"Дон Пендлтон. Doomsday Disciples ("Палач" #49) " - читать интересную книгу автора

it could take to drive in from Berkeley. Sarah would be coming in on
Interstate 80, across the Oakland Bay Bridge, but once inside the city, any
number of routes could bring her into Haight-Ashbury. What was it - ten or
twelve miles at most? There shouldn't be much traffic at that hour, but Amy
wasn't sure.
She tried to calm herself, running down a list of things that could
slow Sarah down. She was probably asleep when Amy called: she would have to
dress, brush her hair. If Sarah had company, there would have to be an
explanation. There were toll booths on the bridge. She might have to stop
for gas, or some coffee to keep herself awake.
It never occurred to Amy that her friend would let her down, forget
about her promise and decide not to come. She would be there, given time.
For the first time, Amy was aware of her hunger. She prowled the tiny
kitchenette, coming up with a soda and sandwich filling, then settled down
to eat. Twice she paused, listening to footsteps in the corridor outside,
and each time they passed, fading in the distance. Each time she sat waiting
for her racing pulse to stabilize, willing herself to stop trembling.
Amy was clearing the remains of her frugal meal when another footstep
sounded in the hallway - soft and slow, like somebody looking for a landmark
in unfamiliar territory. Slowing even more, the footsteps faltered then
stopped outside her apartment.
Sarah!
She was on her feet and moving toward the door when something held her
back. A feeling, vague uneasiness without form or focus. She jumped at the
sound of knocking on the door.
Two quick taps, a pause, and two more, separated by perhaps five
seconds.
It was the signal she arranged with Sarah.
Giddy with relief, Amy reached the door in two strides and quickly
unfastened the chain. She hesitated for a heartbeat with her hand on the
doorknob, then turned it, feeling the locking mechanism disen...
Before she could pull it back, the door flung open with a powerful
blow. It caught her in the chest and drove her back, reeling and stunned by
the impact. Two men crowded through the open entrance, one taking time to
slam the door.
Amy had never seen either of them, but she knew at a glance what they
were. There was no time to think of Sarah, or wonder how the men found her.
Amy didn't even think of screaming as the pair advanced on her, reaching out
with grasping hands.
Still recovering from pain and shock, she made her move. She ducked the
nearest "elder's" lunge, sliding underneath his arm and dodging toward the
kitchenette. Along the way, she scooped up the telephone and hurled it at
her enemies. One deflected it with an arm, cursing as he came after her.
Both were grabbing her as she reached the sink, fingers scrabbling for
the knife she used to make her sandwich. As she reached it, she was struck
between the shoulder blades, driven hard against the counter's edge. She
gasped painfully, dropping the knife to the floor.
Blunt fingers seized her shoulder and spun her around. Amy brought up
her knee, aiming for the nearest unprotected groin. Her target saw it coming
and turned to protect himself. A hard-muscled thigh absorbed the blow.