The Prometheus Deception
“He was sitting in a recliner seat in a small, luxurious executive jet, a blanket over him, a fluffy pillow behind his head. The windows were black; the noise and vibration indicated that they were in flight. The cabin was empty except for two other passengers. A fortyish man in a navy-blue flight-attendant’s uniform, blond crew cut, dozed in shadows at the rear of the cabin. And seated in a wide leather seat across the aisle from Bryson was Waller, reading a leather-bound volume under a small, bright circle of light.
“Nu, vot eti vot, tovarishch Rosovsky, dobri vecher,” Bryson said in Russian. “Shto vyi chitayete?” His speech was slurred; he felt drugged.
Waller looked up, gave a slight smile. “I really haven’t spoken that beastly language in decades, Nicky. I’m sure I’m quite rusty.” He closed his book. “But in answer to your question, I’m rereading Dostoyevsky. The Brothers K. Just to confirm my recollection that he’s really quite a bad writer. Lurid plotting, heavy-handed moralizin...g, and prose out of the Police Gazette.”MoreLess
“Nu, vot eti vot, tovarishch Rosovsky, dobri vecher,” Bryson said in Russian. “Shto vyi chitayete?” His speech was slurred; he felt drugged.
Waller looked up, gave a slight smile. “I really haven’t spoken that beastly language in decades, Nicky. I’m sure I’m quite rusty.” He closed his book. “But in answer to your question, I’m rereading Dostoyevsky. The Brothers K. Just to confirm my recollection that he’s really quite a bad writer. Lurid plotting, heavy-handed moralizin...g, and prose out of the Police Gazette.”MoreLess
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