"Countdown" Ken Follett. Ken Follett - countdown Ken Follett countdown download fb2
Originally published in English by Pan Macmillan.
© Ken Follett, 2000
V. Bakanov School of Translation, 2015
© Russian edition AST Publishers, 2017
Historical reference
The launch of the first American artificial Earth satellite, Explorer 1, was initially scheduled for Wednesday, January 29, 1958, but was postponed to the next day - according to the official version, due to weather conditions. Observers at Cape Canaveral were quite surprised by this: after all, it was a clear sunny day in Florida. However, the command said that strong winds in the upper atmosphere could interfere.
The next evening the launch was postponed again - with the same explanation.
“...Since its inception in 1947, the Central Intelligence Agency...has spent millions of dollars searching for chemicals or other covert methods to completely control the minds of ordinary people, both willing and unwilling, to force them to act, speak, and reveal the most guarded secrets and even forgotten when ordered.”
Thomas Powers, from the Foreword to John Marks's Quest for the Manchurian Candidate: The CIA and Mind Control
Part one
The Jupiter-S rocket stands on the Complex 26 launch pad at the Cape Canaveral Space Center. For reasons of secrecy, its body is covered with a tarpaulin: only the tail section is visible - the same as that of the famous Redstone ballistic missile. But what is hidden under the tarpaulin has no analogues in the world of military equipment.
He woke up in fear.
No, worse - terrified. The body is tense, like a string, the heart is beating desperately, the air is escaping from the lungs in sharp jolts. After waking up, it didn’t get any easier, and in reality he was still convinced that something terrible had happened. Just to understand what.
He opened his eyes. The weak light oozing from the adjacent room dimly outlined the outlines of objects. The surroundings seemed vaguely familiar. Somewhere nearby water was gurgling.
He tried to calm down. He swallowed, took a few deep breaths and exhaled, and concentrated on his feelings. Hard floor. Cold. The whole body aches, the head splits, the mouth is dry, nausea rises in the throat, as if from a hangover.
Trembling with cold and fear, he sat down. The stench of bleach and detergent filled my nostrils. In the darkness, against the opposite wall, there was a white line of washbasins.
He's in a public restroom.
Wow! Fell asleep on the floor in the men's toilet! What the hell happened to him? So... he's fully dressed - coat, heavy boots. However, the clothes seem alien... The panic gradually receded, giving way to a different, deeper fear.
Need light.
He rose to his feet, peering into the darkness, trying to figure out where the door was. Stretching his arms out in front of him so as not to bump into something invisible, he reached the nearest wall and moved sideways, like a crab, along it. The hand felt something cold and smooth - it must have been a mirror; behind it is a paper towel dispenser, some kind of iron box, possibly a vending machine. Finally, my fingers rested on the switch.
Bright light flooded the white tiled walls, the concrete floor, a row of toilet stalls with slightly open doors, and a pile of old rags in the corner. How did he get here? What happened to him?
Hysterical fear rose again in his throat when he realized that he did not remember anything.
What happened to him yesterday? And the day before yesterday? Unknown. Emptiness. What's his name?
He turned to the washbasins. The mirror reflected a dirty tramp - in rags, disheveled, with a crazy look in his bulging eyes. He probably looked at this tramp for at least a second, not understanding what he was seeing. And then he realized - and recoiled screaming; the man in the mirror did the same.
Unable to contain his panic any longer, he exclaimed in a trembling voice:
The pile of rags in the corner began to stir. A head emerged from it, and an indistinct voice grumbled:
-What are you yelling about, Luke? You're a tramp like me!
Luke. His name is Luke.
He was ready to thank fate even for this grain of knowledge. The name is not too much, but at least some support.
He looked at his comrade: a tattered coat, belted with a rope, a sly, grimy face.
- Oh, damn, how my head is cracking! – he muttered, rubbing his eyes.
- And who are you? – asked Luke.
- Yes, it’s me, you fool! Me, Pete! What, you didn’t recognize it?
“I don’t...” Luke swallowed convulsively, suppressing panic. - I do not remember anything!
- Not surprising. Yesterday you literally lapped up a whole bottle of bourbon by yourself! It's a miracle that I didn't go crazy at all. It would be better if you left me more! – Pete added, licking his lips.
Bourbon... well, then it's clear where the hangover comes from.
- Why did I drink the whole bottle?
Pete laughed loudly.
-Have you gone completely crazy? To get drunk, of course, why else?
Luke felt the tiled floor disappear from under his feet. So he's a tramp. Drunkard. Sleeps in public toilets.
I was terribly thirsty. He leaned over the sink, turned on the water, and greedily took a few sips straight from the tap. The cold water made him feel a little better, and he dared to look at himself in the mirror again.
Now his face became calmer; the crazy look disappeared, replaced by bewilderment. The mirror showed a man about forty, dark hair and blue eyes. No mustache, no beard - just thick dark stubble.
- Luke... the hell will figure you out. How should I know?
- How did I get to this point?
“You know,” Pete said, getting to his feet, “I think it’s time for both of us to eat.”
Only now did Luke feel hungry. I wonder if he has money? He searched his pockets: coat, jacket, trousers... everything was empty. No money, no wallet, not even a handkerchief.
- Looks like I'm broke.
- Really? – Pete responded sarcastically. - Okay, let's go. - And he wandered to the door.
Luke followed.
A new shock awaited him in the world. He found himself in a huge temple, empty and mysteriously silent. As if in a church, waiting for the ghostly congregation, mahogany benches were lined up in rows on the marble floor. Along the perimeter of the huge hall, on high columns, stood fantastic stone warriors in helmets and with shields - the guards of the sanctuary. High above your head stretches a snow-white ceiling vault, painted with golden octagons. Luke had a crazy thought: what if he lost his memory, becoming a victim of some kind of monstrous ritual?
“Union Station,” Pete answered.
Luke breathed a sigh of relief: what was happening made sense. Now he noticed dirt on the walls, a wad of chewing gum on the marble floor, and candy wrappers and cigarette butts in the corners. Well, of course! Just a station - early in the morning, when there are no passengers yet. He became afraid of himself, like a child who sees monsters in a dark bedroom.
Pete moved towards the archway marked "Exit", and Luke hurried after him.
- Damn it! – Pete muttered and quickened his pace.
A fat man was approaching them, dressed in a railway uniform - and clearly seething with righteous anger.
-What are you doing here, huh? Damn tramps!
“We’re already leaving, we’re already leaving!” – Pete humiliatedly stammered.
Luke felt disgusted, but remained silent.
However, it was apparently not enough for the fat man to simply kick them out.
- Did you spend the night here? - he continued, following on their heels. – You know this is prohibited!
Ken Follett
Countdown
The novels included in this volume have been abridged by Reader's Digest Association, Inc. by special agreement with publishers, authors and copyright holders.
Meet Luke - a man with no name and no memory - who is forced by the betrayal of his friends to play a dangerous game without rules.
Historical reference: The launch of the first American artificial Earth satellite, Explorer 1, was originally scheduled for Wednesday, January 29, 1958. At the last moment, the launch was postponed for a day - due to unfavorable meteorological conditions, as was officially announced. Observers at Cape Canaveral were perplexed: the weather was beautiful in Florida that day. The next evening the launch was postponed again - for the same reason.
The Jupiter-S launch vehicle stands on the launch pad at the Cape Canaveral Space Center. For reasons of secrecy, its body is covered with a tarpaulin. The unsheathed tail section is exactly the same as that of the famous Redstone combat rocket, but what is hidden from view represents a unique achievement in space technology.
He woke up filled with fear.
Even worse than fear - horror. This is what happens when you have a nightmare, only this time waking up from sleep did not bring relief. He felt as if something terrible had happened to him, but he didn't know what exactly.
He opened his eyes. In the dim light, surrounding objects seemed like blurry shadows. The sound of pouring water was heard somewhere nearby. He tried to calm down and collect his thoughts. He was lying on the hard floor. He was shivering and nauseous, his head ached - like from a hangover.
Trembling with cold and fear, he sat down. There was an unpleasant smell of disinfection. Looking at the row of washbasins, he realized that he was in a public restroom.
The thought that he had spent the night on the floor in the men's room made him feel completely disgusted. What happened to him? He was intently searching for an answer. A worn coat, rough boots - he had the feeling that the clothes and shoes he was wearing were foreign. The panic gradually passed, but instead of it, a suspicion arose in the depths of his soul, which frightened him even more.
We need to turn on the light. He rose to his feet and peered into the darkness. Stretching his arms out in front of him so as not to bump into anything, he moved towards the wall. Feeling around with his hands, he felt a cold, smooth surface - a mirror, he guessed - then touched a towel rack. Finally his fingers found the switch.
Bright light flooded the white-tiled toilet. There was what looked like a pile of old clothes in the corner. He tried to understand how he got here. What happened last night? He couldn't remember it. He couldn't remember anything at all.
What's his name? He didn't have an answer to this question either.
He turned to the mirror. Reflected in the glass was a dirty tramp in rags, with tangled hair, an unwashed face and a crazy look. And then the terrible truth dawned on him: the disgusting tramp was him. Screaming in horror, he recoiled. The man in the mirror did the same.
A pile of rags in the corner began to stir, and a sleepy face appeared from it.
You're a homeless tramp, Luke. Why are you so angry?
So his name is Luke. He was touched and grateful for the help. Of course, one name is not enough, but at least some point of support in this shaky world. He looked at his interlocutor, dressed in a torn tweed coat, with a rope instead of a belt. He rubbed his eyes and muttered:
My head is pounding.
And who are you? - asked Luke.
I'm Pete. Have you fallen from the moon, you idiot?
Luke swallowed.
I've lost my memory!
Surprised me too. You blew out almost an entire bottle of bourbon by yourself yesterday. It's strange how you can figure anything out at all.
If he had too much the day before, then it’s clear where the hangover came from, Luke thought.
Why on earth did I suddenly drink an entire bottle of whiskey?
Pete laughed mockingly.
To get drunk, what else?
Luke was shocked. It turned out that he was a degenerate alcoholic who spent the night in public restrooms. Leaning over the sink, he turned on the cold water and drank from the tap. He felt a little better. Wiping his mouth, he forced himself to look at his reflection again. He saw a man of about forty with dark hair and blue eyes, he wore neither a beard nor a mustache, but his face was covered with dark stubble.
He turned to Pete:
How the hell should I know? - Pete answered, getting to his feet. - I am starving.
Luke realized that he wouldn't mind having breakfast either. Having searched his pockets, he found that they were empty.
Looks like I'm broke,” he said.
Really? - Pete said sarcastically. - Okay, let's go. - He headed towards the door, and Luke followed him.
When leaving the toilet, a new shock awaited him. It seemed to him that he was in a huge temple, in which there was not a soul and there was an eerie silence. Mahogany benches were lined up in rows on the marble floor, as if waiting for a ghostly congregation to sit on them. Along the perimeter of the hall, as if guarding the chambers of this strange sanctuary, bizarre stone warriors in helmets and shields froze on high columns.
A crazy thought flashed through Luke’s head: he was subjected to some unknown sacrificial ritual, as a result of which he lost his memory.
Where are we? - he asked.
At Union Station in Washington,” Pete said.
Luke felt like a complete fool. This is just a train station, not yet filled with passengers at this early hour. He became afraid of himself, like a child who saw monsters in a dark bedroom.
Pete rushed towards the arch with the inscription: EXIT. Luke hurried after. And at that same second a menacing cry was heard from behind:
Hey you! Stop!
Oh shit! - Pete cursed and quickened his pace.
The portly man in the railroad worker's uniform was filled with righteous indignation.
Did you tramps spend the night here? You know, this is prohibited.
Luke wanted to object, but restrained himself.
This is not a place for you to sleep! Come on, get lost! - The man pushed Luke on the shoulder.
“Don’t you dare touch me,” he said, turning around sharply.
The fat man stepped back, looking frightened. Pete touched Luke's hand.
It was dark and quiet outside. The cold penetrated to the bones, and Luke pulled his tattered coat tighter around him. Judging by the weather, it was winter - January or February.
Where are we going? - he asked Pete.
There's a Methodist church on H Street where you can get a free breakfast if you don't mind singing a few hymns.
I'm so hungry that I'm ready to perform at least an oratorio.
Luke's mind was filled with questions. How long has he been a drunk? Does he have a family? Where did he meet Pete?
They came to a small church that defied vice, squeezed between a movie theater and a liquor store. Entering through the side door, we went down to the basement. There was a piano and pulpit at one end of the long, low-ceilinged room, and a stove at the other. The rest of the space was occupied by long, rough tables and benches.
The three tramps were already seated, each at their own table, looking straight ahead, patiently waiting for the food to begin to be distributed. At the stove, a plump woman was stirring something in a large saucepan. Standing next to her, a gray-bearded man dressed like a preacher looked up from the coffee maker and smiled at the new arrivals.
Come in, come in,” he said affably.
“Good morning, Pastor Lonegan,” Pete greeted.
So have you visited us before? What is your name?
Pete, this is Luke.
Well, just like the two apostles, Peter and Luke! - His friendliness seemed sincere. - Breakfast will have to wait a little, but I can offer you some fresh coffee. - The pastor filled two thick mugs. - Milk? Sugar?
“Yes, thank you,” Luke said hesitantly.
He didn’t like the taste of coffee: greasy and cloying. Apparently, he was used to drinking black and unsweetened. But at least a mug of coffee satisfied my hunger a little.
Luke and Pete sat down at the table. Until now, Luke had not had the opportunity to examine his companion. Now he noticed that, despite his dirty face and torn clothes, Pete did not look like a complete drunkard: there was no network of burst blood vessels on his face - a common sign of alcoholics - and his skin did not peel off. Or maybe he’s just too young—twenty-five years old, no more. Pete had a dark mustache and a birthmark that spread from his right ear to his chin. And there was also a hidden anger in him. Probably, Luke thought, because of his ugliness or because of something else, he was offended by the whole world.
Originally published in English by Pan Macmillan.
© Ken Follett, 2000
V. Bakanov School of Translation, 2015
© Russian edition AST Publishers, 2017
Historical reference
The launch of the first American artificial Earth satellite, Explorer 1, was initially scheduled for Wednesday, January 29, 1958, but was postponed to the next day - according to the official version, due to weather conditions. Observers at Cape Canaveral were quite surprised by this: after all, it was a clear sunny day in Florida. However, the command said that strong winds in the upper atmosphere could interfere.
The next evening the launch was postponed again - with the same explanation.
“...Since its inception in 1947, the Central Intelligence Agency...has spent millions of dollars searching for chemicals or other covert methods to completely control the minds of ordinary people, both willing and unwilling, to force them to act, speak, and reveal the most guarded secrets and even forgotten when ordered.”
Thomas Powers, from the Foreword to John Marks's Quest for the Manchurian Candidate: The CIA and Mind Control
Part one
5.00
The Jupiter-S rocket stands on the Complex 26 launch pad at the Cape Canaveral Space Center. For reasons of secrecy, its body is covered with a tarpaulin: only the tail section is visible - the same as that of the famous Redstone ballistic missile. But what is hidden under the tarpaulin has no analogues in the world of military equipment.
He woke up in fear.
No, worse - terrified. The body is tense, like a string, the heart is beating desperately, the air is escaping from the lungs in sharp jolts. After waking up, it didn’t get any easier, and in reality he was still convinced that something terrible had happened. Just to understand what.
He opened his eyes. The weak light oozing from the adjacent room dimly outlined the outlines of objects. The surroundings seemed vaguely familiar. Somewhere nearby water was gurgling.
He tried to calm down. He swallowed, took a few deep breaths and exhaled, and concentrated on his feelings. Hard floor. Cold. The whole body aches, the head splits, the mouth is dry, nausea rises in the throat, as if from a hangover.
Trembling with cold and fear, he sat down. The stench of bleach and detergent filled my nostrils. In the darkness, against the opposite wall, there was a white line of washbasins.
He's in a public restroom.
Wow! Fell asleep on the floor in the men's toilet! What the hell happened to him? So... he's fully dressed - coat, heavy boots. However, the clothes seem alien... The panic gradually receded, giving way to a different, deeper fear.
Need light.
He rose to his feet, peering into the darkness, trying to figure out where the door was.
Stretching his arms out in front of him so as not to bump into something invisible, he reached the nearest wall and moved sideways, like a crab, along it. The hand felt something cold and smooth - it must have been a mirror; behind it is a paper towel dispenser, some kind of iron box, possibly a vending machine. Finally, my fingers rested on the switch.
Bright light flooded the white tiled walls, the concrete floor, a row of toilet stalls with slightly open doors, and a pile of old rags in the corner. How did he get here? What happened to him?
Hysterical fear rose again in his throat when he realized that he did not remember anything.
What happened to him yesterday? And the day before yesterday? Unknown. Emptiness. What's his name?
He turned to the washbasins. The mirror reflected a dirty tramp - in rags, disheveled, with a crazy look in his bulging eyes. He probably looked at this tramp for at least a second, not understanding what he was seeing. And then he realized - and recoiled screaming; the man in the mirror did the same.
Unable to contain his panic any longer, he exclaimed in a trembling voice:
* * *
The pile of rags in the corner began to stir. A head emerged from it, and an indistinct voice grumbled:
-What are you yelling about, Luke? You're a tramp like me!
Luke. His name is Luke.
He was ready to thank fate even for this grain of knowledge. The name is not too much, but at least some support.
He looked at his comrade: a tattered coat, belted with a rope, a sly, grimy face.
- Oh, damn, how my head is cracking! – he muttered, rubbing his eyes.
- And who are you? – asked Luke.
- Yes, it’s me, you fool! Me, Pete! What, you didn’t recognize it?
“I don’t...” Luke swallowed convulsively, suppressing panic. - I do not remember anything!
- Not surprising. Yesterday you literally lapped up a whole bottle of bourbon by yourself! It's a miracle that I didn't go crazy at all. It would be better if you left me more! – Pete added, licking his lips.
Bourbon... well, then it's clear where the hangover comes from.
- Why did I drink the whole bottle?
Pete laughed loudly.
-Have you gone completely crazy? To get drunk, of course, why else?
Luke felt the tiled floor disappear from under his feet. So he's a tramp. Drunkard. Sleeps in public toilets.
I was terribly thirsty. He leaned over the sink, turned on the water, and greedily took a few sips straight from the tap. The cold water made him feel a little better, and he dared to look at himself in the mirror again.
Now his face became calmer; the crazy look disappeared, replaced by bewilderment. The mirror showed a man about forty, dark hair and blue eyes. No mustache, no beard - just thick dark stubble.
- Luke... the hell will figure you out. How should I know?
- How did I get to this point?
“You know,” Pete said, getting to his feet, “I think it’s time for both of us to eat.”
Only now did Luke feel hungry. I wonder if he has money? He searched his pockets: coat, jacket, trousers... everything was empty. No money, no wallet, not even a handkerchief.
- Looks like I'm broke.
- Really? – Pete responded sarcastically. - Okay, let's go. - And he wandered to the door.
Luke followed.
A new shock awaited him in the world. He found himself in a huge temple, empty and mysteriously silent. As if in a church, waiting for the ghostly congregation, mahogany benches were lined up in rows on the marble floor. Along the perimeter of the huge hall, on high columns, stood fantastic stone warriors in helmets and with shields - the guards of the sanctuary. High above your head stretches a snow-white ceiling vault, painted with golden octagons. Luke had a crazy thought: what if he lost his memory, becoming a victim of some kind of monstrous ritual?
“Union Station,” Pete answered.
Luke breathed a sigh of relief: what was happening made sense. Now he noticed dirt on the walls, a wad of chewing gum on the marble floor, and candy wrappers and cigarette butts in the corners. Well, of course! Just a station - early in the morning, when there are no passengers yet. He became afraid of himself, like a child who sees monsters in a dark bedroom.
Pete moved towards the archway marked "Exit", and Luke hurried after him.
- Damn it! – Pete muttered and quickened his pace.
A fat man was approaching them, dressed in a railway uniform - and clearly seething with righteous anger.
-What are you doing here, huh? Damn tramps!
“We’re already leaving, we’re already leaving!” – Pete humiliatedly stammered.
Luke felt disgusted, but remained silent.
However, it was apparently not enough for the fat man to simply kick them out.
- Did you spend the night here? - he continued, following on their heels. – You know this is prohibited!
Luke felt himself boiling with anger. Why the hell is a stranger scolding him like a boy? However, in the end he did spend the night in that damned latrine.
“This is not a place for you to sleep, you stinking freaks!” - the fat man strained himself. - Well, get lost! – And pushed Luke on the shoulder.
Luke turned around sharply.
- Don't you dare touch me! – He himself was amazed at the cold threat that sounded in his voice. The fat railway worker froze in his tracks. - We are leaving. Nothing more needs to be said or done. Clear?
The fat man backed away, looking at him with undisguised fear.
- Go-go! – Pete hurried.
The next moment Luke felt ashamed. This guy may be a brute, but the station employee had every right to kick out the tramps. Why intimidate him?
Together with Pete, he walked through the majestic arch into the darkness. Several cars were parked in front of the station entrance. It was bitterly cold, and Luke pulled his tattered coat tighter around him. Winter in Washington, frosty winter morning. It must be January or February.
I wonder what year it is now?
Pete turned left; he clearly knew where to go.
-Where are we going? – asked Luke.
“There’s a soup kitchen on H Street. Sing a hymn or two and you'll get a free breakfast.
“I’m so hungry that I’m ready to perform the oratorio!”
Pete walked confidently along the narrow, winding streets past the tenements for the poor. The city was still sleeping: shops, eateries, newsstands - everything was closed. Glancing at the first floor window with cheap faded curtains, Luke imagined the unknown owner of this apartment - how he was now lying under a warm blanket, with his wife snoring at his side - and felt a pang of envy. Something told him that his place was here, in the predawn community of people hurrying about their business while others were still sleeping. Here is a worker in rough clothes going to work; here is a cyclist pedaling, wrapped in a huge scarf; a bus passes by, and the only passenger is smoking in the brightly lit cabin...
Painful questions swirled in my head and gave me no rest. How long has he been drinking? Have you tried to quit? Does he have family or friends? How did he meet Pete? Where did they get the booze? Where did you drink? But Pete was silent, and Luke restrained his impatience: he hoped that after eating, his companion would become more talkative.
A church appeared ahead; small and unpresentable in appearance, it was squeezed between a cinema and a tobacconist's shop. The tramps entered a side door, went down the stairs to the basement and found themselves in a long room with a low ceiling. On one side there is a small elevation and a piano, on the other there is a stove. Between them are three rows of long wooden tables with benches. Three tramps were already sitting here, each at a separate table, waiting patiently. At the stove, a plump woman was stirring some kind of brew in a saucepan. A gray-bearded man in a priest's collar, noticing the new arrivals, looked up from the coffee maker and smiled.
- Come in, come in! – he spoke affably. - Come here, into the warmth!
Luke gave him a suspicious look.
It was really warm in the basement; after the wind and frost outside, it was even hot. Luke unbuttoned his coat, crusted with dirt.
- Good morning, Pastor Lonigan! – Pete greeted.
– Have you been here before? – asked the pastor. - I don’t remember you.
- I'm Pete, and this is Luke.
- Wow - Peter and Luke are like two apostles! – The pastor’s smile and good humor seemed quite sincere. – Breakfast is not ready yet, but we have fresh coffee.
Amazing, Luke thought. Every day he gets up before dawn to feed breakfast to a crowd of homeless people - and he still has enough strength to joke and smile!
Meanwhile, the pastor poured coffee into thick-walled mugs.
- Milk, sugar?
Does he like coffee with milk? With sugar? Luke didn't know this.
“Yes, thank you,” he answered at random and, accepting the mug, took a long sip.
The coffee seemed sickeningly sweet to him. This means that “in a past life” he drank black without sugar. However, the drink satisfied his hunger - and Luke quickly finished the entire mug.
“We’ll pray together in a few minutes,” the pastor said. “Meanwhile, Mrs. Lonigan’s famous porridge will arrive!”
By this point, Luke was convinced that his suspicions were unfounded. Pastor Lonigan is a nice man who enjoys helping others.
Luke and Pete sat down at the rough wooden table. Stealthily Luke examined his companion. Until now, he had paid attention only to the rags and dirt on his face, but now he noticed that in Pete’s appearance there were no traces of long-standing vagrancy and drunkenness: there were no bulging veins, no network of burst blood vessels on his face, no scars, no bruises. In addition, he is young - he looks no more than twenty-five. However, there was a noticeable feature in Pete's appearance: an elongated purple birthmark running from his ear to his lower jaw. The teeth are uneven and discolored. He must have grown the dark mustache to distract attention from his bad teeth in the days when he still cared about his appearance. Luke felt some kind of suppressed anger in him. Probably, he thought, Pete was offended by the whole world - because of the birthmark on his face or for some other reason. Maybe he is one of those who believes that the country is being ruined by enemies - be it Chinese migrants, blacks who imagine themselves equal to whites, or those ten nameless rich men who secretly rule the stock market.
-What are you staring at? – asked Pete.
Luke shrugged and remained silent.
On the table lay a newspaper, open to a page with a crossword puzzle, and a stub of a pencil. Luke glanced at her absentmindedly, then picked up a pencil and began filling in the blanks.
Meanwhile, more and more tramps were approaching. Mrs. Lonigan placed a tall stack of plates on the table and a pile of spoons.
Luke guessed all the words except one - “famous Danish aristocrat”, six letters. Pastor Lonigan looked over his shoulder, raised his eyebrows in surprise at the sight of the completed crossword puzzle and said quietly to his wife:
- “Oh, what a proud mind is smitten!” 1
Ophelia's words about Hamlet, act III, scene I, in the Russian translation by T. Shchepkina-Kupernik. ( Note lane.)
"Hamlet!" – flashed in Luke’s head, and he filled in the missing word. And then I thought: “How do I know this?”
Turning the newspaper over, he glanced at the front page, searching for the date. Wednesday, January 29, 1958. The gaze settled on the headline: “AMERICANS STAY ON THE GROUND.” He began to read:
Cape Canaveral, Tuesday. Due to technical problems, the US Navy command canceled the second attempt to launch the Avangard space rocket.
Let us recall that the first attempt, which took place two months ago, ended in failure: the Avangard exploded in the air two seconds after the start.
Now all the Americans’ hopes of launching an artificial Earth satellite, which will become a worthy rival to the Soviet satellite, are connected with Avangard’s competitor, the Jupiter launch vehicle.
The sound of a piano was heard, and Luke looked up from the newspaper. Mrs. Lonigan played the introduction to a familiar hymn on the piano. After looking at each other, she and her husband sang “Jesus is our most faithful friend,” and Luke began to sing along, glad that he knew the words.
A bottle of bourbon played a strange trick on him... He can solve a crossword puzzle, remembers a church hymn - but does not remember the name of his own mother. Perhaps he had been drinking for many years, and eventually the alcohol caused irreparable damage to his brain? But how, how could he treat himself like that?!
After the hymn, Pastor Lonigan read a few verses from the Bible, and then heartily said that all of them gathered here could be saved. Yeah, saving these people wouldn't hurt, Luke thought. However, he himself did not feel the desire to rely on Jesus. Before looking for God, it would be good to find yourself.
The pastor read an impromptu prayer; everyone sang thanksgiving, lined up with plates in their hands, and Mrs. Lonigan began to put the porridge on plates and pour syrup on it. Luke ate three plates and felt much better. The hangover quickly subsided.
He was impatient to find answers to his questions, and he turned to the pastor:
“Sir, I don’t remember anything about myself.” Tell me, have you seen me here before?
Lonigan peered at him carefully.
- In my opinion, no. However, there are hundreds of people here every week, and I could be wrong. How old are you?
“I don’t know,” Luke answered, feeling like a complete fool.
– I think about forty. And you definitely haven't been living on the streets for long. Vagrancy leaves a certain imprint on a person. And you have an energetic gait, your skin is clean under a layer of dirt, and you can solve a crossword puzzle. Stop drinking without delay, right now - and you can return to normal life.
“I wonder how many poor souls he’s already said those words to?” – Luke thought.
- Will try.
– If you need help, please contact us.
Then a tramp, apparently mentally retarded, began to tug at the pastor's sleeve, and Lonigan turned to him with a patient smile.
- How long have you known me? – Luke asked Pete.
– Oh!.. Yes, that’s already quite a lot.
-Where did we sleep last night?
– Listen, don’t worry. A little time will pass and you will remember everything.
“I need to understand who I am.”
“You know what,” Pete said after hesitating for a second, “I think you need a drink!” Beer is great for clearing your brain! - And he turned to the doors.
Luke grabbed his hand.
- No, I don’t need to drink at all! – he snapped.
It seemed that Pete did not want his memory to return at all. Why? Afraid of losing a comrade? Well, it's a shame, but Luke has more important things to do than entertain Pete.
“I know what I need,” Luke said. “I think I should be alone for a while.”
- “Be alone!” Hey, who do you think you are? Greta Garbo?
- I'm serious.
– Who will look after you if not me? You won't survive alone. Damn, you don't even remember how old you are!
There was a real pleading look on Pete's face; but Luke was unshakable.
“Thank you for your concern,” he answered firmly. “I have to find out who I am.” And you are not helping me with this.
After hesitating for a moment, Pete shrugged.
- Okay, it's up to you. Maybe we'll meet again.
- May be.
Pete walked out the door. Luke shook Pastor Lonigan's hand.
- Thank you for everything.
“I hope you find what you are looking for,” the pastor replied.
Luke walked up the steps and out into the street. At a nearby multi-story building, he saw Pete: he stopped some passer-by in a green gabardine raincoat and the same cap and must have been begging him for change for beer. Luke went the other way and turned at the first turn.
It was still dark. His feet were freezing: only now did Luke notice that he was not wearing socks. Meanwhile, light fluffy snow fell from the sky. After a few minutes, Luke walked more slowly, realizing that there was no point in rushing. You can even stop and wait out the snow under the entrance canopy.
He has nowhere to go anyway.
6.00
The rocket is surrounded on three sides, as if squeezing it in a steel embrace, by a service tower. The tower - a converted oil rig - is equipped with two pairs of wheels and can move on rails. Before the rocket launches, this multi-story building-sized service structure will be moved three hundred feet to the side.
Elspeth woke up and immediately remembered Luke.
For a few moments she lay in bed, filled with anxiety for the man she loved. Then she sat down and turned on the lamp on the bedside table.
The room was furnished “in space style”: a floor lamp in the shape of a rocket, framed walls with solid planets, orbits and moons above alien horizons. Fantasy clearly replaced the artist's knowledge of astronomy.
Elspeth lived at the Starlight, one of a new chain of motels that had built up all the sand dunes near the resort town of Cocoa Beach in Florida, eight miles south of Cape Canaveral, and hospitably opened its doors to new guests. Apparently, the designer considered the space theme most suitable for the occasion, but to Elspeth all these interplanetary beauties reminded Elspeth of a ten-year-old boy's bedroom.
Reaching for the phone on her nightstand, she dialed Anthony Carroll's office number in Washington. Long beeps. I tried my home number and no one answered there either. Maybe something happened? “No, no,” Elspeth answered herself, suppressing a sickening wave of fear, “there is nothing to worry about. He's just going to work. I’ll call again in half an hour – thirty minutes will definitely be enough for him.”
As she showered, she thought back to Luke and Anthony when she was young, when she met them both. Before the war they studied at Harvard, she at Radcliffe 2
Harvard is one of the oldest and most famous universities in the United States, located in Cambridge, Massachusetts. Radcliffe College is a prestigious women's institution of higher education that existed in Cambridge from 1879 to 1999. In the 1930s and 1940s, Radcliffe functioned closely with Harvard as its "female half" (Harvard was all-male). ( Note lane.)
Both guys sang in the Harvard Choral Club: Luke had a very good baritone, Anthony had a wonderful tenor. And she led the Radcliffe Women's Choir and organized joint concerts with the Harvard Club.
Luke and Anthony, inseparable friends... An odd couple. Both were tall and athletic, but that was where the similarities ended. “Beauty and the Beast,” the girls from Radcliffe called them. The handsome man is, of course, Luke: with black curls, always elegantly dressed. Anthony, with a long nose and a heavy chin, always in a wrinkled and ill-fitting suit, did not look like a handsome man, but he charmed girls’ hearts with his energy and easy, cheerful disposition.
After a quick shower, Elspeth threw on her robe and sat down at the dressing table to apply her makeup. She placed her wristwatch next to her eyeliner so she could call Anthony back in exactly half an hour.
Then, during her acquaintance with Luke, she also sat at the dressing table in only a robe. It turned out like this: several Harvard men, having treated themselves to alcohol, decided to raid the Radcliffe women's dormitory. Late in the evening they climbed through an open window on the first floor to steal a couple of girls' panties - a common pastime for students of those times. It was a strange thing, Elspeth thought: neither she nor the other girls were at all afraid of tipsy guys - at most, they were afraid of losing delicate toiletries. Perhaps, in fact, people in those days were more innocent than now?
Some lucky chance brought Luke to her room. Both of them majored in mathematics and often met in class. The guy's face was hidden behind a mask, but Elspeth recognized him by his clothes: an Irish gray tweed jacket and the corner of a red-spotted handkerchief sticking out of his breast pocket. She smiled and pointed to the closet, saying only: “In the top drawer.” He chose white silk panties with lace trim, and Elspeth felt a pang of regret—the panties were expensive. But the next day Luke asked her out on a date.
Countdown Ken Follett
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Title: Countdown
About the book "Countdown" by Ken Follett
The man, dressed in rags and having lost his memory, does not even know yet that he is Dr. Luke Lucas, a famous scientist who worked on the creation of a new American artificial satellite. But amnesia does not last forever, and this is well known to people who are ready to do anything to prevent Lucas from regaining his past - or simply remove him if other methods do not work. Who is hunting for the scientist and luring him into the net? Competitors? Foreign spies? Or, on the contrary, CIA agents who have their own reasons for considering Lucas dangerous? Luke, who finds himself at the center of a sophisticated spy game, does not understand who is his friend and who is his enemy, who he can trust and who he should run away from without looking back...
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