"Wilson, F Paul - Adversary 05 - Reprisal" - читать интересную книгу автора (Wilson F. Paul)

No matter—as long as the Enemy remained inactive. For the longer the Enemy
delayed, the closer Mr. Veilleur would be to reaching the end of his days. And
then he would be spared witnessing the chaotic horrors to come.
A shadow fell across him and a sudden gust of wind chilled the perspiration that
coated his skin. He looked up. Clouds were moving in, obscuring the sun. Time to
go.
He stood and stared one last time at the bare dirt over the unmarked grave. He
knew he would be back again. And again. Too many questions about this grave and
its occupant. He sensed unfinished business here.
Because the grave's occupant did not rest easy. Did not, in fact, rest at all.
Mr. Veilleur turned and made his unsteady way out of St. Ann's Cemetery. It
would be good to get back to the cool apartment and get his feet up and have a
glass of iced tea. He tried to believe that his wife had missed him during his
absence, but with her mind the way it was, Magda probably hadn't even realized
he was gone.


TWO
Pendleton, North Carolina
Conway Street was nearly at a standstill. Like a parking lot. Between fitful
crawls, Will Ryerson idled his ancient Impala convertible in the stagnant
traffic and watched the heat gauge. It was staying well in the safe range.
He patted the dash. Good girl.
He glanced at his watch. He'd already had a late start for work this morning,
and this was going to make him later. He took a deep breath. So what? The grass
on the north campus at Darnell University could wait a few extra minutes for its
weekly trim. Only problem was, he was in charge of the work crews this morning,
so if he didn't get there, J.B. would have to get things rolling. And J.B. had
enough to do. That was why he had recently promoted Will.
Will Ryerson is moving up in the world.
He smiled at the thought. He'd always wanted an academic life, to spend his work
days on the campus of a great university. Well, for the last three years or so,
his wish had come true. Except he didn't travel there every day to immerse
himself in the accumulated knowledge and wisdom of the ages; he came to tend the
grounds.
Of course, with his degrees, he could have been at Darnell as an academic, but
proving his qualifications would require him to reveal his past, and he couldn't
do that.
He glanced in the rearview mirror at his long, salt-and-pepper hair, still wet
from his morning shower, pulled tight to the back, his scarred forehead, bent
nose, and full, graying beard. Only the bright blue eyes of his former self
remained. If his mother were still alive, even she'd have trouble recognizing
him now.
He peered ahead. Had to be an accident somewhere up there. Either that or the
road department had picked the town's so-called a.m. rush hour to do some street
repairs. Will had grown up in a real city, the city with the king—no, the
emperor of rush hours, and this little bottleneck couldn't hold a candle to
that.
He killed time by reading bumper stickers. Most of them were religious,
including a fair number of worn "PTL CLUB" stickers, and others like, born