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

of place here, and Volynskji wondered if it was the best course of action to utilize them.
"I understand you require consultants in a security matter," Colonel Ramon spoke with a flat
Midwestern accent despite the factтАФVolynskji knewтАФthat he had lived his entire life in El Salvador, until a
few years ago when the Salvadoran government became a little too serious abort investigating the excesses
of the eighties.
Volynskji reached into his breast pocket and pulled out a brown envelope and handed it to Colonel
Ramon. "A bank draft for an account in Costa Rica."
Colonel Ramon took the envelope and opened it. He tried to hide his reaction, but Volynskji saw his
eyes widen slightly.
"That is half," Volynskji said. "The balance will be on delivery."
"What do you want delivered?"
"A mainframe computer, a special one."
"The catch is?"
Volynskji smiled. "The current owners may not want to part with it."




Sun. Jan. 18

The truck from Infinity Microsystems rode the Interstate alone and unhurried. It sliced through the Virginia
night, rarely putting more than five miles per hour between itself and the speed limit. It was a customized
Peterbilt eighteen-wheeler, painted the black and cobalt blue of the IMS logo. The trailer's roof was
stainless steel, and had a few more vents than was usual.
Colonel Ramon knew that the truck was unique, and its cargo nearly so.
The Colonel sat in the cab of a more conventional Mack truck parked in the on-ramp's breakdown lane.
It had been idling there for about ten minutes with its lights off before the Peterbilt passed.
Fifteen seconds after the Peterbilt passed by in front of them, the driver pulled it out onto the Interstate,
following.
The Colonel looked ahead, at the brake lights of the Peterbilt's trailer. He watched the mile markers by
the side of the road and after the third one passed, he picked up a walkie-talkie that sat on the seat next to
him and said, "Now!"
About half a mile ahead of the Peterbilt, another Mack truck pulled out, angled across all four lanes,
and screeched to a halt on the icy pavement. The Colonel could hear the Peterbilt braking even though they
were a hundred yards back. For a moment he worried that they might collideтАФlike the Peterbilt's driver, he
wanted no harm to come to the contents of the trailer. Fortunately, the driver kept control of his vehicle.
When the Peterbilt reached a complete stop, Colonel Ramon's Mack angled in behind it to prevent it
from backing away.
Colonel Ramon pulled a ski mask down over his face while the rear door of the other Mack flew open
to disgorge a half-dozen men with similar masks, black military fatigues, and M-16 rifles.
The Colonel calmly stepped out of the cab, ignoring the Peterbilt's revving engine, the sound of breaking
glass, and the short burst of gunfire as the team secured the cab of the Peterbilt.
There was one security guard on duty with the driver, and he was never really an issue. The Colonel
briskly walked through a cloud of diesel fumes toward the trailer on his own truck.
Back down the road, beyond the rear of the trailer, two more of his men, dressed in reflective orange
and wearing hard hats, were setting up flares and sawhorses across all four lanes of the Interstate, one car
had already been stopped and was making an awkward turn for the exit.
When the Colonel reached the rear, of his truck, the doors were open and the ramp down. Inside, three
men were backing a Bobcat forklift out of the otherwise empty trailer.
He clapped his hands and his voice fogged as he yelled, "Get moving. That should be unloaded already."