"Michael Marshall Smith - Dying" - читать интересную книгу автора (Smith Michael Marshall)

Dying
by Michael Marshall Smith

Hell, it could be human.” “On the street?” Miranda countered, tilting her head at him
as he shrugged her coat on. “Where were you brough up?” She was excited, and not
bothering to hide it.
“Stranger things have happened. I think it’s a fake. I mean, for a start, what’s
with the black-and-white shit?”
Miranda laughed, and he swiped at her. “No pun intended. But why isn’t it on
video?” By now he too was bundling his jacket on, and enthusiasm was clearly
getting the better of him as he reached for reference books to bring along.
“I don’t know. That’s what we’ve got,” I said. “And that’s what we’re going
after. Come on, let’s move.”
Ten minutes after receiving the transfax we were out of the door. A
government car was waiting outside. Chen and I jumped into the back and as soon
as Miranda was in place we shot off toward the MegaPort.
The car was broadcasting a siren on car-communication wave, and the other
road-users were automatically shunted out of the way. It would only take about 15
minutes, but even that seemed too long. That would make it nearly half an hour after
the fax, an hour since the find, before we even left the country. Miranda chatted
breezily with the droid driver, not really listening to his answers. Chen faxed a copy
of the photo through to Central and got half a division of forensic imagers working
on it. I stared out of the window at the passing gray, drumming my hands on my
knees. Maybe this time, I thought as always, maybe this time.
I can’t really blame Chen for going on the way he does. I’m just as bad.
Pessimism is a defense mechanism, a protection against the near certainty that after a
brief flurry of joy we’ll be coming home empty-handed again. As the years go by,
and even the hoaxes get fewer and farther between, even I find it difficult to keep the
flame burning. Miranda’s good for us in that way. She’s younger, newer on the job.
She still believes, and that keeps us going through the long periods we spend
watching the transfax tray, hands near the phones, waiting for no one to call. She
doesn’t know that a few years ago we’d get a call every other month, not once or
twice a year. She doesn’t realize that it’s not that time is running out; chances are it’s
already gone. Even the hoaxers are losing interest. I know that, in my mind, but I
must still have a little faith tucked away somewhere. As must Chen, though in his
case I’m not sure it’s faith.
Miranda wrenched round in her seat to face me.
“If you don’t stop that tapping I will have to kill you. I’ll regret it for a while,
but I will have no choice.” I pulled her hair briefly, took the phone from Chen and
called our destination. They were already on standby and waiting for us, though we
wouldn’t be there until four at the earliest. As I knew they would be. I was only
calling for something to do. The guy I talked to looked tense and expectant, and
there were a couple of soldiers milling around restlessly behind him. I wondered how
they were going to kill the time until we got there.
Finally the car pulled to a halt outside the international terminal. As a waiting
official led us toward the entrance, Chen murmured to me.
“Didn’t hear back from forensic yet.”
“Must be a good fake,” I said.
“Yeah.” We looked at each other for a moment, smiled tightly, and hurried
across the concourse.