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

thinking perhaps you might need me, although I didn't let on about my job with
you. 'Well, the outcome was that I arranged to meet him again next evening -
same pub, same time. As it was, you didn't need me to baby-sit, and I had
nothing else to do. I suppose, to be honest, I was a bit curious. I was sure
by now that Thurgood was after something. I was also on my guard - I had to
remember, after all, that I was - and still am - a serving Officer in Her
Majesty's Forces, which hardly makes me a free agent. Still, there's no rule
against having a drink with a former colleague, even if the fellow had been
cashiered for being cuckoo.

'Thurgood turned up on time, dressed in tweeds this time, and what looked like
an Old School tie - though I bet he didn't even get into the local Grammar.
Evening classes in radio-electronics would have been more his style.

'Once again, he insisted on buying all the drinks, and dinner afterwards. He'd
dropped the Oxford accent completely, thank God, and had become sort of quiet
and evasive. He didn't talk a lot, but from what he did say I got the
impression that he hadn't been up to much good since he'd been kicked out of
the RAF. He'd been in some trouble with the police in Canada, then again when
he got back to England - something to do with possessing a firearm - but it
wasn't at all clear. There's nothing straightforward or clear about Thurgood,
except his craziness. Nothing about him seems to connect up, if you see what I
mean?

'All of which should have warned me off him - only I don't mind admitting that
I'd had rather a lot to drink. I .wasn't drunk, but I'd certainly had more
than I'm used to -probably because Thurgood was beginning to make me a bit
nervous.

'Anyway, just as we were finishing dinner he went out again and made another
telephone call. When he came back, he told me we were both going to a party.
He didn't ask if I wanted to go - it was more by way of an order. Perhaps it
was because of the drinks, and because Thurgood was paying again, but I didn't
argue. I thought it best just to go along with him and see what happened.

'Outside we got into his Range-Rover and he drove like a madman out to the
City, to a big complex of modern flats, which I think is called the Barbican.
All Thurgood would say was that the party was being given by a pilot-friend of
his - a civilian who ran his own flying taxi-service.

'Well, as it turned out, the fellow wasn't doing too badly for himself in
Civvy Street! I reckoned he must have been making five times what a Wing
Commander gets. Thurgood and I finished up in a penthouse flat with suede
wallpaper and a lot of modern furniture in chrome and black leather. The
taxi-pilot was called Jim Ritchie. Young handsome chap - obviously didn't have
a care in the world. Good clothes -you know, fancy open-necked shirt and gold
bracelet. Trendy, I suppose you'd call him. And very friendly. First thing he
did, as soon as I was in the door, was give me a socking great brandy in a
glass half the size of a football.