Beverley Jo MalĹźeĹstwo z rozsÄ dku 01 MalĹźeĹstwo z rozsÄ dku
William Shatner Tek War 01 Tek War
Jack Vance Dying Earth 01 The Dying Earth
Kurtz, Katherine Adept 01 The Adept
Brian Daley Coramonde 01 The Doomfarers of Coramonde (v4.2)
Barbara Kosmowska Niebieski autobus
Antologia Bale maturalne z piekśÂa
James White Gwiezdny Chirurg.2
Cosway L.H. SześÂć serc 01
Turtledove, Harry V
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flower.
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"I need something heavier," Joe said. Tossing the paperweight away, he took one of the
chairs and swung it at the window. The chair bounced off, too. "What is this stuff?"
Frank climbed onto the other chair, examining the ceiling.
"Get real, Frank. We'd never fit through the air-system vent."
"I guess you're right. Keep working on the window," Frank said, mouthing the word
"bugs." Joe resumed pounding away at the door as Frank moved his chair over to the
wall, testing the ceiling tiles with his fingers. Finally, as Joe hit the door extra hard, Frank
formed a fist and rammed the tile out of its framework.
Peering into the musty darkness, he smiled, The walls extended only to a hung ceiling,
leaving a foot-high passage into the next office!
"You might as well put the chair down and sit on it, Joe," Frank said for the benefit of
any unseen listeners. "We're never going to get out of here." He beckoned Joe over, then
worked more tiles loose.
Frank climbed into the airspace with a hand from Joe. Balancing himself on the wall
(the tiles were too light to support his weight), Frank listened for any sounds from the
office next door. Nothing.
But just as he was about to pry up one of the tiles, Frank heard coughing. Someone was
in there!
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Frank slipped back through the hole, shaking his head to Joe. They moved the chair to
the opposite wall, and while Joe whistled loudly, Frank dislodged more tiles. Leaning
into the airspace again, he held his breath. If someone was in this office, they were stuck.
But the office remained silent, even when Frank cautiously levered up a ceiling tile.
Prank looked down through the opening and saw an empty desk. He quickly worked to
enlarge the hole, then crawled through. When Joe joined him seconds later, Frank was
already at the door, trying the handle
It turned without a problem.
Easing the door open, Frank and Joe scanned the corridor. Their eyes darted around,
sensitive to the slightest movement. No one was there.
They walked down the corridor, pausing at each intersection, checking out their
surroundings before moving.
Joe brought them to a halt when he heard low conversation not far away. The boys
looked around a corner and saw a garage filled with a dozen men dressed in the same
black clothes the Hardys wore but carrying Sterling submachine guns.
The Gray Man and Edwin Perkins entered through another doorway. Perkins was
slipping a pistol into his holster. "Sergeant Morris," he called to a gray-haired veteran,
"let's get this show on the road."
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"All right," roared the sergeant. "Into the lorry!
The troops started clambering inside a large, battered panel truck, and the garage door
rose with a metallic clatter.
"They're leaving," Frank whispered when all the men were aboard.
"Not without us!" Joe responded.
The truck's engine roared to life. Joe sprinted across the garage, leaping onto the rear
bumper and wrapping his arm around a pole at the back of the truck. He waved his arm in
a silent "Come on!" to Frank. Shaking his head in amazement,
Frank grasped a metal projection on the other side just as the truck lurched into
motion.
The ride through South London was short. Even so, the Hardys were nearly thrown off
several times as the truck jounced over badly paved streets.
The neighborhoods of red brick
houses that the truck passed through became seedier and poorer... Frank and Joe saw
many stores that had been boarded up. They noticed that signs were written I in Arabic
letters-Pakistani.
Frank knew that people from all over the old British Empire-from the West Indies,
Africa, and Asia-had come to the neighborhood of Brixton. And they'd stayed there. He
even saw burned buildings, leftovers from riots. It was easy to see that the Assassins knew
what they
68
ere doing when they picked Brixton for their safe house.
The truck bounced heavily as it turned onto a cobblestoned street with many of the
cobblestones missing or broken. Most of the houses on the dead-end street were just
shells, but one dingy three-story building still showed signs of life. At least curtains were
flapping in the windows.
Down the block, a group of city construction workers struggled to repair a broken
streetlamp. And at the corner a gang of Pakistani workmen tried to renovate a burned-out
shop. The only other car on the street was a Post Office van. The mailman was just
climbing out.
But everything changed as the truck rolled to a stop right in front of the safe house. The
shop windows turned into clouds of tinkling glass shards as the workmen inside-Gurkhas,
Nepalese soldiers who joined the British Army-let loose with machine guns. Their
covering fire tore into the windows of the upper floors of the safe house.
Machine guns were snatched out of the "construction workers' " toolboxes, too. Even
the "mailman" whipped a Sterling from his sack, hosing the ground-floor windows with
bullets.
The doors of the lorry flew open, and the attack force pelted out to add to the fire.
When the Gray Man saw the unexpected hitchhikers, he froze,
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pistol in hand, his eyes bulging. "What the-get down, you idiots!"
He leaped to the ground, pulling the Hardys into the cover of the truck. All around
them, bullets still flew. :
Six men rushed up the front stairs of the safe house with a battering ram, swinging it
back even as they ran. The ram smashed into the door, bounced back, and was swung [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]
