"S. Andrew Swann - Zimmerman's Algorithm" - читать интересную книгу автора (Swann S Andrew)

eyes once more, one of the men was looking closely at him, and Gideon could feel fingers on his neck. "This
one's still alive."
Gideon heard the sound of a walkie-talkie from somewhere else in the room. A muffled radio voice
said, "The operation is compromised. Move to our fall-back position. All unexposed units are being
extracted."
Someone responded, "We copy that."
Past the man leaning over him, he could see the others removing silencers from the compact
submachine guns they carried.
Before he blacked out again, he heard the tearing sound of Velcro. He could just see someone peeling
a piece of black fabric from the back of his neighbor's jacket. It revealed bright yellow letters, "U.S.
TREASURY."
The last thing Gideon was conscious of was the sound of approaching sirens.




1.01 Sun.
Feb. 15
GIDEON awoke to the sounds of two uniformed officers pulling a man with a video camera out of his
room. Gideon had just opened his eyes, and for a few moments all he could focus on was the fish-eye lens
of the camera, and his own reflection in it. He looked like hell.
Then one of the officers reached a hand over the lens, pushing the camera back. The cameraman didn't
move quite as fast as the officer was pushing and the camera tilted back over his shoulder. The camera fell
with a crash to the floor. "That's private property," the cameraman yelled as the two officers pulled him out
of the door.
"And this is a private room," said a familiar voice from the opposite side of the room. Gideon turned his
head, and felt the pull of tubes that went up his nose and down his throat. He wanted to spit up the foreign
object, but he could only manage a hacking wheeze. He tried to raise his hand to his throat, but it was
immobilized in a heavy cast.
Gideon managed to turn enough to confirm that the speaker was who he thought it was. It was Chief
Conroy, which explained the cameraman. Every step Conroy took was controversial, if only because
everyone thought of him as the token white on the force. Whatever he did, someone would accuse him of
being racially motivated. The man had a lot more respect from inside the force than he had outside it. Very
few D.C. residents, most of whom thought of the police as the enemy in the first place, understood why
Mayor Harris dragged in some white guy from California to run the police department.
Gideon had to close his eyes. Waking up here, with chaos swirling around him, was disorienting enough
to make his head ache. He felt light-headed, drugged, a sensation as if his body was tumbling through space
with only the most tenuous connection to his head.
Outside, the reporter shouted, "This is suppression of the media!"
Gideon forced his eyes open to see Conroy shake his head and turn to one of the three staffers who'd
accompanied him. Conroy waved at where the camera had fallen. "Get that cameraтАФand an
appropriately-worded letter of explanationтАФto that man's employer."
The staffer walked toward the door.
"And empty it first," Conroy added. The staffer nodded as he left.
Gideon tried to say something, but he found it too hard to talk. His throat was raspy, and there was a
tube down it.
"Detective Malcolm?" Conroy approached Gideon.
Gideon shook his head. It was beginning to sink in, what had happened, why he was here. The memory
was painful enough that Gideon tried to recapture the sense of floating disorientation he'd had before.
He had seen Raphael die.