"Kevin O'Donnel Jr. - The Journeys of Mcgill Feighan 02 - Reefs" - читать интересную книгу автора (O'Donnell Jr Kevin)

McGill Feighan almost as well as I know him, and whose insights have
helped me to tell his story better: Mary Kittredge, Mark J. McGarry,
Joel Rosenberg, Victoria Schochet, Cherry Weiner, and last but really
first, my wife, Kim Tchang.




Chapter I
^┬╗

As McGill Feighan materialized on the marble-topped Flop Table, he said,
"Dammit, Greystein, love hurts!"
"Puppy love always does," said his roommate, then bent back over the
keyscreen at the far end of the living room.
 "No, it'sтАФ"
Every light in the penthouse flashed; a siren keened wild and shrill. The
apartment computer boomed: "Intruder. IntraтАФ"
The blast of sound almost knocked Feighan off the table. Covering his
ears, he said, "Hey!"
Marion Jefferson Greystein purpled. "Oscar, cue: shut up; do it now!" The
siren cut off. Greystein's energy tunic still flared angrily. "Sorry, McGill;
there's a bug in my program. Hold on just a minute." He spoke into the
microphone: "Oscar, query: do you recognize the second person here;
answer it now."
Wondering if he had just been declared persona non grataтАФ by a machine,
yetтАФFeighan glanced at the ceiling grille that hid Oscar's speaker.
"The second person here is McGill Feighan."
Feighan said, "Then whyтАФ"
Greystein held up a finger. "Oscar, update: McGill Feighan is authorized
always; file it now." The lights blinked off. Greystein sighed, pushed himself
away from the keyscreen, and spun his chair around. "I am truly sorry
about the cacaphony, McGill; I've been putting a watchdog program into
Oscar and hadn't gotten around to listing the people who shouldn't trigger
it." Standing, he stretched. "Now, what were you saying?"
"Why a watchdog?" Feighan crossed the room in two huge strides, and
sprawled on the onyx force couch. It wheezed as it accepted his ninety-five
kilograms, then lenghtened to accommodate his meter-point-nine frame.
"Aren't there enough guards around for your peace of mind?"
"Not any more." Though nearly Feighan's height, he was sapling slender;
he had curly brown hair and a two-bump nose. Against a skin paled by too
many hours in electronics labs, his dark eyes stuck out like smudges on rice
paper. "The NYPD called today; they've removed the guards and the
surveillance cameras because, they say, you're out of danger."
"They're probably right. Word must have gotten around by now that
nobody wants me dead any more."
"How do you know?"
"Aw, Greystein, the only thing I'm in danger of is a broken heart." He
crossed his hands under his head, and lifted his feet to the far arm of the
sofa. "Or marriage, I'm not sure which, yet." Closing his eyes, he took a deep