The Signal from Sector 7
The man in the gray suit didn't sit down. He stood in the doorway of my office with one hand on the frame and the other holding a cigarette that he never lit, and he looked at me the way a man looks at a tool he needs but doesn't like using. Moran, he said. You served in intelligence? Pacific theater, I said. Signals. Two years. He nodded once, as though this were adequate, and then he stepped...
0 Reacties 0 aandelen 2 Views 0 voorbeeld