"Frank Herbert - The White Plague" - читать интересную книгу автора (Herbert Brian & Frank)

Herity had been one of the two-man team to emerge from the yew-shrouded van
near Bley's parking spot the previous night. In Herity's hands had been a
molded plastic package, which they had attached like a deformed limpet under
Bley's car. At the core of that package lay a tiny radio receiver. The
transmitter sat on the windowsill in front of Herity. A small black metal
rectangle, it had a thin wire antenna and two recessed toggle switches -- one
painted yellow, the other red. Yellow armed it, red transmitted.

A glance at his wristwatch told Herity that they were already five minutes
past Zero Time. Not Bley's fault. It was the blasted traffic.

"You can set your bloody watch by Bley," the leader of their selection team
had said. "The old bastard should be running a tram."

"What're his politics?" Greaves had asked.

"Who cares about his politics?" Herity had countered. "He's perfect and he'll
be dying for a grand cause."

"The street'll be full of people," Greaves had said. "And there'll be
tourists sure as hell is full of Brits."
"We warned 'em to stop the Ulster boys," Herity had said. Greaves could be an
old woman sometimes! "They know what to expect when they don't listen to us."

It was settled then. And now Bley's car was inching once more toward the
Grafton Street corner, toward the mass of pedestrians, including the possible
tourists.

John Roe O'Neill, his wife, Mary, and their five-year-old twins, Kevin and
Mairead, could have been classified as tourists, although John expected to be
six months in Ireland while completing the research called for under his grant
from the Pastermorn Foundation of New Haven, Conn.

"An Overview of Irish Genetic Research."

He thought the title pompous, but it was only a cover. The real research was
into the acceptance of the new genetics by a Roman Catholic society, whether
such a society had taken a position to cope with the explosive potentials in
molecular biology.

The project was much on his mind that Wednesday morning but necessary
preparations required his attention. High on his list was the need to
transfer funds from America to the Allied Irish Bank. Mary wanted to go
shopping for sweaters "to keep our darlings warm of an evening."

"There y' go," John teased as they left the Sherbourne Hotel, stepping into
the rush of tourists and businessmen. "Only four days in Ireland and already
you sound like a local."

"And why not?" she demanded. "And both my grandmothers from Limerick."