"Charles Ingrid - The Sand Wars 06 - Challenge Met" - читать интересную книгу автора (Ingrid Charles)

permission to see him."

Vandover shrugged. "It would do you little good. He appears to be in
some sort of catatonic shock. He has the best of care, of course, and there is
hope he will return to us. He is our best way of tracing Colin's
whereabouts."

"Has Storm seen him yet?"

"The commander is a cautious and thorough man. Although I'm certain
Jonathan will become one of his priorities, he has other concerns on his
mind right now."

Denaro paused, apparently taking stock of what he knew. "There can be
pressure brought to bear."

Vandover flicked dust motes off the sleeve of his robes. "Pepys is not
disposed to tolerating any more civil disobedience," he answered slowly.
"Storm knows that Jonathan is readily available. After all, a comatose man is
not likely to be going anywhere, is he? There are advantages to be taken of
the vast Walker empire while there is still confusion over Colin's
disappearance." He lowered his voice. "Storm wants Pepys off the Triad
Throne. That is no longer any secret. To do so, he'll need… backing. He has
gone to the Green Shirts. Now he will come to the Walkers. It's to his
advantage to let Colin remain missing while he consolidates his position
with you before he plays hero."

Denaro let his breath out with a hiss. He looked past Vandover, across
the Walker lobby, then his gaze flicked back. "You know this."

"I am Minister of War. What would I be without intelligence sources? But
Pepys is my emperor and no matter how badly he needs Jack Storm, I
would not hesitate to let him know he uses a dangerous and ambitious tool."

"Nor would I," the young man echoed. He set his jaw. "Thank you,
Baadluster, for taking me into your confidence."

Vandover edged out from the screened area. "You are most welcome," he
answered. He bowed and left, aware that Denaro's intense gaze burned into
him like a brand. As the Thraks guard let him through, Vandover allowed
himself a small smile of triumph.



Jack stood by the bedside—more of a crèche, really, to support the
patient's functions—and thought that Amber had not exaggerated. The man
lying before him was only a shell of the person he'd known as Jonathan.
Vigorous, immense, yet gentle as if afraid of his own strength—all that had
been bled away from him. The underlying hiss and suck and hum of the
equipment that kept him alive permeated the room.