The Pinocchio Syndrome. David Zeman
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Название: The Pinocchio Syndrome
Автор: David Zeman
Издательство: HarperCollins
Жанр: Приключения: прочее
isbn: 9780007394654
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‘Not good in what way?’
Kraig shook his head. ‘A sort of paralysis,’ he said. ‘He can’t talk, and he can’t obey simple commands. So far they can’t find anything wrong with him physically. If it’s mental, it’s bad mental.’
‘I take it he’s not in any condition to go back to work,’ Agnew said.
‘No way.’ Kraig shook his head.
Agnew thought for a moment.
‘Well,’ he said, ‘I’ll tell the White House. They’re not going to like it. Deep concern at the top level. You know what I mean.’
Kraig nodded. He cared little for politics. If it weren’t for that maniac Colin Goss angling to get into the White House, Kraig would not have cared who occupied the place.
‘Do you think the president will have to appoint another man?’ Agnew asked.
‘If Everhardt goes on this way, I’d say so,’ Kraig replied. ‘He’s incapacitated.’
‘Who do you think it might be?’
‘Search me.’ Kraig sat down.
He thought for a moment before saying, ‘Everhardt’s doctor was wondering about the epidemic in Iowa. There are some symptoms in common.’
‘Really?’ Agnew asked. ‘Which ones?’
‘I’m not sure.’ Kraig frowned. ‘I don’t know that much about Iowa.’
There was a silence.
‘Does the doctor think this might be something communicable?’ Agnew asked.
‘He doesn’t know. He seemed worried by the prospect.’
Kraig sat listening to the muted hum of the traffic on the expressway. He looked at the pictures on Agnew’s walls, most of which showed sailboats or fishing boats on the Chesapeake Bay. Agnew was leaning back in his chair with one leg crossed over the other. His knee stuck up well above the desktop. He was immensely tall, six feet eight or nine, and had once had the misfortune of guarding Chris Webber for three quarters in the NCAA semifinals.
Then he asked, ‘Do you see this changing our drill about the president or the top executive people?’
Agnew raised an eyebrow. ‘Why would it change anything?’
‘I had a reporter ask me that question at Walter Reed,’ Kraig said. ‘It was a strange question, but it had me thinking in the car. What if it were possible to incapacitate a public official intentionally, as a form of terror?’
‘Hmm,’ Agnew mused. ‘The Ipcress File. Is that what you’re thinking of?’
‘Yeah. If you can’t kill a guy, or force him out through scandal, you mess up his mind somehow.’
‘Science fiction,’ Agnew mused. ‘But anything is possible.’
There was a silence.
‘Why don’t you fly out there and see what you can learn?’ Agnew asked.
‘Iowa?’
‘Yeah.’
Kraig nodded. ‘Okay.’
‘But first go home and get a good night’s sleep,’ Agnew said. ‘I have a feeling the next few weeks aren’t going to be fun.’
Kraig gave Agnew a long look. ‘Right,’ he said.
Kraig stood up and left the office.
Kraig didn’t get home to his Virginia condominium until after eleven. He was looking forward to a shower and an evening of reading and music.
His profession forced him to read newspapers avidly and to be aware of current events and the trends behind them. He got so sick of the real world after a day of work that he couldn’t bear to watch television at home. He listened to a lot of music – Coltrane and Miles Davis when he was younger, but increasingly Beethoven and Mozart – and read novels. He looked for stories as far removed as possible from this time and place. Mark Twain was a favorite. So were Balzac and Dumas. He liked to immerse himself in the longer Dostoyevsky novels, and sometimes even read Shakespeare.
He had weights in his basement, and always found time to do some bench pressing and curling. He ran in the mornings to keep his legs in shape. Since his divorce he found concentration and work easy, but sleep difficult. In some ways the loneliness of his profession suited him. In other ways he felt empty and rootless, adrift in a life that didn’t really belong to him.
He e-mailed his daughter in Florida every day, and spoke to her on the phone once a week. She was ten now, and very busy with her own life. He spoke to his ex-wife as seldom as possible.
The apartment building loomed before him with its combined aura of home and of homeless-ness. Lights were on in all the units except his own. Sighing, he turned off the car.
There was a girl sitting on the steps. As he drew closer, carrying his briefcase, he recognized the aggressive young reporter from the foyer at Walter Reed.
‘No comment,’ he said. ‘I’m off duty.’
‘My name is Karen Embry,’ she said, getting to her feet and holding out a hand. ‘I don’t want a story.’
Kraig stood looking at her without taking her hand. She was of medium height, maybe five five, but she seemed smaller because she was visibly underweight. The journalist’s typical lean-and-hungry essence was evident in her, but there was something else as well, something downright undernourished and, Kraig thought, sad. She had long dark hair, which she obviously made the most of. Her complexion was fair, her eyes large and dark. She was very pretty, or would have been had she been anything but a reporter.
These impressions kept him from sweeping by her into the condo without a word.
‘If it isn’t a story, what do you want?’ he asked.
‘Just a couple of minutes of conversation,’ she said.
He looked at his watch. ‘It’s been a long day,’ he said.
‘I work long hours,’ she said. ‘My sources tell me that Everhardt is really sick. That there’s no way he’ll be coming back.’
Kraig shrugged. ‘I really couldn’t say. I’m not a doctor, Miss – what did you say your name was?’
‘Embry. Call me Karen.’ Now that his eyes were adjusting to the dim light Kraig saw that there was something unusual about her features. Something European, perhaps – though there was no trace of an accent in her voice.
‘How come СКАЧАТЬ