"Robert Weinberg - Logical Magician 01 - A Logical Magician" - читать интересную книгу автора (Weinberg Robert)

In the end, Jack calculated he had answered twenty of the twenty-four questions
correctly. Running down the list, Megan confirmed the count.
 "An excellent score," she said, grinning. "Though we expected no less from anyone
snared by the advertisement."
Pushing her chair away from the desk, she rose to her feet and turned to the inner
office door. "Let me pass these results on to Father. I'm sure he'll want to talk to you right
away."
Megan disappeared into the other room, carrying the papers with her. Leaning
back in his chair, Jack puzzled over her choice of words. "Snared" implied some sort of
trap. While "Father" needed no explanation, the casual remark caught Jack by surprise.
He should have connected Megan's name with that on the door. Trying to escape his own
family business, he had stumbled into another.
"Father will see you now," announced Megan, reappearing from the other room. As
Jack walked past her, she reached out and gave him a light squeeze on his forearm,
quickening his pulse. "Good tuck," she whispered.
The inner office was as sparsely furnished as the reception area. Floor-to-ceiling
windows covered the far wall, offering a breathtaking view of downtown Chicago. Dozens
of framed and signed photographs of famous people covered the other three walls. In one
corner, a huge rubber tree stretched to the ceiling. There were no rows of file cabinets,
banks of phones, or any of a hundred other things Jack associated with a major business.
He couldn't help wondering what type of investments Ambrose Ltd. handled.
A large ebony desk, devoid of clutter, dominated the room. Behind it, in a huge,
black leather and wood chair, sat the only other occupant of the room, a slender, elderly
man dressed in a pin-stripe business suit. The harshness of his lean features and
weather-browned skin was offset by his twinkling brown eyes. His well-groomed long
mane of silver hair matched his sharply pointed snow-white beard.
"Make yourself comfortable, Jack," said the man, casually waving to a chair in front
of his desk. "We have a lot to discuss." He patted the test papers. "You impressed Megan
with your knowledge, and I can see why. I think you're the man we need."
Jack grinned. Today was his lucky day. Gone were his nightmares of returning to
New Jersey and the import-export empire. Chicago was his hometown now.
He sobered almost instantly. There had been no mention of salary. Or exactly what
position he was being offered.
"How does a thousand dollars a week sound?" said the bearded man, as if reading
Jack's mind.
"A thousand a week?" repeated Jack, stunned. His mouth was suddenly dry as the
desert. "For doing what, Mr. Ambrose?"
Jack suspected drug dealingтАФthough performing Mafia-style executions ran a close
second. A hundred other possibilities, most of them illegal, stampeded through his mind,
while he waited for the bearded man's answer. Seeking to escape his family business, he
had stumbled onto something equally threatening. None of his guesses prepared him for
what Ambrose said next.
"The forces of darkness and everlasting night are rising in our city. Civilization is
terribly threatened. Humanity needs a champion to battle them. You're that man, Jack."
The old man paused, a faint smile crossing his lips. "No reason for you to use the
Ambrose alias. I prefer my real name. Call me Merlin."
"Merlin?" asked Jack, still reeling over the bearded man's initial remarks. "Like the
famous magician of King Arthur's court?"
The bearded man laughed. "Like him? You misunderstand, Jack. I am him . I am
the legendary Merlin the Magician."