"Clancy, Tom - Net Force 02 - Hidden Agendas" - читать интересную книгу автора (Clancy Tom)

of steel as he ran-Michaels pulled the taser from
his belt, pointed it, and squeezed the handle. The little
red dot danced up and down on the mugger's leg, but
that didn't matter. Anywhere on the body was good.
He thumbed the firing stud-- A splash of yellow
light flared on the mugger's leg, but he kept coming.
Shit--to
Michaels grabbed the laser's cartridge with his
left hand, pressed the two buttons that ejected
it, rumbled for the spare cartridge, but it was too
late. By the time he got the thing reloaded, the mugger
was on him.
A loud buzzer blared. The mugger froze.
Damn. He should have tried for the stun-gun
backup.
The computer image to Michaels's left
strobed the letters FTS-G in bright red. Failure
to Stop--Gotcha. The tiny image of the mugger on the
proj showed the reason why. The needles were designed
to spread apart, to make the circuit's arc big enough
to work. At the distance he'd fired, the leg hadn't
been a good target. The left needle hit the
mugger's thigh square on, but the right missile had
been ten inches to the right--a clean miss. He must have
jerked his hand when he touched the firing stud. It
didn't take much to screw up the shot.
Had this been a real mugger, Michaels would have
been looking at a crushed skull--unless Toni's
silat instruction would have let him dance the crowbar and
poke the guy with the stun-gun electrodes. And he
wasn't good enough at that to trust it yet.
He shook his head in disgust. He picked up a
spare cartridge from the supply on the table and put
it into his belt holder.
He re clipped the taser to his belt.
"Reset," he told the computer.
"Two to thirty seconds random start."
He pointedly did not look at Howard and
Fernandez. He knew they'd be smiling.
Saturday, December 18th, 8:15 a.m.
Washington, D.c.
Toni sat on the lounger her oldest brother.
Junior, had given [her for Christmas three
years ago. He owned a furniture store in a
nicer section of Queens--which wasn't saying much--
bar and had gotten stuck with several chairs he
couldn't sell and [couldn't ship back, since the
manufacturing company had bar gone out of business
between the time he ordered the shipment and when it arrived.
It was a comfortable chair, but kind of a putrid,