"Death Takes Wings" - читать интересную книгу автора (Morrison William)

lines, no sand in the bearings, no tampering with important instruments. Any
such tricks would have been quickly discovered and traced to those responsible,
and swift punishment would have followed. No, this was sabotage of an entirely
different kind.
Armstrong was staring at him, trying to tell from the expression on his face
whether he had discovered anything. Morley tried to look not too disappointed.
УSo this is all there is,Ф he said.
УYep, youТve seen everything. You donТt have much chance to find anything wrong
going through the place so fast. But you can poke around anywhere you please and
take your time about it.Ф
УHow about the night shift?Ф
УTheyТll be on soon. WeТre running most of the plant one hundred and sixty-eight
hours a week, but not all. You can stay here as long as you want and take a look
at things.Ф
Morley wandered through the plant again, this time alone. An hour after
Armstrong had left him, a whistle blew, and the shifts changed. He watched the
tired workmen file out, the new men take their places. Nowhere was there a sign
of anything wrong.
And yet, four planes had crashed.
About eleven oТclock he had had enough. The plant was in a ramshackle
neighborhood, full of old frame houses and dark, muddy streets. Street lamps
were few and far between. But the plant itself was guarded, with soldiers
patrolling the entrances and the streets directly outside. There was almost no
chance of any one breaking in unobserved.
All the same, the neighborhood interested him. Possibly somewhere among the
hundreds of ugly houses, lived the man or men he wanted. He began to walk slowly
through the muddy streets, examining the buildings. It was cold and threatened
rain, and there were few people out of doors. Most of the people living here had
to get up early and were already asleep. There were few lights to be seen
through the drawn shades.
He was crossing a street when he felt something whistle past his ear. There was
a ping on the other side of the street.
Another man might have stopped, wondering what the sounds were, and offered a
perfect target. Morley had heard them before and dropped to the ground as a
second and third shot tore past him.
Then there was silence.

HEN he raised his head cautiously, there was no one in sight. But he had his own
automatic out now, and he was no longer a helpless target. He was lying near a
vacant lot, and judging from the sound as the bullets hit buildings behind him,
the shooting had come from a small brick building less than a hundred feet away.
He rose to a crouch and dashed for the building.
Another burst came. But his unexpected move had caught his assailant by
surprise, and none of the bullets touched him. He reached the brick house,
dashed around the corner. The whole width of the house was between him and the
man who had fired at him.
He knew something about house-to-house fighting, and the chances were that the
gunman didnТt. He smiled grimly as he thought of the other manТs predicament.
Was Morley trying to creep up in back of him, or was he coming around in front?
The other man, trying to guess, must be in a cold sweat.