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

The patrolman looked in his direction and said, "The problem is you have an Interstate blocked off, and
no one reported the accident."
Ramon nodded, as if he understood exactly the officer's problem. "Things have been chaotic hereтАФone
hell of a mess. I guess everyone's been concentrating on the cleanup. . . " Ramon stepped past the barriers
and held his left hand out to the officer. "Henry Anderson, Great Lakes Trucking."
The officer looked at him incredulously for a moment, still holding the microphone in his right hand.
After a moment he took Ramon's hand with his left. "Your men here said that they'd already reported it."
"They probably assumed that someone else had called it in." Ramon talked calmly, looking directly into
the patrolman's eyes. He tightened his grip on the patrolman's hand as he spoke, and the moment before the
man realized something was wrong, Ramon's fist slammed into his throat.
The patrolman let out a shuddering gasp, dropped the microphone, and collapsed to his knees. His right
hand reached for the holster at his belt, but Ramon brought his boot down on the man's wrist, shattering the
bone. The officer tried to pull his arm away, but Ramon still held him.
Ramon yelled at one of the men behind him, "Don't just stand there, grab his gun."
One of the men stepped forward and pulled the weapon out of the patrolman's holster.
The patrolman's struggles were becoming weaker. His breath was little more than a hollow wheeze.
Ramon called the other man forward and the two of them manhandled the near-unconscious and
barely-struggling officer into the patrol car. The dispatcher was calling, trying to talk to the man, the voice
was just starting to sound concerned. Ramon shut off the radio.
He drove the patrol car over to the breakdown lane just on the other side of the barriers. Once it was
parked, Ramon looked at the unconscious cop and felt for a pulse. "Give me his gun," he said quietly.
"What are you doing?" asked one of his men.
"What do you think?" Ramon said as he took the gun. "He can identify me."
Ramon put a single shot through the patrolman's left eye.
By the time the officer was dealt with, the Daedalus had been transferred and the IMS truck had been
pulled over to the side of the road about a hundred yards ahead of the highway patrol car. The driver and
the guard were both handcuffed in the back of the trailer.
The two Mack trucks pulled away from the scene, headed for Washington D.C., while behind them a
half-dozen flares slowly guttered out. The theft had taken less than twelve minutes.




1.00
Thur. Feb. 12

DETECTIVE Gideon Malcolm sat at his desk, looking over the details of a search warrant when he heard
Raphael's voice from behind him.
"Someone here call for an FBI agent?"
Gideon turned around. Before he was quite aware of what he was saying, he said, "What are you doing
here?"
Raphael frowned. "So, Bro, the reason you called me on the phone rather than the District Liaison is
because you didn't want me involved."
Gideon shook his head and stood up. "Come on, you know that's not what I meant."
"You know, if you don't want me here, I can just pack up andтАФ"
Gideon grabbed Raphael's arm. "Come here, you bastard."
Gideon pulled him forward, and the two joined in an embrace that was half hug and half wrestling
match. After they broke apart, Gideon said, "You could have warned me you were coming. I thought you
were assigned to New York."
"I wasтАФam. But your call gave me an excuse to come down and visit. I mean I haven't seen you since