A Spaceship Named: 45 Sci-Fi Novels & Stories in One Volume. Randall Garrett

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      XIV

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      The warehouse was locked up tight, all right, Malone thought. In the dim light that surrounded the neighborhood, it stood like a single stone block, alone near the waterfront. There were other buildings nearby, but they seemed smaller; the warehouse loomed over Malone and Boyd threateningly. They stood in a shadow-blacked alley just across the street, watching the big building nervously, studying it for weak points and escape areas.

      Boyd whispered softly: "Do you think they have a lookout?"

      Malone's voice was equally low. "We'll have to assume they've got at least one kid posted," he said. "But they can't be watching all the time. Remember, they can't do everything."

      "They don't have to," Boyd said. "They do quite enough for me. Do you realize that, right now, I could be—"

      "Break it up," Malone said. He took a small handset from his pocket and pressed the stud. "Lynch?" he whispered.

      A tinny voice came from the earpiece. "Here, Malone."

      "Have you got them located yet?" Malone said.

      "Not yet," Lynch's voice replied. "We're working on a triangulation now. Just hold on for a minute or so. I'll let you know as soon as we've got results."

      The police squads—Lynch and his men, the warehouse precinct men and the Safe and Loft Squad—had set up a careful cordon around the area, and were now hard at work trying to determine two things.

      First, they had to know whether there was anybody in the building at all.

      Second, they had to be able to locate anyone in the building with precision.

      The silence of the downtown warehouse district helped. They had several specially designed, highly sensitive directional microphones aimed at the building from carefully selected spots around the area, trying to pick up the muffled sounds of speech or motion within the warehouse. The watchmen in buildings nearby had been warned off for the time being so that their footsteps wouldn't occlude any results.

      Malone waited, feeling nervous and cold. Finally Lynch's voice came through again. "We're getting something, all right," he said. "There are obviously several people in there. You were right, Malone."

      "Thanks," Malone said. "How about that fix?"

      "Hold it a second," Lynch said. Wind swept off the river at Malone and Boyd. Malone closed his eyes and shivered. He could smell fish and iodine and waste, the odor of the Hudson as it passes the city. Across the river lights sparkled warmly. Here there was nothing but darkness.

      A long time passed, perhaps ten seconds.

      Then Lynch's voice was back: "Sergeant McNulty says they're on the top floor, Malone," he said. "Can't tell how many for sure. But they're talking and moving around."

      "It's a shame these things won't pick up the actual words at a distance," Malone said.

      "Just a general feeling of noise is all we get," Lynch said. "But it does some good."

      "Sure," Malone said. "Now listen carefully: Boyd and I are going in. Alone."

      Lynch's voice whispered: "Right."

      "If those mikes pick up any unusual ruckus—any sharp increase in the noise level—come running," Malone said. "Otherwise, just sit still and wait for my signal. Got that?"

      "Check," Lynch said.

      Malone pocketed the radiophone. "O.K., Tom," he whispered. "This is H-hour—M-minute—and S-second."

      "I can spell," Boyd muttered. "Let's move in."

      "Wait a minute," Malone said. He took his goggles and brought them down over his eyes, adjusting the helmet on his head. Boyd did the same. Malone flicked on the infrared flashlight he held in his hand.

      "O.K.?" he whispered.

      "Check," СКАЧАТЬ