"Tim LaHaye & Jerry Jenkins - Left Behind Series 7 - The Indwelling" - читать интересную книгу автора (LaHaye Tim)

the callback number but knew it was located in the palace proper.
Normally he would have called back immediately, fearing danger to Annie or
himself, but he took a moment to trace the number against the personnel list and
found that the call came from the Arts and Sciences wing. He had been there only
once, knew virtually no one there, and had been so repulsed by what was considered
artistic that he recalled rushing back to his quarters feeling soiled.
Wanting at least one more clue before replying, David called his own voice mail,
only to be met by the foul, nasty rantings of a sassy artiste. David had not heard
such profanity and gutter language since high school. The gist of the message:
“Where are you? Where could you be at a time like this? It's the middle of the night!
Do you even know of the murder? Call me! It's an emergency!”
David's beeper vibrated again-same number. He waited ninety seconds and called
his voice mail again.
“Do you know who I am? Guy Blod?!” The man pronounced Guy as Gee with a
hard G, the French way, and Blod to rhyme with cod, as if Scandinavian. David had
seen him scurrying around a few times but had never spoken with him. His
reputation preceded him. He was the temperamental but lauded painter and sculptor,
Carpathia's own choice for minister of the creative arts.
Not only had he painted several of the so-called masterpieces that graced the great
hall and the palace, but he had also sculpted many of the statues of world heroes in
the courtyard and supervised the decorating of all GC buildings in New Babylon.
He was considered a genius, but David-though admittedly no expert-considered his
work laughably gaudy and decidedly profane. “The more shocking and anti-God the
better” had to have been Blod's premise.
Part of David wanted Guy Blod to have to wait for a callback, but this was the
wrong time to start puffing his anti-GC chest. He would take no guff from Guy
Blod, but he had to remain above suspicion and ingratiated to Fortunato. He dialed
Blod as he settled behind his computer and began to program it to record directly
from the morgue on a sound-activated basis.
As Blod answered, David noticed a list of messages on his computer. “This is Guy,”
he announced, “and you had better be David Hassid.” He put the emphasis on the
first syllable.
“It's hah-SEED,” David said.
“That should be easy enough to remember, Mr. Hayseed. Now where have you
been?”
“Excuse me?”
“I've been trying to call you!”


“That's why I called you, sir.”
“Don't get smart with me. Don't you know what's happened?”
“Nobody tells me anything, Mr. Blod.” David chuckled. “Of course I know what's
happened. Did it occur to you that that might have been why I was difficult to
reach?”
“Well, I need stuff and I need it right now!”
“What do you need, sir?”
“Can you get it for me?”
“Depends on what it is, Blod.”
“That's Mr. Blod to you, sweetie. I was told you could get anything.”
“Well, almost.”