"Dean Ing & Mack Reynolds - Deathwish World" - читать интересную книгу автора (Ing Dean)

as an antique. Restore it—something like colonial Williamsburg over in
Virginia. You could put up a big sign for the tourists: 'New Salem, Bible
Belt Town, Circa 1900.' "
They ascended the stairs to the second floor. Thus far they had seen
nobody at all, which was understandable. They had counted on the total
population being down at the park for the political rally. Aside from
Tri-Di, there was precious little in the way of local entertainment.
On the second floor, the largest of the three men looked up and down
the hall, dipped a hand into his side pocket, and brought forth a pair of
thin black gloves. His right hand went back into the pocket of his
shorts and came forth with a key. He unlocked the door and all three
filed through quickly. He locked the door behind him.
The other two put their attaché cases and the cane on the room's
center table and also donned gloves. They seemed in no hurry. They
took out handkerchiefs and carefully wiped the cane and case with
professional care.
Their leader, a black, went through the small apartment, which
consisted of bedroom, bath, and kitchen, besides the living room into
which they had entered, and checked it out carefully. He, too, had left
his attaché case on the table after wiping it clean.
His companions looked about at the nondescript furniture, which
included a broken couch and an old-fashioned rocking chair.
The two were of dark complexion, but there the resemblance ended.
One was tall, wiry, and cougarlike of movement, black of hair and eye.
The other was below average height, stocky, muscular. He tended to
smile, while his companion was stoic of expression in keeping with his
Amerind tradition. The smaller man was Latino.
The stocky one said, "Look, civilization." He pointed at the sole
representative of modern furnishing, a small Tri-Di set.
The black, who had checked out the other rooms, returned and said,
"Wizard, let's get the show roadbound."
Jose Zavalla took up the walking stick and began to unscrew the handle.
His limp was gone. The handle came away and he upended the cane to
let its contents slide gently into his right hand. It was a metallic tube
about three feet long, threaded on one end externally, internally on the
other. He laid it back on the table.
"Jesus, it's light," he said.
Tom Horse, the Indian, who was opening the two attaché cases, said,
"Titanium alloy."
The sole contents of the hand luggage consisted of seven items, all
carefully wrapped in foam rubber. Tom took them out gingerly, one by
one, and laid them in a row on the table.
He said, "How's it look up the road, Hamp?"
Hamp was the black, a well-built, dark-chocolate man with features
more Caucasian than Bantu. He went over to the middle of the three
curtained windows that lined the street side of the room. He pulled one
curtain aside a bit and peered out, looking toward the north. From a
jacket pocket he brought forth a small monoscope, twisted it open, and
took off both lens shields. He put the eyepiece to his right eye,
adjusted the focus.