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

"Oh, I think I can imagine the importance of the Presidential succession."
This brought her up short. "What makes you say that?"
"It has to have something to do with the fact that Lyndon Johnson has abruptly become President.
Remember the address I was originally supposed to take you to? Besides, something has got George
Stafford on the verge of wetting his pants. What else could be involved, at this particular time?"
"Very clever, Mr. Devaney. You're even right, as far as you go. That is the reason for my presence in
WashingtonтАФand, by extension, for the attack on me. There are, you see, certain things that Mr.
Johnson needs to be made aware of. But the problem is the nature of those 'things'тАФsecrets that must be
kept. The importance of this is such that the assassination of one American president and the accession
of another becomes a trivial matter by comparison."
So I can just imagine the triviality of an individual life, I thought. Mine, for instance. "You mean," I
asked aloud, "the stuff I saw you use?"
"Again, Mr. Devaney, that's just one facet of the secret of which I speak. You shouldn't have seen that
'stuff,' and wouldn't have had it not been for the attack on us. But, through no fault of your own, you did
see it."
"Hold that thought about 'no fault of your own.'"
"Unfortunately, that alters nothing. Now," she continued briskly, "our options are limited. There are
techniques of memory erasure by which you could be made to forget everything that has happened to
you since just before Stafford approached you about this job. This, however, has at least three
disadvantages. First, it isn't absolutely foolproof; some residue of memory might remain. Second, some
kind of cover story would have to be devised to account for the loss of a couple of days from your life.
And third, the procedure is not entirely without risk of permanent brain damage, possibly leaving the
subject in a vegetative state."
I got the distinct impression that she had listed the disadvantages in descending order of importance,
from her standpoint. I also had the uncomfortable feeling that she'd just dug the hole I was in even
deeper, if possible, by telling me about this memory erasure businessтАФsomething else I had no business
knowing.
"You mentioned 'options,' plural," I said carefully. "That's just one option. There must be at least one
other."
Renata Novak didn't reply. And her dark eyes, usually so direct, didn't meet mine.
There was, I realized, no need to go into details about the second option.
In spite of everything, I sensed that this woman wasn't evil or bloodthirsty or anything like that. But she
had the ruthlessness of someone in the service of an absolute: a cause whose importance transcended all
ordinary social rules and moral standards, an end that justified any means.
She seemed to reach a decision. I had a pretty good idea of what that decision was. She opened her


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 - Chapter 2

mouth to speak.
"Who are you people?" I blurted.
She looked surprised. "We're called the Prometheus Project . . . not that that will mean anything to you.
And now, Mr. DevaneyтАФ"
The door opened. Novak turned with an expression of annoyance at the interruption. That expression
smoothed itself out at the sight of the late-middle-aged gent who enteredтАФa tall, lantern-faced guy with
slightly receding gray hair and blue eyes whose mildness was, I thought, probably deceptive. He
motioned Novak to join him in a corner. They spoke in undertones for perhaps two minutes, while the
young guy watched me with a degree of concentration that decided me against attempting any funny
business. Instead, I tried to eavesdrop on the conversation in the corner. But I only caught two words,