"Kate Wilhelm - Winter Beach" - читать интересную книгу автора (Wilhelm Kate)

Fictionwise Publications
www.fictionwise.com

Copyright (C)1981 Kate Wilhelm

First published in Redbook, 1981
NOTICE: This work is copyrighted. It is licensed only for use by the purchaser. Making copies of this work or
distributing it to any unauthorized person by any means, including without limit email, floppy disk, file transfer, paper
print out, or any other method constitutes a violation of International copyright law and subjects the violator to severe
fines.
Fictionwise offers a reward of up to $500 for information leading to the conviction of any person violating the
copyright of a Fictionwise ebook.


HUGH LASATER stood with his back to the window watching Lloyd Pierson squirm. They were in
Pierson's office, a room furnished with university-issue desk and book shelves, as devoid of personality
as Pierson himself was. He was one of those men no one after the fact could ever identify, so neutral he
could vanish in a mist, become one with a landscape, and never be seen again.

Lloyd Pierson stopped fidgeting with his pencil and took a deep breath. “I can't do it,” he said primly,
examining the pencil. “It would be unethical, and besides she would appeal. She might even have a sex
discrimination case.”

“She won't appeal. Believe me, she won't make a stink.”

Pierson shook his head. He glanced at his watch, then confirmed what he had learned by looking at the
wall clock.

Lasater suppressed a laugh.

“You do it, or I go over your head,” he said mildly. “It's a funny thing how people hate having this kind of
decision shoved at them when it could have been handled on a lower level. You know?”

“You have no right!” Pierson snapped. He looked at Lasater, then quickly away again. “This is
insufferable.”

“Righto. Dean McCrory, isn't it? I just happen to have his number here somewhere. I suppose your
secretary would place the call for me?” He searched his notebook, then stopped, holding it open.

“I want to talk to your supervisor, your boss, whoever that is.”

Lasater shrugged. “Got a piece of paper? I'll write the number for you.” Pierson handed him a note pad
and he jotted down a number. “That's a Washington area code. Dial it yourself, if you don't mind. You
have an outside line, don't you? And his is a direct line, it'll be his private secretary who answers. Just tell
him it's about the bird-of-prey business. He'll put you through.”

“Whose private secretary?”

“Secretary of Defense,” Lasater said, as if surprised that Pierson had not recognized the number.