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- Ричард Морган
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"
The
voice
was
cultured
,
almost
leisurely
,
but
it
brought
the
medics
and
Jerry
up
short
.
We
turned
to
face
a
tall
,
blue
-
smocked
figure
wearing
bloodstained
spray
-
on
surgical
gloves
and
a
mask
which
he
now
unpinned
with
one
fastidious
thumb
and
forefinger
.
The
visage
beneath
was
blandly
handsome
,
blue
eyes
in
a
tanned
,
square
-
jawed
face
,
this
year
’
s
Competent
Male
,
courtesy
of
some
upmarket
cosmetic
salon
.
"
Miller
,
"
said
Jerry
.
"
What
exactly
is
going
on
here
?
Courault
,
"
the
tall
man
turned
to
the
female
medic
,
"
you
know
better
than
to
bring
subjects
through
here
unsedated
.
"
"
Yes
,
sir
.
Mr
.
Sedaka
insisted
that
there
was
no
risk
involved
.
He
said
he
was
in
a
hurry
.
To
see
director
Chung
.
"
"
I
don
’
t
care
how
much
of
a
hurry
he
’
s
in
.
"
Miller
swung
on
Jerry
,
eyes
narrowing
with
suspicion
.
"
Are
you
insane
,
Sedaka
?
What
do
you
think
this
is
,
the
visitors
’
gallery
?
I
’
ve
got
clients
in
there
.
Recognisable
faces
.
Courault
,
sedate
this
man
immediately
.
"
Oh
,
well
.
No
one
’
s
lucky
for
ever
.
I
was
already
moving
.
Before
Courault
could
lift
the
hypospray
from
her
hip
sack
,
I
yanked
both
the
Nemex
and
the
blaster
from
Jerry
’
s
waistband
and
spun
,
firing
.
Courault
and
her
two
colleagues
went
down
,
multiply
injured
.
Blood
splattered
on
antiseptic
white
behind
them
.
Miller
had
time
for
one
outraged
yell
and
then
I
shot
him
in
the
mouth
with
the
Nemex
.
Jerry
was
just
backing
away
from
me
,
the
unloaded
Philips
gun
still
dangling
from
his
hand
.
I
threw
up
the
blaster
.
"
Look
,
I
did
my
fucking
best
,
I
—
"
The
beam
cut
loose
and
his
head
exploded
.
