"Jeffrey Lord - Blade 17 - The Mountains of Brega" - читать интересную книгу автора (Lord Jeffery)

at him all the while. In the lobby of the building he excused himself. "I need to make a phone callтАФtell the
office I may be late tomorrow." He looked at her as he said that, watching for any reaction.
All he could see was a small frown, making a faint crease in the high, pale forehead. "I thought you
had an independent income, Mr. Blade."
Blade did not snap "Where did you learn that?" but it was a close call. He could not avoid stiffening
slightly, however. He had not mentioned one word about his living in their conversation.Elizabeth 's
question was a definite clueтАФa nasty one, too.
But he was calm again within seconds. He merely said, "Oh, I do. But the chaps at Consolidated Jute
seem to think my father's son is worth something. So I go into the Production Division's office two or
three days a week. Mostly, I've better ways to spend my time. But I do have to make that call." He
gently pulled himself free from her arm and strode across the lobby toward the public phone behind one
of the marble columns.
It was virtually impossible that this public phone could be tapped by the opposition, so Blade was not
worried about his brief message getting to the wrong ears as he spoke into the phone.
 "JтАФTraveler here. Bodkin falling. Listen."
In plain English:
"JтАФthis is Richard Blade. I think somebody's trying to entrap me. I'm turning on the homer in my car.
Alert the Special Branch men and have them trace it and follow me." He had no need to worry either
about the message not being passed on. Any of his cryptic call-signs would trigger the alarm on J's
telephone monitor and have the old spymaster on the move in minutes. The head of the secret intelligence
division MI6 had not lived as long or risen as high as he had by letting critical messages slip by him.
Secure in the knowledge that he had alerted the appropriate people, Blade rejoinedElizabeth . His
hand found her arm again. This time her hand squeezed back with more warmth than before. Hand in
hand, they walked out to the garage where Blade had parked his MG. They climbed in, and Blade
started up the engine, then turned toElizabeth .
"Would you like a cigarette?"
"No, thank you."
"Mind if I smoke, then?"
"Not at all."
Blade reached into the breast pocket of his coat for a gold-plated cigarette case and extracted a
Benson and his other hand he reached for the cigarette lighter and shoved it in. As he did so, he also gave
it a small twist to the left. With that twist, a solid-state circuit was completed, and the car's electronic
tracer went on. Then he lit the cigarette, shoved the lighter back into its socket, and put the car in motion.
By the CMG's odometer, the four milesElizabeth had mentioned were more like six. They were well
out into the southwest corner ofLondon before they stopped. For the last half of the trip they had
followed a zigzag course, turning at irregular intervals down dark side streets. It was a course that made
no sense at all, unlessElizabeth was trying to shake off any car that might be trailing them. Several times
Blade caught her looking intently into the sideview mirror. IfElizabeth was an agent for the opposition, she
was a remarkably clumsy one. Or she was a highly skilled agent pretending to be clumsy to catch him off
guard. That had happened before. In fact, Blade himself had done it more than once.
EventuallyElizabeth gestured to the middle one of a trio of Victorian townhouses. Once they had
been the modestly luxurious residences of city merchants or bankers; now they had fallen, if not exactly
on evil days, at least on less prosperous ones. Blade could see peeling paint, unwashed windows, and
untended front lawns under the dim streetlamps.
In fact, the lamplight was so dim that Blade was fully alert as they climbed out of the car. The
half-dark street and the totally dark alleys could easily hide enough men to ambush a platoon. But they
reached the door, climbed the stairs, and enteredElizabeth 's third-floor flat without incident. The name
on the flat's door was Elizabeth Hruska. A good enough Czech name.
The flat was an ordinary bed-sitter, with the luxury of a modern kitchenтАФor at least a modern
stoveтАФand a halfway modern bath.Elizabeth waved one hand toward the couch by the kitchen door.