Книга только для ознакомления
. He appeared to be unaware of us and I
strove to appear unaware of him. He seemed intent only on reaching a group of
his henchmen guarding the lock to the passenger tunnel; he dived straight toward
them while I was pulling my little family along a lifeline stretching from the
entrance to the corner I wanted to reach.
And did reach it and got through Budget Jets' door, and it contracted
behind us and I breathed again and reswallowed my stomach.
In the office of Budget Jets we found me manager, a Mr. Dockweiler, belted
at his desk, smoking a cigar, and reading the Luna edition of the Daily Racing
Form. He looked around as we came in and said, "Sorry, friends, I don't have a
thing to rent or sell. Not even a witch's broom.*'
I thought about who I was-Senator Richard Johnson, representing the
enormously wealthy systemwide syndicate of sassafras snifters, one of the most
powerful wheeler-dealers at The Hague-and let the Senator's voice speak for me.
"Son, I'm Senator Johnson. I do believe that one of my staff made a reservation
in my name earlier today-for a Hanshaw Superb."
"Oh! Glad to meet you. Senator," he said as he clipped his paper to his
desk and unfastened his seat belt. "Yes, I do have your reservation. But it's
not a Superb. It's a Volvo."
"What! Why, I distinctly told that girl - Never mind. Change it, please."
"I wish I could, sir
|
