"Dean Ing - Silent Thunder" - читать интересную книгу автора (Ing Dean)

The fish was somewhat smaller than the first, but a fine specimen. Martin netted it deftly
and let Bowden admire his catch. Not supposed to keep him, but I won't tell, Martin
grinned. How about it, Mr. Secretary?

Let him go, Bowden said, his tone changing as he went on, We need something that still
runs loose in this country besides Walter Kalvin. That goes for media people, too; and I
can think of one who's like that rainbow there. Something of a showboater, fun to watch
and far from tame. His smile challenged Martin to guess.

The 'Nightline' crew? Martin took his time removing the McGinty's barb as the trout
gulped helplessly.

Too responsible. Bowden laughed at Martin's expression. They'd spend a lot of time
checking things out, Martin. We need someone with a track record for letting it all hang
out. I was thinking of Alan Ramsay.

The man who had been Cody Martin, and before that another identity, and after this
another still, placed sixteen inches of rainbow trout into the Yellowstone River with the
care of a doting parent. That hotshot on NBN with the lopsided nose; I know the one
you mean, sir. We need someone with high credibility who'd chase a Yellowstone grizzly
with a willow switch. Does he have a family?

Divorced, I believe, said Bowden. He surely takes a bachelor's chances with his career.
Yes, the more I think about it, the more I'm certain. Your man is Alan Ramsay.




THREE

Alan Ramsay shouldered his way through the front door of his Hyattsville apartment on
a muggy Thursday evening carrying two armloads of groceries, a mouthful of keycards,
a handful of personal mail, and a letter bomb in a manila envelope. The envelope
contained no percussion snapper or thin sheet of hexyl explosive; only words that were
to detonate Ramsay's life into smouldering fragments.

He made coffee in his usual manner, the way he'd learned in the jock dorm back in
Lincoln, Nebraska, twenty years ago. Right arm snakes out to the dregs container while
left hand twists the faucet handle; lean to the left and haul in a fresh dollop of coffee
grounds while the right hand raps the container to dump the old dregs; quick
double-handed rinse of the container, three seconds max, then cross arms. Ladle fresh
grounds with right hand while left sweeps Pyrex pot under faucet. A handball champ
named Jacque Flory had coached him in the move that installed fresh grounds and hit
the percolator switch while the pot filled. Flory had owned the Cornhusker record for
coffee setup: thirty-seven seconds flat.

Ramsay whisked the pot across, poured its water into the machine, set the empty pot in
place, wiped his hands on his video-blue shirtfront, and consulted the digital readout on
Mister Coffee: almost fifty seconds. Hell, he was getting slower every year. The process
still delighted his daughter, Laurie, on nights the kid spent with him. Daddy's trick, she