"Steve White - The Prometheus Project" - читать интересную книгу автора (White Steve)

Washington's cozy medium-sized-city ambience in those days had its negative points. One of these was
National Airport, the inadequacy of which had long been a staple of local grumbling. It was hard to
forget about; all you had to do was look toward the Potomac, at the procession of low-flying planes had
become a permanent backdrop to the Lincoln Memorial. It became even more obvious as you drove over
Arlington Memorial Bridge, caught the George Washington Memorial Highway south, and got into the
traffic. Some people actually liked this stretch of road. I didn't, because it took me past the Pentagon,
with its unwelcome memories.
The flight I was to meet was a Northwest Boeing 707 from Minneapolis. The crowd was fairly light, and
the plane clearly hadn't been full. I had no trouble spotting "Miss Smith."
She was taller than I'd expected, and possibly a little younger, but just as severe as her photo had
indicated. Her makeup was minimal, her suit businesslike, and her dark hair pulled back into a tight bun.
I stepped forward diffidently.
"Miss Smith?" ("Ms." was yet another linguistic barbarism that still lay in the future.) "I'm Mr. Jones." I

file:///K|/eMule/Incoming/White,%20steve%20-%20The%20prometheus%20project/0743498917___1.htm (6 of 7)28-12-2006 15:57:10
 - Chapter 1

extended my hand, even though you were supposed to let a lady do that first, in those days.
She looked me over in a way that wasn't altogether flatteringтАФor maybe that was just my oversensitive
natureтАФand made no move to shake my hand. "Is my transportation ready, Mr. Jones?"
So much for small talk, I decided. "Yeah. Let's get your luggage andтАФ"
"I have everything right here." She indicated the overnight bag she was carrying.
"Oh. Well, then . . ." I extended my hand again, this time to take the bag.
"I'll keep it with me, if you don't mind."
"Okay. Fine. Right this way."
She gave my '59 Dodge an inspection not unlike the one she'd given me. "Hey, it gets me there and it
gets me back," I ventured as I held the door for her.
"It suits you," she observed, settling into the passenger's seat and keeping the bag on her lap.
"Somehow, I could tell you thought so." I got in behind the wheel and pulled out the envelope which I,
continuing to play Stafford's little games, had kept sealed until now. I slit it open, curious, and read the
address.
Several obscenities were out of my mouth before I caught myself and turned to "Miss Smith" sheepishly.
She looked more amused than offended.
"Is something the matter?" she inquired with an economical smile.
"Pardon my French," I muttered. "But . . . well, you see, I don't generally get involved in high-level
stuff." In actual fact, I never did, and Stafford knew it. I'm definitely gonna demand a bonus! I thought
furiously. I also thought of where I was going to insert Stafford's sealed envelope, rolled up into a tube.
I continued thinking these thoughts as I drove, in sullen silence, back into the District and then
northeastward in the direction of the White House.



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