"Kevin O'Donnel Jr. - The Journeys of McGill Feighan 01 - Caverns" - читать интересную книгу автора (O'Donnell Jr Kevin)

in breath to scream: "TAD! HELP!" She'd barely uttered the second word
before a hard blow knocked the light out of her eyes. As she crumpled to the
floor, clinging desperately to consciousness, she heard a familiar sportshover
engine roar into life. Turbofans shrieked. The sound faded in the distance.
Night guillotined down.
Fifteen minutes later, when Feighan was about to awaken the would-be
kidnapper with a pitcher of ice water, the phone rang. "I'm nearer," he
called, and stretched to set the jug on the counter below the wall phone. Not
once did his eyes leave the unconscious Nurse. A true she-devil, he thought,
remembering her slashing hands and feet. It's close I should watch her, very
close. Ah, but it felt goodтАж "Hello?"
"Mr. Feighan, I presume?" The voice was chilly; its words, clipped.
"None other," he said.
"We have your child, you have our agent. IfтАФ"
"Who are you?" he demanded. His fingers tightened on the receiver.
"If she survives, McGill does. CallтАФ"
"What is it you want, man?" Nicole pushed through the swinging doors,
so he waved her over and mouthed, "Find McGill."
"Call the police and your boy dies. I'll get back to you." A metallic click
severed the connection.
Feighan stood motionless, staring at the phone with numb anger. The
house around him was silent, except for Nicole's scampering feet. Outside a
car raced its fans, and the buckeye rustled its leaves in the wind. Somewhere
a child laughed, but it wasn't his.
"Pat!" shrieked Nicole. "He's gone, McGill's gone!"
"I know," he said softly, not speaking to her, or to anyone. In a moment
he'd hold her, and comfort her, as she would him. In a moment. But nowтАж
tendons bulged on the back of his hand. The receiver snapped. "I know."


Hommroummy paced the length of a small, bare room lasered out of the
Moon's bedrock. Its gray walls were rough, and streaked with shininess
where mineral veins had been cross-sectioned. It contained only one item of
furniture: a crib. On its satin-covered mattress breathed a two-month-old
child, blue-eyed and dark-haired. His arms were at his sides; his legs lay flat,
with the toes leaning outward. He hadn't moved since he'd been put there,
and that made Hommroummy wary. Kids were supposed to flap their
hands, flop their heads, and make noise. Kittens did. This one hadn't done a
thing.
He stopped pacing and leaned over the crib. The baby's skin was soft,
clear, milky-white. His eyes were flecked with brown, and full of.. .fear? he
marveled. What's he afraid of? How does he know to be afraid?
A young, frizzy-haired doctor entered without knocking, started at
Hommroummy's presence, and immediately bowed. "Please allow me to
present my deepest apologies, sir," he began, running his words into a
singsong chant, "but I have been instructed, by a party which wishes to
remain anonymous, to take skin and blood samples from the infant for a
detailed laboratory analysis. Although my instructions do specify
promptness, if you wish to spend a fewтАФ"
Hommroummy's upraised hand cut off the flow of verbiage like a dam.