"Ian Watson - Caucus Winter" - читать интересную книгу автора (Watson Ian)

enough bits on the end of it, to make it do anything.

Me and my krapula returned to the hotel restaurant, which was now open for
breakfast. Bizarrely, the restaurant was Mexican-themed. Sombreros on the walls,
murals of adobe buildings, big cacti. People in this chilly country must have a
craze for hot chili.

I drank a lot of orange juice, then tackled some scrambled egg accompanied by
some fried blood sausage, the local speciality. My stomach seemed to think this
might do me good.

Sitting there in Rancho Sombrero as Finland geared up for its dark day, it was
as if a sudden nuclear war had been waged overnight, deleting CNN and America
from the world.

TRAVEL ARRANGEMENTS turned out to be a scheduled morning flight from Tampere to
Stockholm, to connect with a FinnAir jet bound for Heathrow. This must be the
fastest practical way to reach England.

A car delivered me to the barren little airport. Another car brought Outi,
software disks in her luggage, accompanied by some escort man who would not be
proceeding further. When Outi and I met up, she hugged me. She was worried,
excited, tired, sympathetic.

"We are a long shot," she said.

Oh yes indeed. I could imagine what emergency meetings must be going on in the
White House and the Pentagon and wherever else. Alerts, troop movements. Were
engineers trying to disarm missiles even now. Was Silicon Valley under martial
law. Was the President negotiating by radio with the CAUC-US? Procrastinating?
Promising immunities? Were special forces searching Arizona...? A million things
must be happening, including our economy lurching to its knees -- and worldwide
shock-waves.

"I have a krapula," I told Outi.

"Me too."

A fighter took off along the windswept runway, to be followed soon by another.
Apparently this was routine, not an emergency response. Military and civilian
traffic shared the airport. Outi and I could not have crammed into one of those
military jets for a quicker flight to England.

Our turboprop plane could seat forty, though it was less than half full. The
hostess hastily went through the rigmarole about life-jackets. Much use those
would be if we came down in the frozen Baltic! More germane were the miniatures
of Cognac which she distributed along with coffee. After a few moment's thought
Outi emptied hers into her coffee cup. Personally I would have vomited.

So here we were in Cambridgeshire, with the Jeep's radio tuned to news of