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

and the deepest of the boreholes sunk so far. "I heard they got half a
ton of' reef out of that last week," he said.

"I heard it too." Pulaski frowned slightly. 'thing is, the more of
the gold-bearing ore they pull out of there, the less they're talking
about how much it is, or how rich it is, or how much more might be
left. Guys coming off the dig have to change their work clothes, get
searched as they come out. It's getting to be like those big mines in
South Africa."

"I thought those were diamond mines," said Jim.

"Gold too. I read all about them once. All the ways you can sneak
gold out."

"I can guess--and no, I don't want to know. But I wonder what else
they might turn up. What else they're not expecting. I mean, in all
the years of digging coal, nobody knew there was gold underneath it."

"Not diamonds. It's the wrong sort of ground. You need some sort of
blue clay for diamonds."

"Maybe in South Africa you need blue clay. In upstate New York, "Jim
shrugged again, "who knows?"

They looked out across the silent site. It was surrounded by forest,
pine, and mixed hardwoods, and somewhere off among the trees some night
bird was singing. "I hear that every night,"

said Pulaski. "Nhat is it?"

"Nightingale."

"Here? I didn't know we had those here." They fell silent again,
listening to the distant trickle of birdsong, sweet and faintly
mournful.

As if in answer came another sound, a quick, sharp crack as though
someone had stepped on a twig. But much louder, and somehow more
metallic as well. The two security guards looked at each other; the
most common source of that particular noise was a car engine cooling
after the long haul from town back up to the mine. But neither of them
had been down to the all-night doughnut place tonight.

The sound had come from off to their left, behind the guard hut, and
Jim's right hand slipped inside the still-open flap of his holster. He
didn't draw the heavy revolver, not yet, but even for a man who didn't
like guns, the cold wood and metal of the Ruger's grip was sometimes
very comforting. Times like now. Pula ski looked at him, then reached
for his own gun.