JК
The Third Option :: Flynn Vince
Страница: 74 из 267It took about fifteen minutes to get through the Springs, and then they were on Interstate 25, driving with the rest of the traffic at eighty miles an hour. Stroble, who had spent a lot of time in the area, was driving the SUV: He had explained to the others that it was better to take the Interstate up to Denver and cut over than to take the winding Highway 67 through the foothills.
Hackett was in back pecking away at his four thousand dollar laptop. The computer had a tiny digital phone built in and could access the Internet without a hard line. One of his great assets was his computer skills. Hackett liked to say there was very little you couldn't find over the Internet. Instead of having to stop at a convenience store to buy a map of the Evergreen area and risk getting caught on video, he could simply go on-line and find all the information they needed. Within five minutes, he had printed out eight pages of information on a tiny portable printer the size of a rolling pin.
Hackett handed the sheets to Coleman and went to work on his next project. As he pecked away at the keys, he asked for the third time since leaving Baltimore, «Why did Stansfield call on us instead of using someone within the Agency?»
Coleman lowered the sheets and stared out the front window of the truck. «You know the answer to that, Kevin.»
Stroble was hunched over the steering wheel, trying to get a good look at the sky. Weather in the mountains was a tricky thing. It could be seventy and sunny one minute and thirty and snowing the next. Glancing at the rearview mirror, he said, «If you've got a problem, state it, but you're starting to get on my nerves, Kevin.»
This is how conversations went between Stroble and Hackett. Coleman barely noticed it anymore, he'd been around them for so long. They were like brothers. One minute, they could be throwing punches, and the next, they could be sharing a beer and laughing. They hadn't swung at each other in a while, but they still got in some pretty heat- ed arguments. The two had been best friends since entering Basic Underwater Demolition School with the SEALs twelve years earlier. They had been paired up as swim buddies during the grueling sixteen-week course that was designed to weed out all but the most devoted. Sleep deprivation, hazing, torturous runs on sandy beaches, and freezing midnight swims were all part of an elaborate testing process to find the toughest warriors. When the real shooting started, quitting wasn't an option.
«What's bothering me» – Hackett pushed his round glasses up on his nose – «is that I don't think this is just some milk run. I think they were doing something outside official channels and it went wrong.»
«No shit, Sherlock,» Stroble replied.
Hackett was in back pecking away at his four thousand dollar laptop. The computer had a tiny digital phone built in and could access the Internet without a hard line. One of his great assets was his computer skills. Hackett liked to say there was very little you couldn't find over the Internet. Instead of having to stop at a convenience store to buy a map of the Evergreen area and risk getting caught on video, he could simply go on-line and find all the information they needed. Within five minutes, he had printed out eight pages of information on a tiny portable printer the size of a rolling pin.
Hackett handed the sheets to Coleman and went to work on his next project. As he pecked away at the keys, he asked for the third time since leaving Baltimore, «Why did Stansfield call on us instead of using someone within the Agency?»
Coleman lowered the sheets and stared out the front window of the truck. «You know the answer to that, Kevin.»
Stroble was hunched over the steering wheel, trying to get a good look at the sky. Weather in the mountains was a tricky thing. It could be seventy and sunny one minute and thirty and snowing the next. Glancing at the rearview mirror, he said, «If you've got a problem, state it, but you're starting to get on my nerves, Kevin.»
This is how conversations went between Stroble and Hackett. Coleman barely noticed it anymore, he'd been around them for so long. They were like brothers. One minute, they could be throwing punches, and the next, they could be sharing a beer and laughing. They hadn't swung at each other in a while, but they still got in some pretty heat- ed arguments. The two had been best friends since entering Basic Underwater Demolition School with the SEALs twelve years earlier. They had been paired up as swim buddies during the grueling sixteen-week course that was designed to weed out all but the most devoted. Sleep deprivation, hazing, torturous runs on sandy beaches, and freezing midnight swims were all part of an elaborate testing process to find the toughest warriors. When the real shooting started, quitting wasn't an option.
«What's bothering me» – Hackett pushed his round glasses up on his nose – «is that I don't think this is just some milk run. I think they were doing something outside official channels and it went wrong.»
«No shit, Sherlock,» Stroble replied.