"Philip E. High - The Artifact" - читать интересную книгу автора (High Phillip E)

I thanked him both for his understanding and his patience but he brushed it aside. “Let's run along to the
science section and see what they've cooked up.”

I was shaken when I got there. In a few short days with a highly elusive subject they had unearthed more
about Berenof than he knew himself. What he ate and drank, all his con-techniques and the type of
woman he favored.

On top of all this, they had constructed a three-dimensional image which was standing under a light in the
show section. A tall, not unhandsome man of about forty, with well-cut features and dark, wavy hair.

“Any idea where he is?” enquired Ransome as we left the building.

“An inclination only, a map would help.”

Presented with it, I drew a circle. “I feel he's somewhere in that area.”

Ransome frowned at it. “Big, must take in a square K at least. It's well in to the suburbs but close to the
city limits with a main thoroughfare running right through it; a close rat-run that. On the other hand, he can
only move around at peak hours in the center of crowds. As a crook he must know that every building in
the city is sewn with micro-surveillance units that are now looking for his image. The units only want one
clear shot and they'll scream blue murder.”

I had to put a lid on his enthusiasm. “Sorry, Chief, but I have the feeling, only the feeling, mind you, that
it's not going to be that easy. Further, I feel that time is on his side.”

He frowned. “A right barrel of laughs you are.” Obviously he was beginning to trust me despite his
words. “We'll have to try and smoke him out, flood the area with spy-eyes for a start. A few house to
house searches might shift him; that sort of thing gets around like wild fire.”

Two days later a likeness was picked by a micro-unit. It was, Ransome admitted, only a likeness and not
an outright positive but it was enough to make a move. Our precinct, however, was not the only one to
do so.

When we arrived there were at least thirty armed men under the command of District Commander
Shering—not a man I cared for. He had a florid, petulant face and deep-set little button eyes. He always
bellowed his commands and was known locally as The Bull Frog.

I soon learned, from listening to immediate conversations, that with these men nothing had changed.
News from our sector had been ignored; as far as they were concerned Berenof had been done to death
and his affairs taken over by an almost exact double.

I watched as armed men encircled a derelict building that had once held furniture. It was a low,
discolored plastic building with four steps leading up to wide closed door. Apparently recognizable life
emanations were detectable on doors and surrounds.

An emanation is only detectable for thirty minutes, after which it fades. The wanted man must, therefore,
be in the building.

“Officer Krole! Officer Martel!” Shering's bellowing voice seemed to fill the entire street. “Enter building