"Дон Пендлтон. Renegade Agent ("Палач" #47) " - читать интересную книгу автора

darkness.
"Exactly one hundred thousand possible code combos, pal, Colonel
Phoenix, sir!" Gadgets smiled. Then his brows knit in concentration as he
made rapid mental calculation. "It would only take us maybe 28 hours to go
through them, hitting one a second." He shook his head to himself. "There's
another way, though, Sarge. Risky, but..."
"But we're this far into the cold damned chamber," quietly finished the
warrior. "Let's play it."
Gadgets was already unzipping his military chest-pack, eagerly plucking
tools and instruments from its interior.
Two Philips-head screws held the panel to the wall. "Charon is using a
number-code system, which tells us that other people besides him have access
to his office," Gadgets whispered as he went to work on them. "If he were
the only one, he'd use a voice-activated circuit, or a thumbprint reader."
The panel came free and Schwarz placed it on the carpeting, set the screws
carefully in the holes. "That could mean other people have access to his
terminal, maybe even his user code. If so, it makes life a lot easier for
us.... Uh-oh. Command decision time, Sarge. The numbers just stacked up
against us. In a big way."
Beneath where the panel had been, Bolan saw a circuit board covered
with microcomponents and a second one with two parallel vertical rows of ten
terminals. To each of these terminals on the second circuit ran a wire coded
in a different colored insulation.
"Here's what you have to know, Sarge," Gadgets said. "This is
essentially a simple device. When the circuit reads the correct five-digit
code, it trips a relay. The relay trips a breaker, the breaker completes a
circuit, the circuit activates a mechanical delock. So all you have to do is
hotwire the code reader-make it think the right code has been punched in."
Gadgets pointed to one of the vertical rows of terminals. "That means
clipping a wire from one of these-was he indicated the other row to one of
these. The only question is, which pair?"
"And if you come up with the wrong answer?" ( Bolan asked in a voice
like blighted night.
Gadgets wiped a sleeve of his blacksuit across his forehead. "It'll
blow our heads off. It's trip-rigged."
Mack Bolan's decision made itself. "All right. It goes that way
sometimes. Now let's pull..."
"Sarge," Gadgets cut in. His voice was soft, but there was no weariness
in it, the assurance was full and rich. "I can crack it." In Gadgets
Schwarz's statement there was no tentativeness. It was a simple expression
of fact.
The lighted numerals of the chronometer on Bolan's left wrist read
0132:30 A.M.
He gave Gadgets the go-ahead with a nod, said "Mark," and turned away.
His respect for this fighting man seemed to resound in the silence.
He smiled calmly. Behind him there was no sound as Gadgets studied
resistors, transistors, capacitors, detonator ( the components of the
accesser.
The filing cabinet against the wall was locked, and Bolan did not try
to force it. Little of interest would be kept on paper in a company like