"Destroyer 013 - Acid Rock.pdb" - читать интересную книгу автора (Williams Remo)

"Very good, sir," said Blake.
Watkins also ignored the suggestion about food.
"And we'll make sure no diet soda is used."
"Why is that?" asked the now-suspicious Watkins.
"Cyclamates, sir. It's been proven that if a per
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son drinks fifty-five gallons of cyclamates an hour, that person might develop cancer."
"We'll vary the restaurants, as per usual procedure," said Watkins.
"Very good, sir," said Blake.
Miss Stoner was now in L.A. headquarters, said Watkins. Would Blake like to see her now?
"I'd like to tell my son, daughter, and wife first that we're not going to Washington State Park. Then I'll take over, if it's all right with you."
Watkins agreed; it would prove to be Blake's first mistake. He said he would be back in two hours and put the assignment out of his thoughts.
He drove to his small ranch house with the neat lawn and the bicycle sprawled in the driveway. He did not scold his son for the driveway obstruction. He called him into the den.
"I'd like to explain about the bicycle, Pop. I was out on the lawn with Jimmy Tolliver and the ice cream truck..."
"That's all right," Blake told his son.
"Something wrong, Pop?"
"Yes, in a way. You know that camping trip we were going to take? Well, we'll have to postpone it this year."
Blake was surprised to see his son just shrug.
"I'm sorry," Blake said.
"That's okay, Pop. I really wasn't looking forward to all those bugs at night. Maybe we can go to Disneyland sometime, okay?"
"But we always go to Disneyland. We've been there twice this year already."
"Yeah, but I like Disneyland."
"I thought you had your heart set on Washington State Park."
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"That was you, Pop. I never wanted to go that much."
Neither had his daughter, Blake found out, and this relieved some of the burden of telling his wife.
"What is it this time, Bill?" she said, setting the table and avoiding his eyes.
"I can't say. I'll be out of town for a while. Maybe two weeks."
"I see," she said coldly.
"I'm sorry."
"You were sorry last year, you'll be sorry next year. I guess it's the way with the bureau, isn't it? To be sorry? We're having squash tonight. You like squash."
"If I had a choice, you know I wouldn't disappoint you again."
"Does it matter? Get washed up. We'll be eating in a minute."
"I can't stay."
Mrs. Blake scooped up one place setting and ran into the kitchen. Blake followed his wife. She was crying.
"Go. Just go," she sobbed. "I know you have to go. So just go."
"I love you," he said.
"What difference does that make? Just get out of here."
He tried to kiss her but she twisted her head away. She would remember, for the rest of her life, denying him that last kiss.
When Blake returned to headquarters, he realized his mistake. Two agents were in a side office talking,
"It's in there," said one, lifting his eyes to the ceiling. "We've got a real winner this time."
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"How long has she been in there? Did she eat supper?"
"She says she doesn't have to eat. Eating is selfish."
"You check on her?"
"An hour ago. She says she doesn't know why she should be kept in prison when she hasn't done anything wrong. If you ask me, I'd like to see even more space in the generation gap."
"You should be with her," said Blake, and entered the room without a backward glance. It was dark. Blake turned on the lights.
"Damn," he said.
Flowing red hair cascaded over the arm of a chair. Two young white legs poked crazily over its back. The chest did not move. No apparent breathing. The loose tie-dyed tee shirt was motionless.
Blake rushed to the still form and put his ear to the heart. Was that a beat? Yes. Strong. Beating strongly.