"Ludlum, Robert - The Cry Of The Halidon" - читать интересную книгу автора (Ludlum Robert)

Warfield's. A St. James Rolls-Royce, its glistening black, hand-tooled
body breaking space majestically, anachronistically, among the
petrol-conscious Austins, MGs, and European imports. He waited on the
curb, ten feet from the crosswalk onto the bridge. He would not gesture
or acknowledge the slowly approaching Rolls. He waited until the car
stopped directly in front of him, a chauffeur driving, the rear window
open.

"Mr. McAuliM." said the eager, young-old face in the frame.

"Mr. Warfield?" asked McAuliff, knowing that this fiftyish,
precise-looking executive was not.

"Good heavens, no. The name's Preston. Do hop in; I think we're
holding up the line."

"Yes, you are." Alex got into the backseat as Preston moved over. The
Englishman extended his hand.

"It's a pleasure. I'm the one you've been talking to on the telephone."

"Yes ... Mr. Preston."

"I'm really very sorry for the inconvenience, meeting like this. Old
Julian has his quirks, I'll grant you that."

McAuliff decided he might have misjudged the Dunstone man. "It was a
little confusing, that's all. If the object was precautionary-for what
reason I can't imagine-he picked a hell of a car to send."

Preston laughed. "True. But then, I've learned over the years that
Warfield, like God, moves in mysterious ways that basically are quite
logical. He's really all right. You're having lunch with him, you
know."

"Fine. Where?"

"Belgravia."

"Aren't we going the wrong way?"

"Julian and God-basically logical, chap."

The St. James Rolls crossed Waterloo, proceeded south to the Cut,
turned left until Blackfiiars Road, then left again, over Blackfriars
Bridge and north into Holbom. It was a confusing route.

Ten minutes later the car pulled up to the entrance canopy of a white
stone building with a brass plate to the right of the glass double doors
that read SHAFTESBURY ARMS. The doorman pulled at the handle and spoke