"duane,.dianne.-.spider.man.-.octopus.agenda" - читать интересную книгу автора (Duane Diane)

"Come on, "Jim said, and stepped softly around the corner.

Behind the guard hut, just at the edge of the site, was a little
parking lot. During the day it was used by some of the site crews; at
night, it was mostly empty. Jim's car was there; so was Pulaski's.

And a bunch of aliens were standing there as well.

All of them were dressed in close-fitting black, with heads too big for
their bodies and huge-lensed eyes that Jim hoped were just some sort of
goggles. They looked like the meaner, bigger brothers of those skinny
little aliens that turned up on TV specials about government-concealed
UFO landings.

Pulaski brought up his gun at once, but before he could squeeze the
trigger, a black-clad arm chopped down on his wrist and the pistol
clattered onto the gravel. There was another flurry of movement and
then a meaty thud as one of the aliens stepped forward and slammed a
gun butt hard against his head. Pulaski grunted, slumped, and followed
his revolver to the ground.

Other dark hands seized Jim Heffernan, peeled his fingers from the un
drawn Ruger, and jerked it from the holster, then shoved him down onto
his knees.-Several weapons were already leveled at him, and he guessed
that whoever---or whatever--had grabbed him was already off to one side
to give a clear field of fire, if he gave them reason to shoot. Jim
froze, and hoped that would be enough.

One of the creatures held something that might have been the source of
the crackling sound, it looked vaguely like a rifle or a submachine
gun, but there was a dully glowing strip down one side of its barrel,
which made a faint humming noise. The noise was building. Then he
heard the sharp metallic crack again, and a little line of fire flared
and died among the weeds at the edge of the parking lot. It was
plainly meant as a warning, and Jim took note.

Yet when he whispered, "Harry?" the next warning was both more direct
and far less unearthly: a boot rammed hard into his ribs. More of the
dark shapes gathered around him as he bent over, wheezed, and sucked
for air.

Jim Heffernan had done his military service in Southeast Asia and West
Germany; even though he didn't like guns, he could recognize, or at
least guess at, most of them. But some of the weapons these fellows
carried, like the one fired as a warning, were like nothing he had ever
seen before.

A vehicle came rolling into the parking lot. There was no sound of an
engine; Jim only knew of its arrival from the sound of gravel crunching