"Michael Z. Williamson - Freehold" - читать интересную книгу автора (Williamson Michael Z)

She sat back and ran a hand through her graying waves of hair. "You know what I mean, Gun. My
regards to Secretary Abraham and I'll call him at my earliest inconvenience. Right now I am dealing with
major industrialists and billions of credits are at stake. I don't want to deal with an issue that should be
seven years dead."

"Yes, ma'am," he agreed. He didn't envy her position and wondered again why he'd elected to throw
himself into the bureaucratic rat maze. "Also: Warrant Leader McLaren says there is a car across the
street, occupied by a young blonde woman, that has been there for most of a div. She is watching the
gate."

"Great. An obvious decoy. Any sign of the real threat?" the ambassador asked. The UN and several of
its member nations loved to play spy games. Observers here, line taps there, always some kind of
low-level harassment.

"Not yet. He says his people are ready, though," Marx confirmed. He'd made sure of that himself.

"They always are," she nodded. At least the espionage kept her security people alert. "Keep me
informed. I have to smooth out some details between GM North America and GM Freehold. The UN
Secretary of External Trade is the problem. Everyone else sees the advantages of the deal."

"Yes, ma'am."
***
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Kendra became attentive as a truck pulled up to the gates. She started the motor and waited. Her plan
was to pull through after the delivery of whatever cleared the entrance. Cautiously, she gave the motor a
bit of rev to ensure it was working. It was, of course. She gasped her breath out in furious realization of
how panicky she was. She hadn't realized she'd been holding it and didn't realize she was holding the next
one. Watching the truck, she tried to judge distances and space while keeping an eye on traffic. There'd
be an opening in the flow right after that red car in her mirror.

The gates were already sliding shut on their powered rails. She stomped the accelerator while swearing,
yanked the wheel hard and pulled right behind the red vehicle while almost crashing into a pillar as she
bounced inside the embassy grounds. She immediately had to brake to avoid the truck, which was
stopped for inspection.

An armored guard leaped in front of her, pointing one of the brutal-looking weapons that the Grainne
military used. He took a step sideways as she locked her car in park and barked orders that were clearly
audible inside her little Mazda Jog as several other guards materialized from somewhere.

"Shut the motor off! Place your hands on top of the steering wheel! Reach over with your right hand and
open the door!"

She moved her left hand to comply and he bellowed, "Righthand! Place it back on the wheel! Eyes
front!" She did as he ordered, eyes nervously leaving the gun, guts knotted in fear, and saw movement
out of the corner of her left eye. One of the other guards was crawling under the area swept by the door,