by Джеффри Лорд
Richard was back safe and sound, alive, healthy, unwounded, with the commando knife (which he had put to very good use), and the great golden bathtub.
The mystery hero problem was not getting any better, but it wasn’t getting any worse either.
Leighton might be developing a taste for practical joke, but he hadn’t conceived any new lines of research that would have to be started at once at the cost of several million pounds.
No, when all was said and done, Lord Leighton’s new vice was hardly a problem worth worrying about.
It complicated things, of course. But J knew that if he’d really wanted a simple life, he would never have decided to stay in espionage work so many years ago. He would have made a modest and secure career in the army. Or he might even have followed in his father’s footsteps, living quietly on his estates, collecting Byzantine art and manuscripts and keeping bees. No, he had made his choice all those years ago, and he’d made it with his eyes open.
Nor had he ever really regretted it.
J laughed quietly to himself, drew the file back in front of him, and began to work through it again.
FB2 document info
Document ID: 0143165e-8679-4164-b9f8-1672a09b8786
Document version: 1
Document creation date: 13 August 2010
Created using: FictionBook Editor Release 2.5 software
Document authors :
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