"S. Andrew Swann - Zimmerman's Algorithm" - читать интересную книгу автора (Swann S Andrew)

There was a long pause before Gideon realized what Davis meant. He whispered, "Oh shit."
Davis reached into his breast pocket and removed two folded sheets of paper and set them down on
the coffee table. "Look them over. First is a draft apology for that tirade yesterday. Second is an opening
statement for when you're called before the hearings."
Gideon stared at the papers on the table. "I don't believe this."
Davis stood up. "Take some time to consider it. All we need is your approval, and they'll release the
first one to the press. Call me sometime today or tomorrow to okay it."
Gideon nodded. He felt numb. He looked at the second statement, laying on the table, and asked, "Have
they even scheduled these hearings yet?"
"There's going to be a press conference next Friday. That's when we expect the hearings to be
announced."
"Wonderful. Nice to know the administration is a step ahead of Congress." It was hard to keep the
irony out of his voice.
Davis sounded relieved. He stepped over and held out his hand. "Thanks for cooperating with this."
Gideon didn't take the offered hand. "Good-bye, sir."
Davis was quiet for a moment and finally said, "You're a good cop, Malcolm. I'm sorry this had to
happen."
"Yeah, thanks. You know where the door is."
Davis stood a moment, apparently having run out of things to say. He walked off, leaving Gideon alone
with the two statements. In the distance, he heard the front door close, and the sounds of massing
reporters.
Gideon wondered if Davis knew how demeaning this all was. Asking him to mouth someone else's
predigested political bullshit. He bent over and picked up the first statement. Glanced at it without really
reading it, and decided that it didn't really matter what it said. They had his job in their hands, he pretty
much had to call Davis back and okay the thing.
He balled up the statement and tossed it aside.
It landed on a short table next to his chair. On the table were the personal effects that he'd carried back
from the hospitalтАФhis keys, a scattering of loose change, his wallet, and his badge.
Gideon picked up his badge. It had been clipped to his belt above his wounded leg. It was splattered
with his blood. Maybe also with Rafe's.
In the dim daylight filtering through the curtains, the blood gave the appearance of being tarnish. Gideon
slowly clenched a fist around the badge, until the tension made his hand shake.
He threw the badge against the wall.




1.05
Mon. Mar. 2

GIDEON held his cast awkwardly upright as his left hand rested on the Bible.
"Do you swear to tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth, so help you God?"
Gideon nodded to the grand jury foreman and said, "I do."
He sat down and faced a panel of twenty jurors. It was a familiar position, part of being a cop,
testifying before grand juries and criminal courts. Gideon had long ago lost count of the number of times he
had been subpoenaed to testify. It was always a somewhat nerve-racking experience, whether it was a
grand jury or a trial.
This time was worse than usual. He kept going through the shooting in his mind, racking his brain
thinking of the hundreds of things that he should have done, or shouldn't have done, anything so it would
have ended with a result different than the one that had actually happened.