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.Thepoodle, a well-trained neutered male, had been rented from the Not theBrothers Dog Kennel, in upstate New York.A thousand dollars a week, thepooch, and worth every penny.The little dog sniffed the base of anornamental cherry tree planted next to the walk, lifted his leg andwatered the trunk."Good boy, Scout," the Selkie said.Anybody closeenough to have heard her--and nobody was--would have recognized thetones of an old lady, the voice by long decades of hard work and toomany cigarettes.She wore an ankle-length cotton-print dress, a thincotton sweater and stout, sensible, lace-up Rockport walking shoes overblack knee socks.Her hair was white and fluffed up into a rounded perm.The latex mask and makeup she wore had taken her an hour and a half toapply, and should pass inspection from five feet in broad daylight.Shewas in some apparent pain as she shuffled along--the right hip wasbad--but she was bearing it for the sake of her good boy Scout, whostopped to sniff every tree or bush, careful to mark as his own allthose with scents from previous canine passersby.She was also hot, herface itched and the stink of latex and face powder was thick, but therewas no help for that.The Selkie knew exactly what the watchers saw whenthey looked at her: somebody's arthritic granny, out walking her littledog before going home to bed.And home was only three blocks away,rented in a hurry, but using her current disguise.If she wasstopped--and she wouldn't be--she had an address that justified herbeing here, and a pedigree better than the dog's.She was Mrs.PhyllisMarkham, retired from her job of forty-one years as a bookkeeper for thestate government, at the capital in Albany.Her husband Raymond hadpassed away last October, and Phyllis had finally moved to Washington soshe could spend her spare time visiting the museums, which she loved.Have you seen the new Russian capsule on display at the Air and Space?Page 108 ABC Amber Palm Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcpalm.htmlOr that gray 1948 Tucker they confiscated from some drug dealer?Mrs.Markham's daughter Sarah lived in Philadelphia, and her son Brucewas the manager of a Dodge truck dealership in Denver.Her backgroundwas all in place, and any kind of computer check would vet it.She couldbore the leg off a clothes-store dummy reciting it in her dull andscratchy voice, too.She carried no obvious weapons, nothing to give heraway, save the disguised electronics that nobody would recognize forwhat they were if they happened to see them.Then again, the cane shepretended to need was a three-foot length of hand-crafted hickory,sanded' furniture-smooth and lovingly oiled, made by Cane Masters, asmall company in Incline Village, Nevada.Cane Masters specialized inbuilding perfectly legal weapons for serious martial artists.Anexpert--and the Selkie was certainly that-could beat somebody to a dead pulp with a walking stick such as the oneshe carried, and do so without breaking a sweat.A mugger who looked ather and saw somebody's tired and helpless old granny and an easy score,well--that would be a big mistake.And possibly his last mistake if shechose to make it so.When she was at the first condo past the target's,she whispered, loud enough for the dog to hear but not the agents:"Scout, dump."The little poodle was very well trained.He stopped, squatted and left alittle pile on the grass next to the edge of the walk.With someapparent effort, the old lady bent and half squatted, and scooped thepoop up with a little cardboard-and-plastic container designed for thatpurpose."Good boy, Scout!" she said, loud enough for the agents to hearthis time.She proceeded onward, seemingly oblivious to the young menplaying chess in the car across the street.She would bet dollars toPage 109 ABC Amber Palm Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcpalm.htmldimes they'd be smiling.Aw, look at that, isn't that cute, old granny'slittle toy dog crapping on the grass.She didn't know if the guards werepermanent--probably not, but it didn't matter.Two men in a parked caron a street were not much of a threat.Now they had seen her as shewished them to see her.She would be back in the morning, and again atnight, for at least the next week, perhaps longer.Soon, the day andnight sets of guards would file her away under "harmless." Mrs.PhyllisMarkham was but one of several shadows who might become an unseen partof the target's life.Another one was an office temp who could soon goto work for the Marines Civilian Liaison Office at Quantico.There was anew driver for a Taco Tio lunch wagon that sometimes fed part of theFBI, and half-a-dozen other possibilities, if necessary.Shewould chose the ones best suited, after she had done a little moreobservation.And if it was Phyllis Markham who drew the assignment todelete the target, he would probably die quietly in his bed one night inthe next week or two, with nobody the wiser.The old lady could circlearound the condo after the deed was done, then walk right past theagents assigned to watch the target, and they would never have a clue.By the time anybody knew the target was dead, the poodle would be backin upstate New York at his kennel, and the old lady would have ceased toexist."Let's go around the block and go home, Scout.What do youthink?"The toy poodle wagged his tail.He was a sweet pup.And just like theT-shirt said, the more she learned about people, the better she likeddogs.Monday, September 20th, 8:17 a.m.Kiev Colonel Howard had just finisheda field-strip and reassembly on the H&K G3A3Z assault rifle.This was amajor piece of small-arms ordinance.It roared like a thunderclap andPage 110 ABC Amber Palm Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcpalm.htmlfired the big 7.62mm NATO round full-auto.The expended brass ejected sohard that anybody within fifty or sixty feet to the right and slightlyback of a shooter risked having an eye put out by a spinning shell.Sometimes the empties flew so fast they whistled as air blew across themouth of the fired cartridge.He wiped excess d lube from the weapon andput it back on the table.Maybe he should clean his handgun, too?He pulled the S&W Model 66 from its holster and looked at it.It was asix-shot stainless-steel revolver in.357, with a four-inch barrel andCraig Spegel custom-wood boot grips.Hardly regulation, thesidearm--most of the teams carried H&K USP tactical pistols in.40, withhigh-density plastic slides and frames, laser sights and suppressors,and more than twice as many rounds per magazine as the old wheelguncarried.But it was his talisman, the Smith, and he trusted it.He couldshoot it well enough to hit a man-sized target out to a hundred meterson a good day, and it never jammed the way an auto-pistol sometimes did.He opened the cylinder and checked the loads."Your hardware gets anycleaner you'll be able to do surgery with it, sir."He looked at Fernandez."You know, a less indulgent commander would havethrown you into the stockade years ago and left you there.""Yes, sir.Your patience does you proud, Colonel."Howard shook his head."Zero-eight-one-eight, sir," Fernandez said.Howard raised his eyebrows."I wasn't going to ask what time it was,Sergeant.""No, sir, of course not, sir."Page 111 ABC Amber Palm Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcpalm.htmlHoward grinned again.He closed the cylinder on his revolver andreholstered it.All right, he was fidgety.They had a location on theterrorists, and a meeting was supposed to take place for the leaders ofthe group at 1130 hours [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]
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.Thepoodle, a well-trained neutered male, had been rented from the Not theBrothers Dog Kennel, in upstate New York.A thousand dollars a week, thepooch, and worth every penny.The little dog sniffed the base of anornamental cherry tree planted next to the walk, lifted his leg andwatered the trunk."Good boy, Scout," the Selkie said.Anybody closeenough to have heard her--and nobody was--would have recognized thetones of an old lady, the voice by long decades of hard work and toomany cigarettes.She wore an ankle-length cotton-print dress, a thincotton sweater and stout, sensible, lace-up Rockport walking shoes overblack knee socks.Her hair was white and fluffed up into a rounded perm.The latex mask and makeup she wore had taken her an hour and a half toapply, and should pass inspection from five feet in broad daylight.Shewas in some apparent pain as she shuffled along--the right hip wasbad--but she was bearing it for the sake of her good boy Scout, whostopped to sniff every tree or bush, careful to mark as his own allthose with scents from previous canine passersby.She was also hot, herface itched and the stink of latex and face powder was thick, but therewas no help for that.The Selkie knew exactly what the watchers saw whenthey looked at her: somebody's arthritic granny, out walking her littledog before going home to bed.And home was only three blocks away,rented in a hurry, but using her current disguise.If she wasstopped--and she wouldn't be--she had an address that justified herbeing here, and a pedigree better than the dog's.She was Mrs.PhyllisMarkham, retired from her job of forty-one years as a bookkeeper for thestate government, at the capital in Albany.Her husband Raymond hadpassed away last October, and Phyllis had finally moved to Washington soshe could spend her spare time visiting the museums, which she loved.Have you seen the new Russian capsule on display at the Air and Space?Page 108 ABC Amber Palm Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcpalm.htmlOr that gray 1948 Tucker they confiscated from some drug dealer?Mrs.Markham's daughter Sarah lived in Philadelphia, and her son Brucewas the manager of a Dodge truck dealership in Denver.Her backgroundwas all in place, and any kind of computer check would vet it.She couldbore the leg off a clothes-store dummy reciting it in her dull andscratchy voice, too.She carried no obvious weapons, nothing to give heraway, save the disguised electronics that nobody would recognize forwhat they were if they happened to see them.Then again, the cane shepretended to need was a three-foot length of hand-crafted hickory,sanded' furniture-smooth and lovingly oiled, made by Cane Masters, asmall company in Incline Village, Nevada.Cane Masters specialized inbuilding perfectly legal weapons for serious martial artists.Anexpert--and the Selkie was certainly that-could beat somebody to a dead pulp with a walking stick such as the oneshe carried, and do so without breaking a sweat.A mugger who looked ather and saw somebody's tired and helpless old granny and an easy score,well--that would be a big mistake.And possibly his last mistake if shechose to make it so.When she was at the first condo past the target's,she whispered, loud enough for the dog to hear but not the agents:"Scout, dump."The little poodle was very well trained.He stopped, squatted and left alittle pile on the grass next to the edge of the walk.With someapparent effort, the old lady bent and half squatted, and scooped thepoop up with a little cardboard-and-plastic container designed for thatpurpose."Good boy, Scout!" she said, loud enough for the agents to hearthis time.She proceeded onward, seemingly oblivious to the young menplaying chess in the car across the street.She would bet dollars toPage 109 ABC Amber Palm Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcpalm.htmldimes they'd be smiling.Aw, look at that, isn't that cute, old granny'slittle toy dog crapping on the grass.She didn't know if the guards werepermanent--probably not, but it didn't matter.Two men in a parked caron a street were not much of a threat.Now they had seen her as shewished them to see her.She would be back in the morning, and again atnight, for at least the next week, perhaps longer.Soon, the day andnight sets of guards would file her away under "harmless." Mrs.PhyllisMarkham was but one of several shadows who might become an unseen partof the target's life.Another one was an office temp who could soon goto work for the Marines Civilian Liaison Office at Quantico.There was anew driver for a Taco Tio lunch wagon that sometimes fed part of theFBI, and half-a-dozen other possibilities, if necessary.Shewould chose the ones best suited, after she had done a little moreobservation.And if it was Phyllis Markham who drew the assignment todelete the target, he would probably die quietly in his bed one night inthe next week or two, with nobody the wiser.The old lady could circlearound the condo after the deed was done, then walk right past theagents assigned to watch the target, and they would never have a clue.By the time anybody knew the target was dead, the poodle would be backin upstate New York at his kennel, and the old lady would have ceased toexist."Let's go around the block and go home, Scout.What do youthink?"The toy poodle wagged his tail.He was a sweet pup.And just like theT-shirt said, the more she learned about people, the better she likeddogs.Monday, September 20th, 8:17 a.m.Kiev Colonel Howard had just finisheda field-strip and reassembly on the H&K G3A3Z assault rifle.This was amajor piece of small-arms ordinance.It roared like a thunderclap andPage 110 ABC Amber Palm Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcpalm.htmlfired the big 7.62mm NATO round full-auto.The expended brass ejected sohard that anybody within fifty or sixty feet to the right and slightlyback of a shooter risked having an eye put out by a spinning shell.Sometimes the empties flew so fast they whistled as air blew across themouth of the fired cartridge.He wiped excess d lube from the weapon andput it back on the table.Maybe he should clean his handgun, too?He pulled the S&W Model 66 from its holster and looked at it.It was asix-shot stainless-steel revolver in.357, with a four-inch barrel andCraig Spegel custom-wood boot grips.Hardly regulation, thesidearm--most of the teams carried H&K USP tactical pistols in.40, withhigh-density plastic slides and frames, laser sights and suppressors,and more than twice as many rounds per magazine as the old wheelguncarried.But it was his talisman, the Smith, and he trusted it.He couldshoot it well enough to hit a man-sized target out to a hundred meterson a good day, and it never jammed the way an auto-pistol sometimes did.He opened the cylinder and checked the loads."Your hardware gets anycleaner you'll be able to do surgery with it, sir."He looked at Fernandez."You know, a less indulgent commander would havethrown you into the stockade years ago and left you there.""Yes, sir.Your patience does you proud, Colonel."Howard shook his head."Zero-eight-one-eight, sir," Fernandez said.Howard raised his eyebrows."I wasn't going to ask what time it was,Sergeant.""No, sir, of course not, sir."Page 111 ABC Amber Palm Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcpalm.htmlHoward grinned again.He closed the cylinder on his revolver andreholstered it.All right, he was fidgety.They had a location on theterrorists, and a meeting was supposed to take place for the leaders ofthe group at 1130 hours [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]