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The Third Option :: Flynn Vince
Страница: 58 из 267This is what he'sbest at. He'll find his way back to us all by himself.» The director of Central Intelligence inched forward in his chair, and his gray eyes peered into Kennedy's. «I want you to find out where Secretary Midleton is getting his information, and I want you to do it as quickly and quietly as possible.»
RAYS OF SUNLIGHT floated through the kitchen window of Liz and Michael O'Rourke's Georgetown brownstone. Liz O'Rourke pecked away at her laptop. A glass of cranapple juice sat on her left, and on her right was a structurally unsound stack of documents and files that looked as if they might plummet to the floor any minute. Her yellow Lab, Duke, was lying in front of the patio door, napping in the warm sunlight. The former newspaper reporter was at peace. Everything about the setting was perfect except the absence of coffee. And considering the fact that she was five months pregnant, it was a happy trade.
Liz was working on her first book. It was titled America ’s Most Corrupt Politicians. Since her husband of less than a year was a U.S. congressman, she was using her maiden name, Scarlatti, not that Michael would have objected to using O'Rourke. She just thought it was the prudent thing to do. With the help of a friend who was a literary agent, she had inked a deal with a New York publisher based on a ten-page book proposal. The side job, as she referred to it, made quitting the newspaper an easy decision. Her husband came from some fairly big money. Liz didn't need to work, but she wanted to. At thirty-one, she knew if she stopped cold turkey, she'd go nuts.
She was wearing a pair of gray sweats and a small blue t New York Yankees T-shirt that barely covered her belly button. The little baby-T drove Michael nuts. He loved it when she wore it around the house, but if she so much as It stepped out to get the newspaper in it, he gave her a concerned fatherly look. Liz was just finishing a paragraph when she heard the jingle of Duke's dog tags. Peeking over the top of the laptop, she saw her husband's best friend staring at the front door. The sound of keys in the lock caused him to yelp and jump to his feet. Down the hall he went. The dog was named after John Wayne, and now there was talk of another. She feared that the next one would be called Vince after the legendary Packers coach. Liz's big of problem with this was that her father was named Vince, and a she really didn't think he'd take well to sharing his name with the family dog.
The clock on the kitchen wall read 12:32. With a raised eyebrow, Liz noted that her husband was only thirty-two minutes late. He was getting better.
RAYS OF SUNLIGHT floated through the kitchen window of Liz and Michael O'Rourke's Georgetown brownstone. Liz O'Rourke pecked away at her laptop. A glass of cranapple juice sat on her left, and on her right was a structurally unsound stack of documents and files that looked as if they might plummet to the floor any minute. Her yellow Lab, Duke, was lying in front of the patio door, napping in the warm sunlight. The former newspaper reporter was at peace. Everything about the setting was perfect except the absence of coffee. And considering the fact that she was five months pregnant, it was a happy trade.
Liz was working on her first book. It was titled America ’s Most Corrupt Politicians. Since her husband of less than a year was a U.S. congressman, she was using her maiden name, Scarlatti, not that Michael would have objected to using O'Rourke. She just thought it was the prudent thing to do. With the help of a friend who was a literary agent, she had inked a deal with a New York publisher based on a ten-page book proposal. The side job, as she referred to it, made quitting the newspaper an easy decision. Her husband came from some fairly big money. Liz didn't need to work, but she wanted to. At thirty-one, she knew if she stopped cold turkey, she'd go nuts.
She was wearing a pair of gray sweats and a small blue t New York Yankees T-shirt that barely covered her belly button. The little baby-T drove Michael nuts. He loved it when she wore it around the house, but if she so much as It stepped out to get the newspaper in it, he gave her a concerned fatherly look. Liz was just finishing a paragraph when she heard the jingle of Duke's dog tags. Peeking over the top of the laptop, she saw her husband's best friend staring at the front door. The sound of keys in the lock caused him to yelp and jump to his feet. Down the hall he went. The dog was named after John Wayne, and now there was talk of another. She feared that the next one would be called Vince after the legendary Packers coach. Liz's big of problem with this was that her father was named Vince, and a she really didn't think he'd take well to sharing his name with the family dog.
The clock on the kitchen wall read 12:32. With a raised eyebrow, Liz noted that her husband was only thirty-two minutes late. He was getting better.