"Brian Lumley - Psychomech 01 - Psychomech" - читать интересную книгу автора (Lumley Brian)

crowded lobby and missing nothing. Twenty yards down the road an ambulance wailed to a halt, its blue lights
flashing. A crowd of uniformed RUC men parted and a stretcher was lifted, borne to the rear of the ambulance. The
pavement was red with blood. Farther down the road a blanket had been thrown over a crumpled human figure. One
foot, the shoe loose, protruded. There was blood there, too. A lot of it.
Schroeder and Koenig ran up the hotel steps and were confronted by the MP. He was very young, perhaps twenty,
a Corporal. ‘Sorry, sir,’ he said, his voice sharp but not nervous. ‘They’re checking for bombs. You can’t go in there.’
‘Bombs?’ Schroeder’s voice climbed the scale. ‘Bombs? My child is in there!’ He made no mention of his wife.
‘Don’t worry, sir,’ said the Corporal. ‘They’re starting to evacuate now, and—’
‘You don’t understand,’ said Koenig, stepping forward. ‘This gentleman is Herr Thomas Schroeder. Those bombs, if
there are any, are meant for him - and for his family! And his wife will stay exactly where she is until he goes to collect
her. We have to—’
‘Hold it!’ the Corporal snapped. ‘And don’t try to pressure me, friend. I’m just doing my job. Wait a second.’ He
looked along the street. ‘Sergeant!’ he yelled. ‘Hey, Sarge - give us a second, can you?’
A landrover with Military Police plates and Makralon panels stood parked on the kerb, its blue light soundlessly
whirling. The MP Sergeant crouched at its open door, speaking rapidly into the mouthpiece of a radio-telephone. He
looked up as the Corporal shouted, spotted the group of three, nodded, finished his conversation and hurried over.
‘What’s up?’ he asked, mounting the steps.
‘Sarge, this is Thomas Schroeder,’ said the Corporal. ‘He thinks all this was for him. He has family in there.’
‘Well, we can’t help that, my old son,’ the Sergeant answered. He looked nervous, his finger lay along the
trigger-guard of his SMG. He turned to Schroeder. ‘You see, sir—’
Til see you demoted to Private if you don’t let me through!’ Schroeder snarled. ‘My baby—’ He grabbed at the front
of the Sergeant’s flak-jacket.
‘Sarge,’ said the Corporal, staring hard at his superior. ‘This is the Thomas Schroeder. Look, his wife isn’t going to
make a move until he goes in for her. I mean him, personally. Let me go with him, eh?’
The Sergeant bit his lip. He glanced at Schroeder, Koenig, back at the Corporal. There was sweat on his forehead
under his cap. ‘OK, go get them out - but make it snappy. It’ll be my neck if anything goes wrong! Go on, move it - I’ll
get another man on the door here.’ He put his fingers to his teeth and whistled, and a Military Policewoman came
hurrying from the landrover.
‘Thank you!’ Schroeder gasped. And again: ‘Thank you!’ He turned to Koenig. ‘Willy, you wait here. We’ll send for
the luggage later. It’s not important.’ He ran in through the doors with the Corporal close behind. ‘Corporal,’ he called
back, ’what’s your name?’
‘Garrison, sir.’
‘Garrison? A soldier’s name.’ He was panting, but not from any real exertion. Garrison guessed his talking was to
hide his fear. Fear for his wife and child, not for himself. ‘And your first name?’
 ‘Richard, sir.’
‘The Lionheart, eh? Well, Richard Garrison, you’re a sharp man and I like you for it.’ He thumbed impatiently for the
lift, then jammed his thumb tight down on the button until the doors hissed open and the cage ejected a crush of
white-faced people. ‘I'll see to it that your commanding officer hears about the help you gave me.’
Thank you, sir, but I’d rather you didn’t. He’d only charge me with endangering my own life, or some such. That’s
what’s bothering the Sarge, see?’
Schroeder’s eyes grew large behind his spectacles. ‘Then they really do suspect a bomb?’
They’re searching the upper and lower floors now, sir. Working towards the middle.’
The middle? My child is on the fifth floor!’
At the fifth they hurried from the lift into a corridor filled with people. A dozen of them immediately crammed
themselves into the lift and its doors slid shut. ‘My rooms are 504 through 508,’ Schroeder said, pushing past hurrying
people. ‘My wife has 506. That’s where she’ll be - with Heinrich.’
In front of them the corridor had almost cleared of people. Only a few remained, all looking startled and asking what
was happening. As they arrived at 506 the door burst open. Two wide-eyed youths, neither one of them more than
eighteen years old, rushed out and collided with the Colonel. He was sent reeling - but not before they had recognized
him.