"Jeffrey Lord - Blade 30 - Dimension Of Horror" - читать интересную книгу автора (Lord Jeffery)

Those few hours have become years, sir."

"That's true. I'd forgotten. Your memory never ceases to amaze me." And not only your memory,
J reflected. According to the doctors' reports from Blade's last physical, Blade continued to be the
most nearly perfect physical and mental specimen in MI6. A lesser man would not have survived
the incredible punishment Blade had suffered in mission after mission. A lesser man would long
ago have demanded a transfer to less hazardous duty.

J added, "You're free to refuse the assignment."

Again the mildly amused voice. "I know that. I'm always free to refuse, but I never have."

J thought, How many times have I sent you out into God knows where? Twenty-five? Thirty?
I've stopped counting. Someday you'll pass through that bloody machine and you won't come
back.

J's eyes were becoming accustomed to the darkness . . . or had the fog lifted a little? He could
make out the outlines of Richard Blade's massive six-foot-one-inch frame, clad, it appeared, in
the usual light wool Burberry coat with no hat. As Blade inhaled, the tip of his cigarette glowed
brightly, faintly illuminating his clean-shaven, square-cut features. Blade was smiling, but it was
an odd little smile, a smile that reminded J of the ancient Roman gladiator's motto, "We who are
about to die salute you."

Two other overcoated men materialized out of the fog. A flashlight snapped on, blazing in J's
eyes. An emotionless voice said, "Good evening, sir. Identification please."

While the Special Services men examined his papers, J shifted impatiently from one foot to the
other, angry at the cold, angry at the dampness, angry at the delay. Blade, by contrast, appeared
abnormally calm and impassive. Feverishly J glanced around, seeking something in the real
world that would justify the uneasiness that had followed him out of the world of sleep.

The Special Services men returned the documents. "Everything seems to be in order, sir. May I
trouble you for this week's password?"

"Raven," answered Richard Blade, pocketing his own documents matter-of-factly.

"Countersign nevermore," said the man.

"Very good," said Blade.

"Follow me, please."

The man gestured with his flashlight beam.

The Special Services men led and J and Richard Blade followed. They trudged along an ancient
causeway, past a grassy sward that had been, before it was filled in, a moat. They passed through
a grove of leafless skeletal trees interspersed with hulking cannons from some bygone era. On
their left arose the outer walls of the Tower complex, the top lost in whiteness overhead. On their
right, beyond a stout retaining wall, flowed the River Thames.