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semiserious synthesized organ, Brother Perote turned out to be something other than what Cardenas had expected. But then, they usually did. He was even shorter than the inspector, stocky and unathletic of appearance, probably in his early thirties. Back and forth across the small raised stage he strutted, Page 94 ABC Amber Palm Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcpalm.html like a professional street urchin, his arms and hands in constant motion. He looked like an overwound, overstressed antique child's toy, and sounded like one, too. Thanks to the generosity of local believers there would be a special distribution to the faithful tomorrow, he declared. This announcement provoked the expected hoots of appreciation among the assembled, as well as some enthusiastic applause. Plans for the forthcoming month's work were discussed, with accompanying exhortations to increase collections and solicitations. Several new members were inducted into the Order without a travesty of a ceremony. Perote simply introduced the newcomers, who were greeted with a few good-natured catcalls and obscenities. The Order appeared to be not only healthy but growing, Cardenas noted, as was to be expected with any successful, profitable racket. Though Perote made an effort to act and sound like one of the boys, he was obviously a good deal smarter than any of the acolytes hanging in the inspector's vicinity. Cardenas was eager to run a check on him, but pulling out a scanner in the midst of the assembled Brothers and aiming it at their leader would be more than likely to bring his investigation to a violent and premature end. There was some concluding conversation, including an exchange of questions and answers, before the assembly was finally dismissed. Brothers began to file out the door, to waiting cabs or private vehicles. Perote had vanished early. A check of his watch surprised Cardenas with the lateness of the hour. The meeting had gone on longer than he'd anticipated. He drifted toward the left-hand wall, where empty shipping containers and old crates remained from the building's previous days as a storage facility, and found one unsealed. Slipping inside, he picked his way back into the depths, stepping lightly among bundles of plastic and fiberboard until he found a pack bubble that would support him. Then he sat down to wait. When his watch showed three a.m. he removed the night goggles from his interior breast pocket and slipped them on. Very little light filtered into the church, but the amplifying goggles cast his naturally dim surroundings in an eerie twilight. Making no noise, he emerged from the cluster of shipping containers into the assembly area and headed purposefully toward the stage, confident in the knowledge that the shepherding VTOLs were hovering somewhere nearby. The platform was deserted, the electronics crudely attached to the simple podium powered down. The back of the stage consisted of a false wall erected out of dark quasistone sheeting. Walking around the far end he saw empty floor and a few scattered crates, a small field kitchen that served to feed the faithful on those occasions when food was required, a quartet of portable sanitary booths, and in the distance a back door. Nothing else. From the belt concealed beneath his jacket he removed a small tube, adjusted the slide controls on one side, and flicked the button at its based. A pair of bright green LEDs came to life together with a small illuminated readout. Covering the LEDs with his gripping hand, he shielded the readout with the other as he followed its directions. The device led him to the third in line of the four one-piece, enclosed portable Johns. There was a lock on the handle and an "Out of Order" sign pasted to the door. He frowned at his handheld, then set to work. Another tool made short toil of the simple lock. He lifted the handle and peered inside. In place of the expected holed throne a ladder led downward. Treading carefully, he started down. The steps terminated in a narrow hallway, which soon opened into a large room filled with enough tech of sufficient sophistication to impress even a multinat Designer. Several sealed cases emitted steady, placid hums, indicating that their contents were powered up, or at least in dormant mode. There were a couple of chairs, some well-marked hard-copy maps on one wall, a pile of pornographic printouts heaped indifferently in one corner, a sink and chiller, and a single rumpled bunk. He started with the obviously expensive, state-of-the-art tech, beginning with the satellite downlink. It was active and warm. Though the readout was coded Page 95 ABC Amber Palm Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcpalm.html he had no doubt that it could be decrypted quickly enough, identifying both the satellite and transponder in use. He was moving to the next pile of components when he felt a presence and sensed the light. It nearly blinded him and he clutched at the goggles. [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ] |
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