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Название книги: The Judas gate
Автор(ы): Jack Higgins
Жанр: Триллер
Адрес книги: http://www.6lib.ru/books/The-Judas-gate-171429.html
WASHINGTON, D.C. THE OVAL OFFICE
1
The Washington day in August had been almost subtropical, but by late evening an unexpected shower had cooled things.The Hay-Adams Hotel was only a short walk from the White House, and outside the bar two men sat at a small table on the terrace, a canopy protecting them against the rain. The elder had an authoritative moustache and thick hair touched with silver, and wore a dark blue suit and Guards tie. He was General Charles Ferguson, Commander of the British Prime Minister's private hit squad, which was an unfortunate necessity in the era of international terrorism.His companion, Major Harry Miller, was forty-seven, just under six feet, with grey eyes, a shrapnel scar on one cheek, and a calm and confident manner. A Member of Parliament, he served the Prime Minister as a general troubleshooter and bore the rank of Under-Secretary of State. He had proved he could handle anything, from the politicians at the United Nations to the hell of Afghanistan.Just now, he was saying to Ferguson, 'Are you sure the President will be seeing us?'Ferguson nodded. 'Blake was quite certain. The President said he'd make sure to clear time for us.'Sean Dillon stepped out on to the terrace, glass in hand, and joined them, his fair hair tousled and his shirt and velvet cord suit black as usual.'So there you are.'Before Ferguson could reply, Blake Johnson appeared from the bar and found them. He wore a light trenchcoat draped over his shoulders to protect a tweed country suit. He was fifty-nine, his black hair flecked with grey. As a boy,
Название книги: The Judas gate
Автор(ы): Jack Higgins
Жанр: Триллер
Адрес книги: http://www.6lib.ru/books/The-Judas-gate-171429.html
WASHINGTON, D.C. THE OVAL OFFICE
1
The Washington day in August had been almost subtropical, but by late evening an unexpected shower had cooled things.The Hay-Adams Hotel was only a short walk from the White House, and outside the bar two men sat at a small table on the terrace, a canopy protecting them against the rain. The elder had an authoritative moustache and thick hair touched with silver, and wore a dark blue suit and Guards tie. He was General Charles Ferguson, Commander of the British Prime Minister's private hit squad, which was an unfortunate necessity in the era of international terrorism.His companion, Major Harry Miller, was forty-seven, just under six feet, with grey eyes, a shrapnel scar on one cheek, and a calm and confident manner. A Member of Parliament, he served the Prime Minister as a general troubleshooter and bore the rank of Under-Secretary of State. He had proved he could handle anything, from the politicians at the United Nations to the hell of Afghanistan.Just now, he was saying to Ferguson, 'Are you sure the President will be seeing us?'Ferguson nodded. 'Blake was quite certain. The President said he'd make sure to clear time for us.'Sean Dillon stepped out on to the terrace, glass in hand, and joined them, his fair hair tousled and his shirt and velvet cord suit black as usual.'So there you are.'Before Ferguson could reply, Blake Johnson appeared from the bar and found them. He wore a light trenchcoat draped over his shoulders to protect a tweed country suit. He was fifty-nine, his black hair flecked with grey. As a boy,
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