Βιβλία σαν το «Το κορίτσι που έπαιζε με τη φωτιά»

Chapter 1The Otis elevator climbing the south pillar of the Eiffel Tower was overflowing with tourists. Inside the cramped lift, an austere businessman in a pressed suit gazed down at the boy beside him. “You look pale, son. You should have stayed on the ground.”“I’m okay . . .” the boy answered, struggling to control his anxiety. “I’ll get out on the next level.” I can’t breathe.The man leaned closer. “I thought by now you would have gotten over this.” He brushed the child’s cheek affectionately.The boy felt ashamed to disappoint his father, but he could barely hear through the ringing in his ears. I can’t breathe. I’ve got to get out of this box!The elevator operator was saying something reassuring about the lift’s articulated pistons and puddled-iron construction.

Ένας νεαρός άντρας με σβησμένο βλέμμα και ARNE DAHL & JONAS MOSTRÖM 14 ένα ορθάνοιχτο, σχεδόν αυτόφωτο στόμα. Και παρόλο που ο νεαρός άντρας είναι ολοφάνερα νεκρός, μιλάει, με καθαρή αλλά μηχανική φωνή. Και λέει: «…και άνθρωποι τέτοιου τύπου αξίζουν να πεθάνουν…» Και τότε είναι που μπατάρει το κανό. Ο Τομ Μποργ έκλεισε το κινητό και κοίταξε αρκετή ώρα μέσα από το ματάκι της εξώπορτας. Το ίδιο έκανε κάθε φορά που πήγαινε στο μόνο μέρος όπου μπορούσε ν’ ανασάνει πραγματικά. Αυτό δεν μπορούσε να το κάνει στο μεγάλο διαμέρισμα της Φιελγκάταν, που το ένιωθε όλο και μεγαλύτερο, όλο και πιο σιωπηλό, κάθε νύχτα. Το κλιμακοστάσιο ήταν έρημο, ως συνήθως – και όπως πάντα, έβλεπε μέσα του το γαλανό και το πράσινο μάτι που πριν από έναν χρόνο και ενενήντα τέσσερις ημέρες είχαν καρφωθεί πάνω του, αντιγυρίζοντας το βλέμμα που τους είχε ρίξει.

All you’ve got to know is this: right now the government of the United States is sitting on top of the Washington Monument, right on the very point, tilting right and left and ready to fall off and break up on the pavement. There are just a handful of men that can prevent it. And you’re one of them.

I lived at number twenty-three Blenheim Road for five years, blissfully happy and utterly wretched. I can’t look at it now. That was my first home. Not my parents’ place, not a flatshare with other students, my first home. I can’t bear to look at it. Well, I can, I do, I want to, I don’t want to, I try not to. Every day I tell myself not to look, and every day I look. I can’t help myself, even though there is nothing I want to see there, even though anything I do see will hurt me.

“Put that gun down,” Rafter ordered from the doorway, and a split second later another shot rang through the reception area, a shot that went into the ceiling somewhere well above Rafter’s head and reduced him to a mere mortal. Turning the gun back to me, he nodded, and I complied, entering the conference room behind Rafter. The last thing I saw on the outside was Madam Devier shaking at her desk, terror-stricken, headset around her neck, high heels parked neatly next to her wastebasket.

“Nobody knows,” Sanders said. “Bob built the company from nothing, fifteen years ago. When he started, he was selling knockoff modems from Korea. Back when nobody knew what a modem was. Now the company’s got three buildings downtown, and big facilities in California, Texas, Ireland, and Malaysia. He builds fax modems the size of a dime, he markets fax and E-mail software, he’s gone into CD-ROMs, and he’s developed proprietary algorithms that should make him a leading provider in education markets for the next century. Bob’s come a long way from some guy hustling three hundred baud modems. I don’t know if he can give it up.”