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

Nowheres, Oregon? How long you figure it'd take to drive up there from Bend,
anyway?"
"Three hours, maybe. Depends on the roads."
"So they'll just be gettin' into town when we get to Bend. What they gonna
do -- run off to Mars in a Handy Dandy Super Flying Saucer, only One Million
Dollars from our toll-free-number line, MasterCard and Visa accepted?"
She had a point, and I had to admit I was not only curious, but also a little
mad at myself. The fact was, I'd like to see these bastards, more her than him.
Okay, doll, now let's see why you don't leave no fingerprints... .
There weren't exactly flights to Bend every hour; in fact, you couldn't fly
there directly at all, but with a change in Portland, as the pair had done, it
wasn't that much of a problem. Once we decided to keep going, though, I couldn't
resist a double check. I placed a call to the airline they were using in Bend
and tried to have them paged. It was a long shot, but you figure they might be
figuring on getting picked up by somebody with the company, and it wouldn't be
that unnatural. The plane, in fact, had been late getting in, and had only been
in for a few minutes, but nobody answered the page and I finally gave up and
called the airline people to see if they were still at baggage claim. "A man and
a woman who almost look like twins," I told the baggage office.
"Oh, yeah, they just left," said the guy. "Hold on and I'll see if I can spot
"em." He kept me hanging for about five minutes, then came back. "Sorry. I think
they rented a car at Hertz, though. You might check them."
I did and they had, but they were gone now. The best I could get, even with my
phony-cop approach, was that they were driving a new Oldsmobile, and she
remembered them particularly, not only because they looked so much alike, but
because they'd requested a Cadillac. Still, having the make, model, and license
number wasn't bad, particularly since I knew damned well where they were going.
What was most interesting was that they had rented the car for a week.
Now, that might not seem like much, but nobody rents a car for a week when
they're only going to need it for a couple of days -- unless it's fantastically
cheaper to do so, and it certainly wasn't -- and they particularly wouldn't if
somebody else, say their friend in the company, was going to return it. That
certainly implied that they expected to be around the place for a while and
needed wheels for the whole period. They were pretty confident, I had to say
that, still using the Curry name, which had to be in the federal files by now,
and still using a credit card in that name. Given a couple of more days for the
bureaucracy and procedures, even Kennedy or Little Jimmy could have tracked them
here, at least to Bend. Without that business card, though, they might not
figure on McInerney, not unless it was in fact a big Whitlock account.
I called Little Jimmy from the airport in Bend, while Brandy was filling out the
car-rental form. It was four in the afternoon, but I'd almost forgotten the time
difference and it was seven back at that phone booth.
"I got him," I told the contact. "Ready to deliver."
"Call the number I'm gonna give ya," the punk replied, sounding not at all
impressed. "The man said to tell you to call it no matter when you called or
why. Do it now."
I took down the number, puzzled, and called it, and was very surprised to hear
Little Jimmy's voice on the other end of the line. He listened while I told him
everything to date.
"Well, drop it," he responded. "Keep the dough, keep the cards until the end of