"Nick Pollotta - Bureau 13 - Judgment-Night" - читать интересную книгу автора (Pollotta Nick)

tops, and cut-off jeans that only accented the sort of legs that
made a man drop to his knees and thank God for his Y
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 Judgement Night: Bureau 13 Book 1
by Nick Pollotta


chromosome. Not that Mindy and Jessica were lacking
anything in aesthetic quality. Ms. Jennings was nicely
attractive, in a muscular sort of way, and Jess a total fox.
Hubba hubba. But these two buxom babes were outstanding.
As we came near, I checked them over with my sunglasses
and got nominal readings. The human aura of the women
meant nothing in this business. They could be brainwashed
assassins, or artificial constructs, just about anything. Then
again, maybe they were exactly what they seemed to be, two
women lost in upstate New York needing a ride back to
civilization.
Only where was a broken car, camping gear, roller skates,
or parachutes? Just how did a couple of dainty beach bunnies
reach this glorious middle of nowhere? Walk? Yeah, right.
Now suspicious as hell, I drew my trusty S&W .357
Magnum and clicked back the hammer while dialing for
computer enhancement on my Bureau sunglasses. Ya never
know, ya know? Suddenly the magical illusion of the sexy
human females faded away to reveal a stack of crates bearing
the military designation for C4, high explosive plastique.
Oh crap. тАЬIt's a trap!тАЭ I shouted, over the roar of our
racing engines.
Savagely twisting the steering wheel, George tried to
swerve away from the hellspawn centerfolds just as the
crates violently detonated.
Thunder filled the universe, the RV was thrown off the road
and went flying into the sky over the median. Encased in
boiling fire, my team could only hang on for dear life as we
went ass over teakettle, every loose item in the vehicle went
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 Judgement Night: Bureau 13 Book 1
by Nick Pollotta


shotgunning from side to side, as we rolled over and over. It
felt as if we were airborne forever before the van finally
slammed into the pavement with a bone-jarring crash. The
windows cracked, airbags punched us against our seats, the
fire alarm went off, Amigo dropped from the ceiling, the
lockers erupted supplies onto the floor, the radio switched to
AM, and our spare tire went rolling by outside.
Steadily cursing, George used a combat knife hidden in his
boot to stab himself free from the airbag, noisily sneezing at