"Charles Ingrid - The Sand Wars 05 - Return Fire" - читать интересную книгу автора (Ingrid Charles)

without attracting attention."

The Walker prelate ignored the disapproval flavoring Denaro's words. He
had already been through this argument with the young warrior, and he'd
already made his position clear. Storm was to be given whatever aid he
needed. Discreetly if possible, openly if necessary. "Good. Then he'll be
making contact with Gibbon this evening. Pass the word. Gibbon's offices
are to be kept clear until Storm's done his business. Then, and not before,
you can shut him down."

There was a slight hesitation before Denaro answered in the affirmative.
Colin met his gaze. He said nothing, but he knew that he was faced with a
man who might have plans of his own in the working. If so, there was
nothing he could do about it now. To vent his suspicions now might be
extremely foolhardy—and destroy what confidence Denaro had in his
leadership. To wait might lead Jack into a trap—but Colin could not avoid
that, no matter how he wished. Trust was all. He looked into Denaro's deep
black gaze.

"Good. Then all we have to do is wait. If all goes well, Jack will be back
before he goes off planet."

Denaro burst out, "That's stupidity. He'll risk incriminating you."

Colin scratched a bushy eyebrow. "Maybe," he answered slowly. "But I
have something he wants and needs very badly." He looked over Denaro's
shoulders to the hulk of white armor waiting silently and sullenly in a corner
as if it were a living, thinking thing.

Which, in many respects, it was.

Colin sat down, crossed his legs, and picked up his meditation studies.
He looked up briefly at Denaro. "Relax," he advised. "It's going to be a long
night."



Jack took almost as many blind routes as the suits did before he gathered
up the power sled, transferred the two large crates to yet another power
sled, and keyed in the address to Gibbon's disreputable offices. Nightfall
had curtained even this section of under-Malthen which was now garished
with neons and a never ending stream of humanity looking for and fulfilling
vices in a variety of ways.

Gibbon was a quiet, hardworking businessman. The neighborhood he'd
chosen to do business in was the same. Jack approached the loading dock in
the rear cautiously, scanning the building's eaves for security systems
panning the vista.

He saw none, but that didn't mean he wasn't being observed. He put the