"Harry Harrison - SSR 08 - The Stainless Steel Rat Sings the " - читать интересную книгу автора (Harrison Harry)


"What you say? What you doin' here?"

"Indeed?" I snorted through widened nostrils. "Rather short on education, particularly a knowledge of
Esperanto, aren't we? If you must know, speaking in the vulgar argot of this planet-I was told that the
men's room was down here."

"Well it ain't. Da udder way."

"You're too kind."

I turned and strolled diffidently down the hall. Had taker. three steps before reality penetrated his sluggish
synapses.

"Come back here, you!"

I stopped and turned about, pointed past him. "Down that way?" I asked. The gas projector I had palmed
when my back was turned towards him hissed briefly. His eyes closed and he dropped; I took the gun
from his limp hands as he fell by. Placed it on his sleeping chest since it was of no help to me. Walked
briskly past him and pushed open the door to the emergency stairs. Closed and leaned against it and
breathed very deeply. Then took out the map that had been in the press kit and poked my finger on the
symbol for stairs. Now, down to the storeroom . . . footsteps sounded below.

Up. Quietly on soft soles. A change of plan was very much in order since the alarm had sounded, ruling
out a simple exit with the crowd. Up, five, six ,flights until the steps ended in a door labeled KROV.
Which probably meant roof in the local language.

There were three different alarms that I disabled before I pushed the door open and slipped through.
Looked around at the usual rooftop clutter; water tanks, vents, aircon units-and a goodsized smokestack
puffing out pollution. Perfect.

The moneybag clunked as I dropped all my incriminating weapons and tools into it. My belt buckle

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twisted open and I took out the reel and motor. Attached the molebind plug from the suspension cord to
the bag, then lowered it all down the chimney. Reaching down as far as I could I secured the reel
mechanism to the inside of the pipe.

Done. It would wait there as long as needed, until all the excitement calmed down. An investment waiting
to be collected you might say. Then, armed only with my innocence, I retraced my course back down the
stairs and on to the ground floor.

The door opened and closed silently and there was a guard, back turned, standing close enough to touch.
Which I did, tapping him on the shoulder. He shrieked, jumped aside, turned, lifted his gun.

"Didn't mean to startle you," I said sweetly. "Afraid I got separated from my party. The press group . . ."

"Sergeant, I got someone," he burbled into the microphone on his shoulder. "Me, yeah, Private Izmet, post