"Chalker, Jack L - G.O.D. Inc 3 - The Maze in the Mirror" - читать интересную книгу автора (Chalker Jack L)

should be more than a match for an Econoline van.
Far trickier would be getting the hole into the rooms for the gas line. If these
guys were rotating almost hourly, then somebody, maybe most of them, were up in
there. The audio monitors indicated that somebody in the room next to the one in
which they thought Dash was in bed was watching an old movie on the TV. Sam
hoped it was something loud and not inappropriate. He much preferred The Final
Option to, say, Assault on Precinct Thirteen.
It seemed like an eternity before they were properly set up, and just at the
time when they were going to turn on the pulsers some bastard got out of the far
van to smoke and check out the area. It was a nerve-wracking extra ten minutes
before the man, who appeared to have a nice little Uzi submachine gun under one
arm, lazily decided to get back in, and when he did another decided to come out.
Time was running out; if this went on, they'd have to wait until the next guard
change.
When the second man got back in his van, though, all seemed quiet, and Markham,
figuring they still had time and not wanting to stall any longer, gave the
signal. Anybody who might emerge from this point would be taken out by marksmen
using super-silent stun rifles.
The gas team was ready, dressed all in black and with rubber-soled tennis shoes
for extra quiet, but they remained well back until the vans were secured. At
Markham's whispered signal through the communicators, both pulsers emitted a
single, and to Sam, inordinately loud whump! whump! burst. For the briefest of
moments the whole lot was lit, as if by lightning, and the two vans shuddered
slightly. They waited another minute to be sure, but all that could be heard
from the vans was a very low crackling sound, then nothing. Both engines had
died, apparently shut down by the pulses, producing an extra measure of quiet.
Now the gas team moved, in cat-like silence and with true military precision.
They reached the end of the block, then a pair scrunched down and made their way
to the first air conditioner opening, while the others had weapons and grenades
at the ready for an instant assault on the rooms if needed. All wore
communications helmets, but the only sound coming from them was low breathing.
The helmets were strictly to receive orders.
There was a low-intensity red beam from something in the hand of one gas team
member, and then it was aimed at a spot where the air conditioner emerged from
the wall and it was virtually invisible to the watchers. A very tiny laser
melted its little hole in the wall. It was quick; the first man put his drill
away and actually peered down and looked in the hole. Satisfied, he moved
silently to the second room while the other man laid down a cotton wad on the
concrete and then placed a small canister on it so quietly that no one could
hear a thing. The small tubing was then affixed to the tube, then inserted just
barely into the hole, and the canister was activated.
By this time, the first man had his hole burned in the second room and now
another team member came in with another canister and repeated the actions of
the first. The audio monitor continued to broadcast the low level TV show in one
room and there were snores from the other. The TV would remain on, but when the
snores ceased they would know that the level of gas was sufficient to have put
them under.
At that moment the monitors relayed the sound of a toilet flushing in the TV
room and then a man's low voice said something in Spanish that Sam couldn't
catch, not knowing much of the language anyway. Somebody mumbled a reply, even