"Alan Williams - Holy of Holies" - читать интересную книгу автора (Williams Alan)

Ex-pilot turned wine-merchant Charles Rawcliff certainly knows his vintages.
But when he jumps at a ┬г50,000, one-off chance to fly again, he doesn't know
either his mission or his destination. When he discovers the shattering
purpose behind the scheme, and where he has to go, he knows for sure he'll
earn every tainted penny of his blood money...


Alan Williams


Holly of Hollies (1981)



The Touch


One


London. Some time in the imminent present.

It began on that day in November when Charles Rawcliffs wife, Judith, put
their telephone number in the local newsagent's window in Battersea,
advertising for a babysitter. Among the first to call that evening was a man
who gave his name as Mason. After Judith had confirmed that he was ringing the
right number, she asked to speak to Mrs Mason. The man apologized and
explained that he was the applicant, and added that he was a bomber-pilot,
stationed at RAF Benson, Oxfordshire, and was up in London on a six weeks'
training course. He didn't know anyone in town, and thought he might fill the
odd evening by getting out of his digs to do some homework, and make a bit of
tax-free pocket-money on the side. He gave his full name as Flight-Lieutenant
Terence Mason; he was married and had three children of his own.

Judith was amused by the idea: after all, what was wrong with a grown-up man
looking after her two-year-old son, even if he was training to drop bombs on
people? He had sounded pleasant and sensible, and she agreed to see him at
seven the next evening. But first, without consulting her husband, she got the
number of RAF Benson and checked with the Duty Officer. Yes, they had a
Flight-Lieutenant Mason, but he was away from camp at the moment. Yes, he was
in London for a course on Aerial Control. If it was a personal matter, he
would have to refer her to 'Mason's Commanding-Officer. She thanked him and
hung up.

The candidate arrived punctually at seven. Charles Rawcliff had just arrived
back from the office and had poured his first cautious whisky, while Judith
was upstairs putting their son, Tom, to bed.

The man in the doorway was stocky, clean-shaven, with short hair and a healthy
complexion. He looked as though he took care of himself. He was wearing a