"Brian Lumley - Psychomech 01 - Psychomech" - читать интересную книгу автора (Lumley Brian)

‘Willy, the bomb! My child! My Heinrich!’
‘A miracle,’ Koenig quickly told him. ‘Not a scratch. Not a mark.’
‘You wouldn’t lie to me?’
‘Of course not, my Colonel - Thomas. The boy is well. His mother, too.’
‘And .. . Gerda?’
Koenig looked away.
Schroeder closed his eyes for a second. ‘Did she suffer?’
‘No, not at all. The bomb blew out part of the hotel’s outer wall. Gerda went with it. They found ... pieces. Probably a
mercy.’
Schroeder nodded painfully. ‘A lesson,’ he whispered. ‘Never mix business with pleasure. We were to fly from here
straight to Australia. I should not have brought them with me.’
‘But you could not know,’ Koenig told him.
Schroeder frowned, his entire forehead wrinkling. ‘It’s so hard to remember. It happened so fast. There was someone
else, a young man. Tall. A good-looking boy. Ah, yes! A Redcap. A British Military Policeman. What of him?’
‘He lives,’ said Koenig. ‘He is blind. There were lesser injuries - a few, not many - but his eyes are finished.’
Schroeder considered this, managed another nod of his head, then a slow shake. That is very bad,’ he said. ‘He
saved me, my child, my wife. Saved our lives. And he is blind ...’ He lay silently for a moment, then came to a decision.
He gripped Koenig’s hand. ‘Keep tabs on that young man, Willy.’ He paused again. ‘He .. . told me his name . . . but—’
‘Richard Garrison, Thomas.’
‘Yes, that was it. Later, when things are better, then I shall want to know all about him.’
Koenig nodded.
‘Right now I must sleep, Willy,’ Schroeder eventually continued, his voice weakening. ‘But first, there are things . . .’
‘They have been done, Colonel - er, Thomas,’ said Koenig. ‘This is a private place. Nine of our best men are here
from Germany. You are perfectly safe. Urmgard and Heinrich are in Koln. They, too, are protected. As soon as you are
well enough, we fly to Siebert’s sanatorium in the Harz. It will be better for you there.’
‘And my doctors?’ Schroeder’s voice was fading away.
Koenig put his lips to the Colonel’s ear. ‘Their doctors patched you up. Ours were here within hours. They said
your internal injuries would have killed any other. Blast is a funny business. It crushed your insides. But it didn’t kill
you. Not you, Heir Colonel, not you.’
Schroeder’s eyes were closed. He was drifting away. ‘Garrison,’ his whisper was a mere breath. ‘Do not forget...
Richard . .. Garrison . ..’
‘I won’t,’ Koenig whispered. He placed his master’s hand on the bed, released it gently and stood up.

Major John Marchant and Corporal Richard Allan Garrison, both of them immaculate in number two dress uniforms,
were met at the airport in Hannover as promised. In fact their reception was better than any promise might have
foretold. Certainly better than the Major would or could have expected. Mere Majors were not used to metallic silver
Mercedes motorcars awaiting their arrival on the landing strips of large international airports. Nor were they
accustomed to the ease - the complete waiver of all normal disembarking procedures, including customs - with which
certain persons of more influential orbits come and go in the world of affairs, and which they occasionally employ to
make the passage of others easier. Quite simply, Marchant and his blind charge were picked up, driven out of the
airport and into the city, and all with never so much as a glimpse of the interior of an airport building.
Richard Garrison on the other hand was not surprised, and not especially interested. There were a good many other
things he should be doing and this to him was all a great waste of time and money. He could understand this man
Schroeder’s gratitude, could see how ill at ease the industrialist might feel at his disablement, but what could the man
possibly hope to do for him? Did he intend to offer him money? Garrison’s pension (the thought brought a wry smile
to his lips: ’pension’, hah! - to be pensioned off at his age!) and compensation would make him relatively independent.
Financially at least. And then there would be supplementary grants from at least three Army funds. No, money would
not be a major problem.
Getting to grips with his blindness, however . . . now that would be quite another matter. And he did not want to be
-would not allow himself to become - a burden to anyone. People had their own problems and solved them as best they