"James P. Hogan - The Proteus Operation" - читать интересную книгу автора (Hogan James P)

wardroom passage, down a level, and forward into the torpedo storage room, where one of the main
loading hatches had been opened. They exchanged more good-bys with the ship's officers standing
around the ladder below the hatch and then preceded their charges up and out through a hooped
canvas shelter onto the narrow working space crowning the ship's precipitous sides. Ferracini went
ahead up the gangway to join the sailors who had carried the kit ashore, while Vorkoff stayed at
the hatch to help the civilians across the wet steel plates. Cassidy and Breugot brought up the
rear.

The first thing that Ferracini saw as he came up to the level of the dock was a naval
lieutenant standing in front of a bus that was waiting to take the civilians. The second thing he
saw was the olive drab Ford sedan bearing government plates and parked fifty or so yards back,
with a uniformed driver inside and an indistinct figure watching from the back seat. Although the
window was misted, making details impossible to distinguish, the figure, with its rounded facial
silhouette and the floppy hat jammed squarely on its head, could only be Winslade. That the car
was flying a general's pennant and Winslade wasn't even in the Army meant absolutely nothing. In
fact, it would have been typical. He should have expected as much, Ferracini told himself. He had
never heard of personnel on active duty being intercepted for the next mission like this, before
the current one was officially over; and whenever things started moving in the direction of the
highly irregular, Winslade was usually involved somewhere.


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The lieutenant, it turned out, wasn't authorized to accept the handover documents for the
civilians. The bus was just to take them to the airfield on the far side of the base, he informed
Ferracini, where planes were waiting to fly them to their respective destinations. The people who
would be taking charge of them formally were at the airfield. "I'll see what's happening here,"
Ferracini told Cassidy. "You'll have to go with the bus to take care of the formalities. We'll
pick you up later."

Cassidy nodded. "I'd hate to see 'em all sent back because we did the paperwork wrong."

"You guys can go with Cassidy, too," Ferracini told Vorkoff and Breugot. "You'll be able
to find out over there about transportation back to base."

They exchanged farewells with Ferracini and boarded after the civilians. The naval
lieutenant followed last, and the bus pulled away. Ferracini looked up and saw the white-capped
figure of Commander Bowden watching from high on the Narwhal's bridge. The figure raised a hand,
and after a few seconds Ferracini raised his own in response. Then he shouldered his kitbag,
turned away, and walked across the dock to where the Ford was waiting.

The driver, who had got out and was standing in front of the car, took Ferracini's bag and
stowed it in the trunk. Inside, Winslade leaned across to open the door opposite him. Ferracini
climbed in and shut the door. Succumbing to the texture and smell of the padded leather
upholstery, he stretched back with a grateful sigh and closed his eyes to savor for a few precious
moments the unaccustomed feeling of luxury and warmth enveloping him.

"I take it we have to collect Cassidy," Winslade's precisely articulated voice said while