"Джон Варли. Платежное поручение(engl) " - читать интересную книгу автора

key, releasing the magnetic lock.
"What shall we do, take him in? Actually, we don't --"
"Wait." The driver stepped out. The other two went with him, closing
and locking the doors behind them. They stood on the pavement before the
Security Station, talking.
Jennings sat silently, staring down at the floor. The SP wanted to know
about Rethrick Construction. Well, there was nothing he could tell them.
They had come to the wrong person, but how could he prove that? The whole
thing was impossible. Two years wiped clean from his mind. Who would believe
him? It seemed unbelievable to him, too.
His mind wandered, back to when he had first read the ad. It had hit
home, hit him direct. Mechanic wanted, and a general outline of the work,
vague, indirect, but enough to tell him that it was right up his line. And
the pay! Interviews at the Office. Tests, forms. And then the gradual
realization that Rethrick Construction was finding all about him while he
knew nothing about them. What kind of work did they do? Construction, but
what kind? What sort of machines did they have? Fifty thousand credits for
two years. . .
And he had come out with his mind washed clean. Two years, and he
remembered nothing. It took him a long time to agree to that part of the
contract. But he had agreed.
Jennings looked out the window. The three officers were still talking
on the sidewalk, trying to decide what to do with him. He was in a tough
spot. They wanted information he couldn't give, information he didn't know.
But how could he prove it? How could he prove that he had worked two years
and come out knowing no more than when he had gone in! The SP would work him
over. It would be a long time before they'd believe him, and by that time --
He glanced quickly around. Was there any escape? In a second they would
be back. He touched the door. Locked, the triple-ring magnetic locks. He had
worked on magnetic locks many times. He had even designed part of a trigger
core. There was no way to open the doors without the right code key. No way,
unless by some chance he could short out the lock. But with what?
He felt in his pockets. What could he use? If he could short the locks,
blow them out, there was a faint chance. Outside, men and women were
swarming by, on their way home from work. It was past five; the great office
buildings were shutting down, the streets were alive with traffic. If he
once got out they wouldn't dare fire. If he could get out.
The three officers separated. One went up the steps into the Station
building. In a second the others would reenter the cruiser. Jennings dug
into his pocket, bringing out the code key, the ticket stub, the wire. The
wire! Thin wire, thin as human hair. Was it insulated? He unwound it
quickly. No.
He knelt down, running his fingers expertly across the surface of the
door. At the edge of the lock was a thin line, a groove between the lock and
the door. He brought the end of the wire up to it, delicately maneuvering
the wire into the almost invisible space. The wire disappeared an inch or
so. Sweat rolled down Jennings' forehead. He moved the wire a fraction of an
inch, twisting it. He held his breath. The relay should be --
A flash.
Half blinded, he threw his weight against the door. The door fell open,