"Keith Laumer - Future Imperfect" - читать интересную книгу автора (Laumer Keith)

"You've seen one like it before?"
"It is not a great rarity."
"Where's it from?"
"A number have come to light at Crete in recent years. Not so fine, you understand. Not
uncirculated."
"A Greek coin, eh?"
"The actual origin is unknown. Where did you secure the piece?" His tone was as cool as a
detective lieutenant running through his list of routine questions; it had that same quality of
impeccable politeness, as impersonal as a traffic light.
"I picked it up in a poker game at Potosi a couple of weeks back," I confided. "I was afraid I'd
been suckered. Ah, by the way, what's it worth?"
"I can offer you fifty cees, Mr. Philbert," Gray Hair stepped into the conversation.
"I don't think I want to sell right now," I said. "Makes a nice pocket piece." I reached, lifted the
thick coin from the desk. "Just wanted to be sure I hadn't been taken."
"Perhaps an offer of one hundred ceesтАФ"
"It's not a matter of price." I showed them a breezy smile. "I took it for a ten-cee bet. I think I'll
just hang onto it. Maybe it brings me luck. I've stayed alive lately; that takes luck today." I turned to
the door. Gray Hair beat me to it, slipped past me, led the way back to a door that opened into the
wide hall with the cream-colored carpet.
"How much do I owe you?" I reached for my wallet, still beaming the happy smile of a fellow
who has lucked into something.
"Please." Gray Hair waved the idea of payment away. "If you should change your mind, Mr.
Philbert. . . ."
"I'll let you know first thing," I assured him. He inclined his head; I sauntered off toward the
lift. At the end of the hall I looked back. The lights were just going off in the big room. In the
elevator I took out the coin, studied it carefully under the dome light. The metal was bright, smooth,
unscarred. The little mark I had made biting it was gone.
Zablun had switched coins on me.
 Chapter Four
Anzio was the kind of man who never let curiosity interfere with business arrangements. The
fifty-cee note I passed him assured me free access to an empty suite on the twenty-ninth floor of the
unused north wing, commanding a view of the full length of the main east-west block, with a set of
8x40 binoculars from the lost-and-found room thrown in. Another ten cees covered the services of
an off-duty cop to loiter near the side entrance and report to me when and if the gray-haired gentтАФ
who was registered as R. SethysтАФchose that route to leave the building.
Room service brought me a midnight snack. I ate it in the dark, watching the activities of the
money men behind the dozen lighted windows on their two floors. Mr. Zablun appeared half an
hour after I started my vigil, talking to a group who seemed to listen with monumental indifference.
Men came and went, moving with unhurried gravity. They did not seem to be doing any drinking;
no women were in evidence; no one even lit a cigar. They were an abstemious bunch, these
numismatists. For that matter, they did not seem much interested in coins. I had a fine, clear view of
their activities through the glass and steelprod walls, and not a glint of gold or silver did I see.
After a few hours of this sport, I left my post and went down to bed. I did not know what it
was I was looking for, but my instincts told me to play a concealed hand, to lie low and watch. Mr.
Zablun had not lifted my souvenir for nothing. Raising a howl when I discovered the switch would
not have bought me anything, but a little judicious spying might net me something solid to work on.
The theft of the gold piece did not lend any specific support to the sailor's storyтАФZablun might
have palmed it for the gold in itтАФbut on the other hand it had not been the nice, clean dismissal I
had expected. Whatever the coin was, it had not come in a Cracker Jack boxтАФand I had had ample
evidence that there were men loose in the land who would kill to get itтАФ