"Энди Макнаб. Удаленный контроль (engl) " - читать интересную книгу автора

office block in any city-very clean, sleek, and corporate. People who worked
there were swiping their identity cards through electronic readers to get
in, but I had to go over to the main reception desk. Two women sat behind
thick bulletproof glass.
Through the intercom system I said to one of them, "I'm here to see Mr.
Lynn."
"Can you fill this in, please?" She passed a ledger through a slot
under the glass.
As I signed my name in two boxes, she picked up a telephone.
"Who shall I say is coming to see Mr. Lynn?"
"My name is Stamford."
The ledger held tear-off labels. One half was going to be ripped off
and put in a plastic badge container, which I would have to pin on. My badge
was blue and said escorted


EVERYWHERE.

The woman came off the phone and said, "There'll be somebody coming
down to pick you up."
A young clerk appeared minutes later.
"Mr. Stamford? If you'd like to come with me." He pressed the elevator
button and said, "We're going to the fifth floor."
The whole building is a maze. I just followed him; I didn't have a clue
where we were going. There was little noise coming from any of the offices,
just people bent over papers or working at PCs. At the far end of one
corridor we turned left into a room. Old metal filing cabinets, a couple of
six-foot tables put together, and like in any office anywhere, the cups,
packets of coffee and sugar, and a milk roster. None of that for me,
though-in free-fall talk, I'd just stand by and accept the landing.
Lieutenant Colonel Lynn's office was off to one side of the larger
area. When the clerk knocked on the door, there was a crisp and immediate
call of "Come in!" The boy turned the handle and ushered me past him.
Lynn was standing behind his desk. In his early forties, he was of
average build, height, and looks but had that aura about him that singled
him out as a high achiever. The only thing he didn't have, I was always
pleased to note, was plenty of hair. I'd known him on and off for about ten
years; for the last two years his job had been liaison between the Ministry
of Defense and SIS.
It was only as I walked farther into the room that I realized he wasn't
alone. Sitting to one side of the desk, obscured until now by the half-open
door, was Simmonds. I hadn't seen him since Gibraltar. What a professional
he'd turned out to be, sorting out the inquest and basically making sure
that Euan and I didn't exist. I felt a mixture of surprise and relief to see
him here. He'd had nothing to do with the Kurd job. We might be getting the
coffee after all.
Simmonds stood up. Six feet tall, late forties, rather
distinguished-looking, a very polite man, I thought, as he ex tended his
hand. He was dressed in corduroy trousers the color of Gulden's mustard, and
a shirt that looked as if he'd slept in it.