"Kenneth Robeson - Doc Savage 122 - The King of Terror" - читать интересную книгу автора (Robeson Kenneth)

was the army going to get around to needing them.
“Oh, my, I feel conspicuous,” Francis declared. “Suppose we seem to conduct a bit of a business
transaction, by way of making ourselves less obvious.”

So they acted like two gentlemen with a transaction. They made it good, actually, with Francis selling
Percy an automobile which had three good tires, but one that unfortunately wasn't so good. They had a
good deal of give-and-take over the condition of the fourth tire, and what brand it was, how many miles
were in it, and then Doc Savage came out of the elevator.

It was very skillful the way neither Percy nor Francis seemed aware that Doc Savage was stepping out of
the private elevator.

“Ah, the time is one thirty,” said Francis.

“Mr. Savage's lunch hour,” Percy agreed.

“With the Scientific Club?”

“Yes, with the Scientific Club,” said Percy quietly. “"The Scientific Club members are going to be
disappointed, aren't they?”

Percy and Francis were dropping the innocent brown wrapping-paper sheaths off a pair of submachine
guns.

“Probably they'll be disappointed,” Francis agreed. “Am I right in believing Mr. Savage is president of
the Scientific Club?”

They were ready now. “You shoot high.”

“Right. You shoot low,” Percy said.



THE roar of the guns in the small hall, in the great lobby of the building, was thunder a thousandfold.

First burst of the weapons seemed to take Doc Savage in the upper chest. His coat front and shirt and
necktie got ragged, and his chest lost shape. The little machine guns could turn out seven or eight hundred
bullets a minute. They fired at Doc Savage in bursts for fully half a minute. Maybe two hundred bullets
from each gun. Four hundred in all. And not more than twenty-five or so missed his body.

Percy and Francis saw the bullets do to Doc Savage's body what that many .45-caliber bullets would do
to a body. Any single .45-caliber slug would kill a man, which was why as far back as 1909 the army
adopted the caliber as its official side arm.

They saw Doc Savage's arms and legs get joints where there were no joints, even before he had folded
to the floor. And after he was on the floor they saw the body kick and twitch as long as their guns
roared.

It was a hideous transformation from life to death. Doc Savage, when he had stepped out of the elevator,
had been before them as a fine physical specimen, a giant of a man bronzed by tropical suns, with strange