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

The most common response is a waiting line among small nations to piggyback their
own experiments on High-jump vehicles, Wintoon finished, except for Canada. She's
building the orbital dock facility for the system, so the Canadians are, shall we say, high
on the concept. The gray eyes twinkled with his double entendre, and Ramsay grinned
as he reviewed what he had by fast monitor through the auxiliary eyepiece.

Perfect, Ramsay murmured, and slipped the recorder into a pocket. So much for reality.
There's something else, though. Maybe I should've worn a straitjacket.

Might cause talk, Wintoon smiled, studying the younger man with the patient alertness of
an old falcon. He stood up and flexed his arms, then folded them, still looking into
Ramsay's eyes. Old business, or new business? he prompted. The lines around his pale
eyes crinkled in lively curiosity.

New to me, and goddamned disturbing, Ramsay admitted, and took a deep breath. Is
there any question of, um, domestic political intrigue so potent that you wouldn't want to
hear it?''

Wintoon's smile grew cool and distant. He hadn't thought in such terms for years, he
replied, but he guessed not. Ramsay asked if the name Cody Martin rang any bells;
Wintoon said no, but he knew hardly anyone at field agent level these days. Was Martin
one of the retired spooks he'd met at some high-level seminar?

I gather it's a beard anyway, Ramsay said, without mentioning the Alden connection,
and reached inside his jacket. The guy sent this to me in care of the Overseas Press
Club. It works, he shrugged.

Good cutout for sensitive information, Wintoon nodded, accepting the folded paper,
tugging a set of half-glasses from a pocket. He read without visible reaction for a few
moments, then glanced over the tops of his glasses with an exaggerated lift of both
eyebrows.

Ramsay knew that sign. One raised eyebrow equaled clear skepticism; both raised meant
dangerous ground. He watched the old man sit down, attention riveted on what he read,
scratching absently at loose folds of skin at his throat.

Wintoon read to the end, then swiveled in his chair and gazed across the building tops of
Washington for some time. Then: Kalvin, he muttered, and his smile was accusing. I
watched your 'True Believer' commentary, Alan. This is such a pat answer, all aside from
the, ah...

Wacko element?

Well? a sendup, perhaps.

Goering burned the Reichstag. Hess escaped Germany with a piece of luggage that was
never found or explained, and the Sovs let him rot in Spandau. Walter Kalvin was in Air
Force Intelligence in Germany and speaks fluent German, did you know that?

Wintoon shook his head, his gaze expectant.