"Дон Пендлтон. Renegade Agent ("Палач" #47) " - читать интересную книгу автора

Herman "Gadgets" Schwarz went past him in the darkened hallway and
crouched in front of the solitary inner door.
Bolan followed, his sneakered feet sinking soundlessly into deep-pile
carpet. This was the upper floor of the two-story headquarters and
laboratories of a company named DonCo.
Half-hidden in the piney woods off of Route 128, which ringed Boston,
neither the building nor its name was particularly well known to the general
public; if they thought of it at all, it was as just another electronics
outfit along technology row. But, in fact, DonCo was one of the most
successful and well-regarded hi-tech think tanks in the country.
Bolan pulled a high-intensity narrow-beam penlight from a belt pouch
and clicked it on, focusing the arrow-thin ray of illumination on the lock
set flush into the door. Gadgets leaned closer, ran sensitive probing
fingers over its surface.
"Yale type." he muttered. "Double acentric cylinders, shielded turn
blers." He looked up at Bolan. "One of your socalled unpickables."
"Can you take it?" Bolan asked.
Gadgets grinned in the dim light but did not answer. He was already
unzipping a flat leather case the size of a pocket calculator, removing a
delicate looking wire-thin instrument.
Mack Bolan had no doubt that Gadgets could "take" the lock; the cool,
painstaking Able Team member had not come by his nickname lightly.
He had already performed technological magic several times this night
and the hard part was still to come.
This was a softprobe only, a nighttime penetration for purposes of
surveillance and intelligence.
Although both men wore concealing blacksuits and dark cosmetic goop on
hands and face, neither carried lethal weaponry. The only people they might
conceivably encounter within the bowels of the think tank tonight, Saturday,
would be security guards, innocent folk completely unaware of DonCo's dark
underbelly-noncombatants, whom Bolan had no intention of drawing into his
war.
The immediate mission required that their presence go totally
undetected by all means, both while in progress and after execution. If
their tampering were later discovered, all would be for nothing. From the
earliest days of his war against the Mafia, Mack Bolan was aware of the
parallel existences of law and expediency. His respect for law was second to
no man's. Yet he knew full well that expediency must rule when the ponderous
workings of law conspire, however innocently, to protect a traitor's yellow
hide.
Bolan heard the soft snick of tumblers falling into line. "Got it,
Sarge," Gadgets murmured. "I think."
The Executioner flicked off the penlight as Gadgets replaced his
lockpick and straightened.
"Wired for backup?" Bolan suggested.
"No," Gadgets said firmly. "That I'm sure of."
Still, Bolan tensed as he palmed the brass door knob. A remote alarm
sounding off somewhere would be disastrous for absolute sure. Yet there was
no other man Bolan would have chosen for this mission than Gadgets. Stony
Man One could afford to place his fate and the fate of the entire Stony