"Syndrome Johnny" - читать интересную книгу автора (Maclean Katherine)

УLives will be saved in the long run,Ф Alcala said obstinately. УIndividual deaths are not important in the long run.Ф

УThat is hardly the philosophy for a doctor, is it?Ф asked Camba with open irony, taking the bill and rising.

They went out of the restaurant in silence. CambaТs Тcopter stood at the kerb.

УWould you care for a lift home, Doctor Alcala?Ф The offer was made with the utmost suavity.

Alcala hesitated fractionally. УWhy, yes, thank you.Ф It would not do to give the investigator any reason for suspicion by refusing.

As the Тcopter lifted into the air, Camba spoke with a more friendly note in his voice, as if he humoured a child. УCome, Alcala, youТre a doctor dedicated to saving lives. How can you find sympathy for a murderer?Ф

Alcala sat in the dark, looking through the windshield down at the bright street falling away below. УIТm not a practicing medico; only one night a week do I come to the hospital. IТm a research man. I donТt try to save individual lives. IТm dedicated to improving the average life, the average health. Can you understand that? Individuals may be sick and individuals may die, but the average lives on. And if the average is better, then IТm satisfied.Ф

The Тcopter flew on. There was no answer.

УIТm not good with words,Ф said Alcala. Then, taking out his pen-knife and unfolding it, he said, УWatch!Ф He put his index finger on the altimeter dial, where there was light, and pressed the blade against the flesh between his finger and his thumb. He increased the pressure until the flesh stood out white on either side of the blade, bending, but not cut.

УThree generations back, this pressure would have gone right through the hand.Ф He took away the blade and there was only a very tiny cut. Putting the knife away, he brought out his lighter. The blue flame was steady and hot. Alcala held it close to the dashboard and put his finger directly over it, counting patiently, УOne, two, three, four, five ЦФ He pulled the lighter back, snapping it shut.

УThree generations ago, a man couldnТt have held a finger over that flame for more than a tenth part of that count. DoesnТt all this prove something to you?Ф

The Тcopter was hovering above AlcalaТs house. Camba lowered it to the ground and opened the door before answering. УIt proves only that a good and worthy man will cut and burn his hand for an unworthy friendship. Goodnight.Ф

Disconcerted, Alcala watched the Тcopter lift away into the night, then, turning, saw that the lights were still on in the laboratory. Camba might have deduced something from that, if he knew that Nita and the girl were not supposed to be home.

Alcala hurried in.

Johnny hadnТt left yet. He was sitting at AlcalaТs desk with his feet on the wastebasket, the way Alcala often liked to sit, reading a technical journal. He looked up, smiling. For a moment Alcala saw him with the new clarity of a stranger. The lean, weathered face; brown eyes with smile deltas at the corners; wide shoulders; steady, big hands holding the magazine Ц solid, able, and ruthless enough to see what had to be done, and do it.

УI was waiting for you, Ric.Ф

УThe Feds are after you.Ф Ricardo Alcala had been running. He found he was panting and his heart was pounding.

DelgadosТ smile did not change. УItТs all right, Ric. EverythingТs done. I can leave any time now.Ф He indicated a square metal box standing in a corner. УThereТs the stuff.Ф

What stuff? The product Johnny had been working on? УYou havenТt time for that now, Johnny. You canТt sell it. TheyТd watch for anyone of your description selling chemicals. Let me loan you some money.Ф

УThanks.Ф Johnny was smiling oddly. УEverythingТs set. I wonТt need it. How close are they to finding me?Ф

УThey donТt know where youТre staying.Ф Alcala leaned on the desk edge and put out his hand. УThey tell me youТre Syndrome Johnny.Ф

УI thought youТd figured that one out.Ф Johnny shook his hand formally. УThe name is John Osborne Drake. You arenТt horrified?Ф

УNo,Ф Alcala knew that he was shaking hands with a man who would be thanked down all the successive generations of mankind. He noticed again the odd white webwork of scars on the back of JohnnyТs hand. He indicated them as casually as he could. УWhere did you pick those up?Ф



John Drake glanced at his hand. УI donТt know, Ric. Truthfully. IТve had my brains beaten in too often to remember much any more. Unimportant. There are instructions outlining plans and methods filed in safety deposit boxes in almost every big city in the world. Always the same typing, always the same instructions. I canТt remember who typed them, myself or my father, but I must have been expected to forget or they wouldnТt be there. Up to eleven, my memory is all right, but after Dad started to remake me, everything gets fuzzy.Ф