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

deal faster than intended.

He had no choice in the matter. He was grabbed by the arms and hustled
down between two of the men like no more than a piece of awkward
luggage. For themselves, they moved with a sureness that suggested the
function of their bug-eyed goggles, able to see every stone and crevice
even with only moonlight and sky glow to work by.

By the time they were halfway down, Jim was past caring about who could
see what, and how well. He could see just enough to know he didn't
want to see any more, and for the rest of the descent he kept his eyes
shut tight, not opening them until an end to the jolting meant an end
to the climb.

They had made it to the center borehole in a matter of minutes, but
Team Two had been there before them. The other two security guards had
been dealt with as efficiently as Heffernan and Pulaski. Even though
Hank Sullivan was unconscious, a lump the size of an egg plainly
visible above his left ear, both he and Tom Schultz were propped
against the wall of the lowest terrace with binders tight around their
wrists and ankles. From the lack of gunshots, alarms, or even extra
lights, neither had been able to do anything about it.

One of the dark-clad men approached the bulky figure with the tentacles
and ducked his head in a little gesture that was half bow and half
salute. "We're secure."

"Phone lines?"

"Cut, sir. We took them out before moving in, and the Detex time
clocks are receivinga dummy signal from one of the portable
computers."

"Very well. Let's get on. I have no wish to be here all night."

Bound as he was, there was little Jim could do after that except sit
where he had been dropped like so much garbage, and

watch--without trying to look as if he was watching. He was the only
one. Pulaski and Sullivan were still out cold, and Schultz had slumped
forward, head leaning against his knees. He looked like a man trying
to pretend all this wasn't happening, as if by ignoring what was going
on around him, it would all somehow go away. Jim knew how he felt. But
when all this was over, and assuming they survived it, then the police
or even the FBI would want detailed explanations and accurate
descriptions. He was going to do his best to provide whatever they
required.

Several of the black-clad men busied themselves around the drilling
machinery for the new borehole, with a speed and precision that spoke