"Jerry Pournelle - Peace With Honor" - читать интересную книгу автора (Pournelle Jerry)

except through electronics from the moment they came in until they were ready to leave.
"Your appointment, sir," she said. "Almost time. And it's time for your nerve tonic."
He grunted. "I'd rather die." But he let her pour the shotglass of evil-tasting stuff, tossed it off and
chased it with milk before glancing at his watch. Not that the watch was needed, he thought. Miss
Ackridge knew the travel times to every Washington office, allowed just enough extra for possible
emergencies. There'd be no time to start on another report, and that suited Grant just fine.
He let her help him into his black coat, brush off a few silver gray hairs. He didn't really feel fifty-five,
but he looked it now. It happened all at once. Five years ago, he could pass for forty. John saw the girl in
the mirror behind him, standing close to him, and knew that she loved him. The usual secretary-boss
situation, and it wouldn't work. Why the hell don't you get married again, John Grant? It isn't as if you're
pining away for Priscilla. By the time she died you were praying it would happen. You can even admit
that, now. Why the hell do you go on acting like the great love of your life has departed forever? All
you'd have to do is turn around, say five words, she'd . . . she'd what? She wouldn't be the perfect
secretary any longer. Good secretaries are harder to find than mistresses. Let it alone.
She stood there for a moment, then moved away. "Your daughter wants to see you this evening," she
told him. "She's driving down this afternoon. Says it's important."
"Know why?" Grant asked. Ackridge knew more about Sharon than Grant did. A whole lot more,
probably.
"I can guess. I think her young man asked her."
John nodded. It was hardly unexpected, but it hurt. So soon, so soon. They grow so fast, and there's
so little time. John Jr. was with the Callisto Squadron, First Lieutenant of a CoDominium Navy frigate,
due for a command of his own any year now. Frederick was dead in the accident with his mother, and
now Sharon had found another life ... not that she hadn't before. Since he became the Honorable Deputy
Secretary he might as well have died for as often as they had time together.
"Run his name through CIA, Flora. Meant to do that months ago, can't think why I never got around
to it. They won't find anything, but we'll need it for the records."
"Yes, sir. You'd better be on your way, now. Your drivers are outside."
He glanced around the office, scooped up his briefcase. "I won't be back today, have my car sent
around to the White House, will you? I'll drive myself home tonight."
"Yes, sir. You can send the briefcase back with your driver, then," she said carefully, reminding him
of his own regulations. Too many papers turning up missing from too many houses lately. If you want to
work nights, stay at the office.
He acknowledged the salutes of his driver and armed "mechanic" with a cheery wave, led them to the
elevator at the end of the long corridor. Paintings and photographs of ancient battles hung along both
sides of the hall, but otherwise it was like a cave. Blasted Pentagon, he thought for the millionth time.
Stupidest building ever constructed. Nobody can find anything, it can't be guarded for any price, and it's
too big for the important staff, too small for everything the military needed. Miserable stupid building.
Why couldn't somebody have bombed it?
They took a surface car to the White House. He could have made his own clearance for a flight, but
it would have been another detail, and why bother? Besides, this way he got to see the cherry trees and
flower beds around the Jefferson. The Potomac was a brown sludgy mess despite the latest attempt to
clean it up. You could swim in it if you had a strong stomach, but the Army engineers had "improved" it a
few administrations back, giving it concrete banks . . . why the devil would anyone want to make a
concrete ditch out of a river? he wondered. Now the workmen were tearing the lining out, which kept the
water perpetually muddy. One day they'll be through with it.
They drove through rows of government buildings, some of them abandoned. Urban Renewal had
given Washington all the office space the government needed, more, until there were empty buildings, big
relics of the time when Washington was the most crime-ridden city in the world. Back around the turn of
the Century, maybe before, he couldn't remember, they'd torn everything down, hustled everyone out of
Washington who didn't belong there, the bulldozers quickly following to demolish the tenements. For