Студопедия
Случайная страница | ТОМ-1 | ТОМ-2 | ТОМ-3
АрхитектураБиологияГеографияДругоеИностранные языки
ИнформатикаИсторияКультураЛитератураМатематика
МедицинаМеханикаОбразованиеОхрана трудаПедагогика
ПолитикаПравоПрограммированиеПсихологияРелигия
СоциологияСпортСтроительствоФизикаФилософия
ФинансыХимияЭкологияЭкономикаЭлектроника

Bank-monument

THE NUMBER | ENIGMA ROTORS | GEAR-QUEER | ELVIS, GRACELAND | ICHINOMIYA | THE VERBALS | SHRAPNEL, SUPERSONIC | TORTOISESHELL AND PINSTRIPES | IN THE CUISINART ATRIUM | SHOTGUN |


 

Milgrim had never liked the City. It had always seemed too monolithic, though to some older scale of monolith. Too few hiding places. A lack of spaces in between. It had been turning its back on people like himself for centuries, and made him feel like a rat running along a baseboard devoid of holes. He felt that now, very strongly, though they weren’t running. Walking, but briskly, owing to Heidi’s long legs.

He was wearing a black “Sonny” jacket that Heidi had purchased off the back of an agreeable Turkish-looking office cleaner, here in Lombard Street, paying with a fold of bills. Or at least that was what it had embroidered on the left breast, in white, in an otherwise very good approximation of the Sony logo. His own jacket was stuffed into his bag, on top of his laptop. The transaction had also yielded a gray knit acrylic hat, which Heidi wore pulled very low, her black hair tucked completely out of sight. She’d turned her jacket inside out, revealing an impressive scarlet silk lining. The fringed epaulets had become padding, exaggerating her already formidable shoulders. This would be out of concern, Milgrim assumed, with being recognized, either by any remaining associates of Foley’s or by the ever-watchful cameras, which Milgrim now noticed everywhere.

Immediately he regretted thinking of Foley. That had been very bad, the business with the truck and the two cars, and he couldn’t help but believe it to have been his fault. That had definitely been a bandage on Foley’s head, under the cap, and Milgrim could only assume that it had had something to do with that young Russian mother’s bodyguard, in Paris. If Sleight had sent Foley after the Neo, as Milgrim had intended, he would in fact have sent him after that ominous-looking pram. And it had happened because he, Milgrim, had given in to some unfamiliar impulse to rebellion. He’d done it out of anger, really, resentment, and because he could.

Now Heidi produced her iPhone. Thumbed the screen once. Listened, then held the phone away, as if to ignore a message she’d heard before. When she put it to her mouth, she said: “Listen up, Garreth. Hollis Henry’s in deep shit now. Kidnap attempt, looked to me. Call her.” She tapped the phone again.

“Who was that?”

“Hollis’s ex,” said Heidi, “voice mail. I hope.”

“The one who jumps off buildings?”

“The one who doesn’t return his fucking calls,” said Heidi, putting her phone away.

“Why don’t we get a cab?” He’d seen several pass.

“Because they can’t stop a train.”

In the canyon of King William now, more traffic, more cabs, the strap of his bag digging into his shoulder, the Sonny jacket scented faintly and not unpleasantly with cooking spices, perhaps from a recent meal. He was hungry now, in spite of the Vietnamese with Winnie. He remembered Hollis’s dongle, the cellular connection, in the Chunnel. He wondered if phones worked on the London subway. He didn’t think they did in New York; he’d never had one there. If they did, he could send Winnie a message, once they were on the train. Tell her about Foley and the Hilux. Had it been an attempted kidnapping? He supposed it had, if not worse, but why would anyone attempt that on the passengers of a cartel-grade Jankel-armored truck? But then it occurred to him that graduates of Parsons School of Design probably weren’t necessarily up on that sort of thing.

An entrance to Bank Station ahead, pedestrian traffic picking up around them, and that was the Central Line, they’d ride straight to Marble Arch, close to Portman Square, and walk to the hotel. Quicker than a cab, probably, and maybe he could get on Twitter.

Heidi swung suddenly around, whisking back one side of her inside-out jacket. As if to show him the large brooch he now saw she wore there, three rocketships, perhaps, nose-down, silver with crimson tails. And plucking part of this away, she flung it behind them, the entirety of her long body pivoting behind it.

Someone shrieked, as terrible a sound as Milgrim had heard, and continued to as Heidi, rough as any policeman, rushed him down the stairs and into Bank-Monument.

 


Дата добавления: 2015-08-03; просмотров: 36 | Нарушение авторских прав


<== предыдущая страница | следующая страница ==>
GREAT MARLBOROUGH| SOMEONE

mybiblioteka.su - 2015-2024 год. (0.012 сек.)