"Jeffrey Lord - Blade 01 - The Bronze Axe" - читать интересную книгу автора (Lord Jeffery)

"I am indeed," said Blade. "You are making me very happy, sir. Not that I was worried. I know that
you never go back on your word."
"Quite," said J. "Quite, my boy. However—"
Blade stared frowningly at the phone. "Yes, sir?"
"A little something has arisen," J said. "Nothing to do with your line of work, really, but they seem to
want you. I really don't have much of the picture myself, except that it's all terribly top secret and urgent.
I understand that it won't take very long—say a few hours at the most. If you'll drop by the House,
Richard, I'll tell you more about it. Which, as I say, isn't a great deal. I can expect you?"
Richard Blade had worked with J for a great many years. He knew an order when he heard it, no
matter how tactfully it was couched.
He told J he would see him in an hour.


Copra House, a grimy Victorian structure in the City, was offThreadneedle Street whereBart Lane
ran into Lothbury. A well burnished brass plaque announced that it was the headquarters of The New
East India Copra and Processing Co., Ltd. There actually was such a company. In one of the offices,
reached through a maze of dingy corridors, J ran the affairs of M16A, which was a very special branch
of the Special Branch.
J met Blade at the door of the barren cubicle he used as an office. The old man was wearing his
bowler and carrying a rolled umbrella; a light Burberry was thrown across his arm. He greeted Blade
with an effusion of shiny false teeth. "Come, dear fellow. We'll catch a taxi. It appears that they want us
at the Tower."
When they were headed for the Tower J gave Blade an appraising look as he set about filling his
pipe. "You look in the pink, my boy. That's good. Fine. I gather that in this, er, experiment—whatever it
is—they're looking for the best possible physical and mental specimen in all of England. That, Richard,
would seem to be you. I gather they've been through some thousands of files trying to find their man. You
were chosen. It's quite a compliment, I suppose."
Blade was impatient, and canny. It didn't size up as any sort of espionage or counter-intelligence job.
Then what the hell was it?
He said cautiously, "Experiment, sir? I'm to be some sort of guinea pig?"
J was holding a match to his pipe. Between puffs he said: "Something like that, I shouldn't wonder.
All I really know is that Lord Leighton called me personally, early this morning, and asked if they could
borrow you."
"They?"
J shrugged. "The boffins, of course. Of whom his Lordship is the chief boffin, as you probably know.
God only knows what they're up to now, but of course I couldn't refuse to cooperate."
Blade stared at his chief, his face impassive. "Of course not, sir."
J nodded. "Wouldn't have done any good to balk, Richard. His Lordship let it drop, not too subtly,
that the PM himself is taking an interest in this thing. So there we are, eh? Just be a good chap and go
through with it, whatever it is. I was told it wouldn't take very long."
Just as most native New Yorkers have never been to the top of theEmpireState building, Blade, a
native Londoner, had never been in the Tower. And he did not, now, really get into the Tower as tourists
know it. He and J were met by a uniformed policeman and hustled around to where the old Watergate
had once been. There they were turned over to two burly men, obvious Special Branch types, who
guided them down a long tunnel, into a maze of sub-basements, and to an elevator shaft that bore signs of
recent installation.
One of the men pressed a button. A car began to whine upward. The man who had pressed the
button looked at J. "He's to go down alone, sir."
"Of course." J held out a hand. "Goodbye for a time, Richard. Call me when you can and let me
know how it went. I'll confess that I've got a bad case of what killed the kitty. If they'll let you talk about