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

"If Gryll sent you," he said, "go ahead."
"Ah," said the doctor, a beam washing over his dusky face, "my gratitude
knows no bounds, sir, and if you will just step to one side and draw this
maskтАФ" A square of sterile filter-plas appeared in his hand as suddenly as if
he'd created it. "тАФover your mouth and nose, I can begin."
Complying, he stood at the head of the crib and watched delicate dark
fingers wield tiny scalpels and miniature needles. Snip. Pop. Slice. Poke. The
child's eyes widened and his face reddened, but his mouth would not gape,
nor would he cry. He didn't even twitch when the doctor swabbed out a
throat sample.
Gutsy kid, thought Hommroummy, as the medic departed. Or retarded.
The ceiling speaker awoke with a yawn of static. Gryll's odd intonations
filled the room and echoed off the stone walls. "Return him. Retrieve Nurse.
Execute her immediately. Know where child is at all times. Be prepared to
seize him again."
"I don't understand, sir," said Hommroummy, "whyтАФ"
"Job is to do, not to understand. Obey."
"Yes, sir." He sighed, and shook his head. It was bad enough that he had
to kill one of his best operatives, but to remain ignorant was worse.
Knowledge is money, and money, power. Though he wanted to resist, to
refuseтАФthat would be futile. His predecessor had tried it, once, ten minutes
before he'd died. Gryll did not permit disobedience.
Heels crunching gravel, he left the room to issue the proper instructions.


Feighan was biting into his third ham and cheese on rye when the back
doorbell chimed its two-note refrain. His head jerked up; bread crumbs
scattered on the checked tablecloth. "Who is it?" he called harshly, wiping
mustard off his lips.
"Delivery," returned a high, sharp voice. "Exchange some merchandise?"
"Just a minute." As insurance, he waved Nicole into the broom closet and
handed her the new telephone. Once the interior lock had snapped into
place, he opened the lavatory door and hauled The Nurse out. Clothesline
tied her hands behind her back; electric wire lashed her ankles together. The
gag between her teeth had been a cleaning rag, and soap bubbles foamed
the corners of her mouth. Dropping her in the middle of the kitchen, and
resting his right foot on her neck, he said, "Come in."
The repaired screen door creaked. A thin, short man inched into the
room, holding an airlines pet crate in one hand and a cruel-angled gun in the
other. His nose was as pointed as a mosquito's. Nervously, he smiled.
"Good morning, Mr. Feighan," he said, chattering away as though afraid of
silence, "it's an honor to meet anyone who can best our Nurse in
hand-to-hand, or in anything for that matter. Impressive, quite impressive."
Gently lowering the dog carrier to the floor, he nudged it toward Feighan
with the toe of his boot. "I believe you will find everything in order."
Feighan glanced from the gun to the aluminum crate. Pine-scented
cologne drifted over to him. In the closet, a cork popped; liquid gurgled. He
growled, "It better be," and bent to open the meshwork door.
"Ah, sir, my colleague?" Taddeucz gestured at The Nurse with his
automatic. "We would like to be on our way."