Green Simon R)

the officer chewing him out as I passed through the heavy main door into the lobby beyond.
I strolled into the luxurious reception area as though I owned the place, but the effect was wasted, because
there was no-one there. I heard electronic locks closing behind me. Someone knew I was there. I looked
around the lobby and quickly spotted the security cameras tucked away in the ceiling corners. All the little
red lights were on, so I just stood there and let the cameras get a good look at me. I thought I looked pretty
good. My white trench coat was actually a little cleaner than usual, and I was almost sure I'd remembered
to shave. Appearances can be so important. There was a brief burst of static from an unseen speaker, then
a familiar voice whispered in the great empty lobby.
"John, I'm so glad you're here. Come on through to the manager's office and join me. Take the blue door at
the end of the lobby, and follow the arrows. Don't go wandering. I've got booby-traps set up everywhere.
And watch your back. We never know when the sabo-teur's going to strike next."
I passed through the blue door and followed the glowing arrows that appeared on the wall beyond. After
the luxurious reception lobby, the inner workings of Prometheus Inc. turned out to be decidedly functional.
Narrow corridors with bare walls, numbered doors, and scuffed carpeting. It was all very quiet, as though
the whole building was tense, waiting for something bad to happen. The arrows finally led me to a door with
the Prometheus company logo on it, and there waiting to greet me was the manager-owner himself, Vincent
Kraemer.
He nodded and smiled and shook my hand, but it was clear his thoughts were somewhere else. The man
was seriously worried, and it showed. He ushered me into his office, looked quickly down the corridor, and
shut and locked the door. He waved me to the visitor's chair and seated himself behind the magnificent
ma-hogany desk. The office looked comfortable, lived in. Nice prints on the walls, deep deep carpet, and a
high-tech drinks cabinet in the corner. All the usual signs of success. But the desk top was covered in
papers that had overflowed and almost buried the In and Out trays, and one whole wall of the office was
covered in CCTV monitor screens, showing ever-shifting views of the power plant interior. I studied them
for a while, to show I was taking an interest, but it was all just machinery to me. I couldn't tell a turbine
from a teapot, unless one of them had a tea cosy on it. Everything seemed to be working okay for the
moment, and the walkways were deserted. I turned my attention back to the manager, and he flashed me
another preoccupied smile.
I knew him vaguely, from several years back. Vin-cent Kraemer was one of those people who was always
running around like a mad thing, trying to put far-fetched and precarious deals into motion, chasing after the
one Big Score that would make him horribly wealthy. He finally made it, with Prometheus Inc. Vin-cent
was tall, buff, immaculately dressed, with a prematurely lined face and no hair left to speak of. His suit
probably cost more than I used to make in a year.
"Good to see you again, John." His voice was steady, cultivated, and artificially calm. "Been hearing
interesting things about you since you got back."
"And you've done very well," I said courteously. "Is wealth and success everything you thought it would
be?"
He laughed briefly. "Pretty much. What do you think of my pride and joy, John?"
"Impressive, but I'm not really equipped to appreci-ate it. Technology has always been a mystery to me. I
have to get my secretary to work the timer on my video."
He laughed dutifully. "It's your other areas of exper-tise I need, John. I need you to find out who's trying to
drive me out of business."
And then he stopped, because he saw I was looking at the only photo on his desk. A wedding scene, in a
simple silver frame. Bride, groom, best man, and me. Six years ago, and still as fresh in my memory as
though it had happened yesterday. It should have been the happiest day in the lives of two wonderful young
people, but instead it became a tragedy that everyone still talked about. Mostly because no-one had ever
been found to blame it on.
The bride was Melinda Dusk, also known as the Hanged Man's Beautiful Daughter. The groom was Quinn,
also known as the Sunslinger. She wore a wed-ding gown of brilliant white, with a long creamy train. He
wore his best cowboy outfit, all black leathers stud-ded with dazzling displays of steel and silver. And