"000040-parryspr" - читать интересную книгу автора (Yngve A R - Parry's Protocol)_______________________ A.R.Yngve PARRY'S PROTOCOL _______________________ Chapter 40 Abram came to the crossing with the sign WESTMOREHAM INSTITUTE 1.5 MILES and stopped his car to let a caravan of big trucks cross by, going westward. Suddenly he clasped his forehead, and blinked confusedly. He caught a glance of himself in the rear-view mirror: the image of a red-eyed man with tangled gray hair stared back. "What the hell am I doing," he mumbled at the mirror image. "I gotta get a hold of myself, gotta..." Angry honkings from the car behind made him start; the crossing traffic had passed by, and the morning traffic was down to a small trickle. Abram stepped on the gas pedal, twisted the wheel, and made a sharp U-turn. With renewed resolve, he drove back toward the motel. Another minute later he stopped on the parking-lot, took the laptop and the pocket secretary, slammed the car door shut, and walked briskly up to the reception house at the end of the row. He stepped inside, went up to the reception desk -- which was unmanned -- and found his roomkey lying there. He took it and returned to his room. The room was locked, but not yet cleaned: it was empty, and Annie's clothes were gone. He went right up to the desk and dumped his writing equipment. Abram picked up a notepad and read a message written in large, neat letters: CALL SOON, ABRAM (509-689-2571) Annie A wide, spontaneous smile spread across Abram's face, and he reached for his phone -- but seemed to change his mind. From the outside pocket of his jacket he extracted the short list of names, and studied it. He put the list on the desk next to the laptop-printer, hung up his coat and jacket, and eased down into the chair. Habitually, he drew a hand across his beard, switched on the word processor, and fed a sheet into the printer slot. After a few minutes of silent contemplation, he began typing with swift, deft fingers. _______________________ A.R.Yngve PARRY'S PROTOCOL _______________________ Chapter 40 Abram came to the crossing with the sign WESTMOREHAM INSTITUTE 1.5 MILES and stopped his car to let a caravan of big trucks cross by, going westward. Suddenly he clasped his forehead, and blinked confusedly. He caught a glance of himself in the rear-view mirror: the image of a red-eyed man with tangled gray hair stared back. "What the hell am I doing," he mumbled at the mirror image. "I gotta get a hold of myself, gotta..." Angry honkings from the car behind made him start; the crossing traffic had passed by, and the morning traffic was down to a small trickle. Abram stepped on the gas pedal, twisted the wheel, and made a sharp U-turn. With renewed resolve, he drove back toward the motel. Another minute later he stopped on the parking-lot, took the laptop and the pocket secretary, slammed the car door shut, and walked briskly up to the reception house at the end of the row. He stepped inside, went up to the reception desk -- which was unmanned -- and found his roomkey lying there. He took it and returned to his room. The room was locked, but not yet cleaned: it was empty, and Annie's clothes were gone. He went right up to the desk and dumped his writing equipment. Abram picked up a notepad and read a message written in large, neat letters: CALL SOON, ABRAM (509-689-2571) Annie A wide, spontaneous smile spread across Abram's face, and he reached for his phone -- but seemed to change his mind. From the outside pocket of his jacket he extracted the short list of names, and studied it. He put the list on the desk next to the laptop-printer, hung up his coat and jacket, and eased down into the chair. Habitually, he drew a hand across his beard, switched on the word processor, and fed a sheet into the printer slot. After a few minutes of silent contemplation, he began typing with swift, deft fingers. |
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