"Continuing Time - 01 - Emerald Eyes" - читать интересную книгу автора (Moran Daniel Keys)

Their offices were on Third Avenue, a fifteen-minute walk from Grand Central
Station. The suite belonging to Kalharri Enterprises, Ltd, was not large: one
subdivided private office where Malko, Carl, and Jany McConnell had desks, a
receptionistТs area, and a conference room. For almost a year now Malko had been
paying for the offices out of his own pocket. That too would be changing, and
none too soon.
Spyeyes were hovering above the street outside when Carl reached the Kaufmann
Spacescraper at 550 Third Avenue. The fact of their presence was not unusual;
many of the news services floated spyeyes outside the spacescraper when there
was an ongoing story that involved one of the occupants. The sheer number of
spyeyes brought him to a halt for a second. Twenty, twenty-five; he stopped
counting when he passed thirty. The spyeyes spotted him at nearly the same
moment; nearly a dozen spyeyes identified him and swooped down toward him at the
same time, shouting questions at him that blurred into a single incomprehensible
wall of sound. Carl ran the last forty meters through the early-morning
pedestrian traffic, to the revolving glass doors of the spacescraper.
There were half again the usual number of guards on duty today. With quick
efficiency the security guards processed him through at the entrance to the
building. The lift tube took him up to the 408th floor; sunpaint came up as Carl
unlocked the door to his office. The receptionistТs area and the conference room
were empty. Carl entered his own office and dropped his briefcase next to the
desk.
In the darkness of his office a cool blue cube appeared above CarlТs desktop.
The cube was invisible from the side opposite Carl, where the camera pickup was
located.
Marilyn MonroeТs image appeared within the cube.
УGerold McKann, please.Ф
УOne moment, sir,Ф breathed the image of a woman whoТd been dead for nearly a
hundred years The solid, rock-steady receptionistТs holograph was replaced on
CarlТs desktop by a wavering flat sheet of projected monovideo. Gerry was in his
car, through the 2-D interface Carl could see part of the front seat of GerryТs
Chandler 1300, and, through the windows of the car, what Carl guessed was
Transcontinental Highway 4 out in Pennsylvania. In the poor light of early
morning, as relayed by the hovercarТs marginally overscanning camera, it was
difficult for him to be certain.
УCarl! Goddamn, man, congratulations.Ф Gerry grinned into the camera. УI told
you it would go through.Ф
Carl stood with his fists resting on the desktop УI audited the Electronic Times
already this morning, Gerry.Ф
The grin widened. УYes? What did you think?Ф
Carl replied slowly УHow stupid are you?Ф
Gerry laughed УIТm oneЧФ He broke off abruptly. Cautiously he said, УYouТre
angry.Ф
УWhy did you write that story, Gerry?Ф
GerryТs eyes flickered down toward the camera embedded in the ChandlerТs dash,
then back up again to watch the road УExcuse me a moment,Ф he said mildly. Carl
watched as Gerry set up radar and hooked the carcomp into TransCon Auto Control.
Gerry McKann was in his late forties, though he looked younger, he kept in
shape. He was a newsdancer with over twenty yearsТ experience in the field.
Newsdancing was the only job heТd ever held.