"Wilson, F Paul - Implant (aka Colin Andrews)" - читать интересную книгу автора (Wilson F. Paul)

It made her uncomfortable. She was glad when she found the bank of
elevators. She turned a corner and put some of that white marble
between them.

The elevator on the end was marked "Senators Only." Gin rode one of
the brightly lit peon cars to the seventh floor and began to look for
Senator Marsden's office.

The oEhces occupied the perimeter of the Hart Building, the
hallway■actually a ramp that ran around the inner walls■overlooked the
atrium and the sculpture. She noticed a gray, powdery coating on the
upper surfaces of the mobile. The clouds needed a good dusting.

Down on the floor she noticed someone standing in the center of the
atrium, becalmed while everyone else flowed around him. That same man,
the one in the gray suit, was staring up at her.

What's year problem, mister?

She looked away and walked on. Quickly. She found 752 at the far end
of the hall. A simple black nameplate on the oak door said Sen. H.

Marsden.

Vertical blinds blocked her view through the full-length windows that
flanked the entrance. She reached for the door, then hesitated.

This is ridiculous, she thought, blotting her moist palms on her
skirt.

I've been through premed, med school, internal medicine residency, I've
brought people back from the dead, I've been up to my elbows in blood
and guts, and here I am nervous as a sixth grader outside the
principal's office.

She grabbed the handle and stepped into the front office.

I know her.

Gerald Canney continued to stare up at the seventh-floor walkway where
that attractive brunette had disappeared from view.

But from where?

He prided himself on his ability to remember faces and match them with
names. Part of it seemed to come naturally, part from his training at
the FBAcademy in Quantico. Special agents had to spot faces through
extra hair, dark glasses, any sort of disguise.