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

Program in the wizard's sensitive hands. Gadgets Schwarz had first proved
his skill when he bugged a VC command bunker to gain intelligence from a
Bolan-Zitka sniper-team operation. Ever since, this rare individual, crafty
and nerveless, had been an eager recruit to the blitzing warrior's Death
Squad, later to the fight against international terrorism as technical
consultant to John Phoenix's Stony Man Farm, and as full-time member of the
group's tactical squad, Able Team, secret heroes of three recent missions of
unusually blazing intensity.
The legitimate business of DonCo was technology; it followed that its
security system was of the latest state-of-the-art design. Although only a
handful of people were authorized to know it, DonCo had recently been at the
forefront of ongoing sensitive applications studies of the U.S.
Navy's newest sea-toground missile guidance systems. Every step had
been taken to guard against just the sort of covert infiltration that Bolan
and Gadgets were now carrying through.
The security facility at DonCo was proprietary, as Gadgets had
explained to his boss during the preprobe briefing, and it employed a
systems approach. This meant simply that security was on-site, tied in to a
basement guardroom, and that the entire plant had been designed with
counter-subversion in mind. The glass-and-steel-frame design embodied fixed
windows, wired with alarms that signaled breakage, accidental or otherwise;
ventilation came from a failsafed rooftop air exchanger. Every legitimate
access was limited to the front door; fire doors on the other three sides
opened only from the inside, and sounded an alarm even then. That much they
knew before the probe began. Since, they had also encountered the
close-circuit television system monitoring the grounds, the deceptively
simple lock on the front door that served as decoy to a break-to-activate
electric alarm, and the ultrasonic-wave-propagating equipment that
crisscrossed the company's lobby with invisible soundwave tripwires.
The blacksuits and some nimble footwork defeated the TV'S, while
Gadgets's sharp eye and some coaxial cable and alligator-clip probes took
out the electric alarm. A sweep with a superheterodyne receiverstdetector
revealed the frequency of the UWP transmitter, and a transistorized feedback
device neutralized it without causing a "systems failure" readout in the
guardroom.
Mack Bolan was willing to risk both of their lives, and his New War, on
the correctness of this analysis by his comrade.
The cold metal of the doorknob turned easily in his hand. He pushed
open the door and stepped into the deeper darkness of the office.
Gadgets was hot on his tail, shutting the door, running his hands
swiftly along the jamb, his sensitive fingers searching for yet another
device that could knock them out. Bolan heard him breathe out relief. "Clean
as a Stony Phone," he grinned.
They were in an outer office, a reception room.
It was completely dark. Bolan waited until Gadgets had relocked the
outer door, then flicked on his penlight for a quick-check recon. In the
sharp beam and its attendant half light, they scrutinized the decor. The
receptionists secretary's desk was a thick slab of butcher-block hardwood
set on stainless-steel legs, with a white leather swivel chair. On the desk
were a white-leather-edged calendars blotter set and a matching appointment