"Michael P. Kube - McDowell - Black Fleet 2 - Shield of Lies" - читать интересную книгу автора (Kube-McDowell Michael P)

amidships, it seemed as though six targets were all the vagabond could
handle. Possibly as few as four ships, properly spaced, might
overwhelm its defenses.

But first Pakkpekatt would have to find the vagabond again--a task that
had taken two years the last time.

Drayson called up the chart of the pursuit and studied it closely.

Three ships were racing for search stations along the vagabond's last
heading: Lightning ten light-years out, Glorious twenty, and Marauder
thirty. The improvised plan called for them to drop sensor buoys with
hypercomm repeaters at those entry points and then begin making short
jumps out to the limits of sensor range, hoping to catch a glimpse of
their quarry.

The precision of the plan did not mask its weak-ness--its slim chance
of success depended on the vagabond's making a single short jump. If
it followed a short jump with a second jump on another heading, where
there were no eyes to see or sensors to track--or if it carried the
first jump out fifty, a hundred, five hundred light-years, beyond the
borders of the New Republic and into the chaos of the Core-Drayson knew
that Colonel Pakkpekatt had addressed an urgent appeal for more ships
to both New Republic Intelligence and the Fleet Office before Glorious
jumped out from Gmir Askilon. He also knew the likely answer to that
appeal.

"The only real chance for us to catch her lies with you, Lando,"
Drayson said softly. "You must help us find you."

But it was not Drayson's way to abandon someone he had sent into
danger. His fingers danced over his controller, bringing an inventory
of Alpha Blue's assets in Sector 151 to the screen. There might be
little he could

Shield of Lies ┬╖17

do, but he would do what he could. And there was always some way to
alter the odds.

The habits of the Senate's Council on Security and Intelligence were
not unlike those of the institutions over which it reigned. It
announced no meetings, released no public reports, and met only in
closed session in the field-shielded Room 030, deep in the subbasements
of the old Imperial Palace.

So earnestly secretive were the seven sitting members that, in
Coruscant's own dialect of Basic, the phrase "CSI agenda" had become a
benchmark for the unattainable, the impossible item on a scavenger
hunt. Discouraged suitors would despair that they had "a better chance