"Chalker, Jack L - G.O.D. Inc 1 - Labyrinth of Dreams" - читать интересную книгу автора (Chalker Jack L)

of a real officious clerk at one of the airlines. I'd been afraid that they
might have used general aviation, which would have been really tricky, but
fortunately they took the quick route. In fact, they flew up there only that
very morning, about the time I started my calls. I cursed myself for letting
lust get ahead of business. If I hadn't needed cheering up and lots of romantic
reassurances, I could have been there at the ticket counter when they showed up.
The fact is, nobody flies to Bend, Oregon, while on the run, so the
million-to-one shot had been right. They were going to visit G.O.D.'s mountain,
no question about that. I wondered why they'd delayed in San Francisco, but then
it hit me. They needed time to set this up -- this was a run, not a planned escape,
after all -- and maybe they wanted to see San Francisco. At any rate, they wouldn't
risk any calls from Philly to McInerney, simply because it would stand out, and
because if Whitlock handled that account it would be monitored by the feds.
They'd wait until they were here, with no way in hell to monitor their calls.
Brandy was watching TV when I got back up to the room -- I didn't want those calls
recorded by any motel operator, after all -- and she turned and pointed. "Look!" I
looked.
"... This miracle space-age device remembers up to a hundred phone numbers,
including area codes, up to thirty-two digits. You just put it to the mouth of
any touch-tone phone and press the coded buttons like this!"
"What?" I managed, but she held up a hand. Soon the Superdialer number card was
on the screen, with toll-free number and all the credit cards it took, so you
could rush to your phone and buy one for only $39.95 plus $3 shipping and
handling.
"There. Right at the bottom. See?"
Sure enough, in real tiny print right at the bottom it said, general ordering
and development, inc., davenport, iowa. That was the home office.
I had always meant to ask Brandy about Pet-er-cize, but now I didn't think I
wanted to know.
"So, what's the story?" she asked me.
"The story is that we were within a mile of 'em two hours ago, and they are
probably still somewhere in the Bend airport this minute," I told her. "We sure
blew it last night."
"You mean I did. But who'd have thought they'd still be around? They sure ain't
movin' fast for folks with all creation after 'em. I guess we get dressed as we
are and grab a bite at the airport, huh?"
"You know we don't have to," I pointed out. "We did the job. We actually
completed the commission. All I have to do is call Little Jimmy, and tell him
that Whitlock's in McInerney and has contacts or confederates in this company,
and that's it. That's all he asked us to do."
"You know -- you're right. I hadn't really thought about it." She gave a big grin.
"So the super-detectives did the job and proved it all! We beat the feds, the
mob, everybody!" She paused a moment, thinking. "Still, can you really give it
up now? I mean, never know who the hell she was, or what all this was about?"
I didn't have to think much about it. "For a percentage of two and a quarter
million, most likely ninety percent recoverable by Little Jimmy's friends; yeah,
I could forget about it. It might drive me nuts, but I'd be rich and nuts, which
beats poor and knowing any day of the week."
"Sheeitt," she responded. "Let's call him from the Bend airport. It won't take
much risk to us. I mean, where the hell could they go in a few hours from