"Brian Lumley - E-Branch 1 - Defilers" - читать интересную книгу автора (Lumley Brian)

ex-Army officer or maybe a failed businessman-to the man in the street, anyway. But in fact he had
always been E-Branch, and Trask relied upon him. Sometimes heavily.
In earlier times Grieve had two extrasensory talents, one of which had been "dodgy" (Branch
parlance for an as yet undeveloped ESP ability) and the other quite remarkable and possibly
unique. The first had been the gift of far-seeing (remote viewing), which had eventually ceased to
work for him,- his "crystal ball" had finally clouded over. But in any case this lost ability had
probably been a facet of his greater talent, which was a different slant on telepathy. And with
the loss of his "scrying," so his telepathic skill had increased proportionately.
The trouble with his far-seeing had been that he needed to know exactly



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NECROSCOPE: DEFILERS
where and what he was looking for-otherwise he could "see" nothing. His talent hadn't worked at
random but required direction,- it had to be "aimed" at a definite target.
And Grieve's special brand of telepathy-which at times like this was invaluable-was somewhat
similar. For yet again he must aim his talent: he could read a person's mind only when they were
face-to-face, when he was talking or listening to the target . . . even on the telephone! And so,
like Trask, there was no way anyone could lie to John Grieve, not directly, and on occasions like
this his skill made every kind of mechanical scrambler redundant. That in the main was why he
could usually be found on duty at the HQ. For his was one ghost that worked hand in hand with many
of the gadgets . . .
Trask had indicated to Grieve that he should stand beside him,- he did so, and placed his notepad
on the desk where Trask could see it. Then the Head of Branch spoke again to the Russian premier.
"So what's up, Gustav?"
And Turchin answered, "Not long ago we talked about-oh, this and that, a few small problems, some
of them mutual-but nothing hugely important. Perhaps you remember?"
"Indeed I do," said Trask, and Grieve quickly scribbled on his pad: Big stuff!
"You asked if I could locate someone for you," the Russian premier continued. "An old friend, who
flits about the Mediterranean quite a bit?"
Luigi Castellano? And: "Ah, yes!" said Trask. "Old what's-his-name! Can't seem to find hide nor
hair of him. But then, he always did keep a low profile."
"Oh, I don't know about that," Turchin appeared contradictory. "Marseilles, Genoa, Palermo . . .
He keeps in touch with the old gang. And he also has a good many new friends in my neck of the
woods, too, or so I'm told."
Grieve wrote:
Mob. Mafia. Russian Mafia.
"But I knew that much already!" said Trask. "What I really need to know is his whereabouts at any
specific time, so that I can . . . well, contact him, you know? I mean, I owe him, and you know
how I hate being in anyone's debt."
"One of your finer points, yes." Turchin chuckled. "But as I was about to say, I've been looking
for him myself-and for pretty much the same reasons- all of the good things he's done for us, and
never asks a rouble in return. Not that I have much to offer him anyway. But now that you've
opened my eyes to him, well, I really do think we should be more appreciative."
Grieve scribbled furiously. Turchin wants him, too. Drugs. L C.'s making millions, he's helping to