Читать книгу London 4019. On the Britain - Evgeny Russ - Страница 6

At 11 a.m. Kmykh was already fully prepared for the operation, as he believed. Lounging in the chair of the Maserati capsule, he was waiting for a call from Bill. In the cabin there was one battle drone and two drones were in the luggage compartment. At 11:05 a bell rang.

“Hello, Bill.”

“Yes! Hello Ippolite! How are you? Got the files?”

“Yes, it's 736 yottabytes on a flash drive. Bring to yours apartment?”

“No, I sent my courier. Go down to the Fidel Metro station, at the Savmak station, near the statue of Savmak wait for him. He will recognize you if you are in our Company’s baseball cap.”

“Okay boss. In about 10 minutes I will be at the station.”

Kmykh flew up on Savmak Square and down into the Sobyaner and Sons parking lot.

“Sir,” the parking attendant said, “you have to get out of the cab.”

“I won’t have to,” said Kmykh and put his right hand ring against the parking scanner. An image of the royal coat of arms appeared on the scanner.

“Sorry, sir,” the parking man said.

“Your ID?”

“Sir, write down, I'll say.”

“I'll remember,” said Kmykh and listened to the twenty-digit parking attendant number.

“Lower me to the level of Savmak Metro station. I will get off the subway. I will be there for a while. Then I will return and let you know that you will raise me to the surface in a capsule.”

“By all means, sir,” – said the parking attendant and turned on the carousel.

Kmykh left the parking lot at the Metro level, walked along a short corridor, leaned the FSB ring against the lock door and then went to Savmak station. Near the statue of Savmak Kmykh looked at passers-by and at people waiting capsule vehicles of Metro. While he waiting, a street musician came up to him with a guitar and asked for some money for food. Kmykh put two Britcoins in his empty tin jar of beans. On the musician’s head was a sombrero and a traditional Mexican poncho hung from his shoulders.

“Now put the flash drive here,” the musician said with a confident voice, “then you will go to the platform and sit in any first capsule.”

The musician raised the poncho and put his right hand on the handle of the ultrasound induction bullet generator of the UZI model. His left hand was still outstretched with empty tin jar of natural beans.

Scotland Yard police quickly responded to Kmykh’s actions, and a minute later a few meters above his head Kmykh heard the words of a police officer.

“Don't move! Put your hands on your head!” – ordered the police officer.

Kmykh raised his hands and head. It was a woman officer and in her hands was a Kuznetsov’s tube. She hung in the air at a height of three meters. She was wearing jet boots and a Gauss protective vest absorbing induction bullets.

“FSB officer,” – said Kmykh, – “certificate is in my ring.”

“Lean the ring to scanner,” – said the police officer and threw a plastic scanner card under Kmykh’s feet.

Kmykh leaned the ring to scanner, and a hologram with a royal coat of arms appeared in front of the officer. There was no name and identification number, which meant that any police officer was required to provide any assistance to this FSB officer. The woman put Kuznetsov’s tube in a holster, descended down on the stone floor of the station and offered hers help. On the floor was a man with a Mexican appearance and a broken arm in his elbow joint. Both of his legs and an unbroken right arm were pulled together by guitar strings. On the neck there was also a stranglehold of a guitar string. Nearby lay a broken-up guitar made of wood.

"Is he alive?" – She asked.

"Yes, he is unconscious. Painful shock. A stretcher is needed to take it to my capsule in the parking mine,” – Kmykh said.

The officer touched her bracelet and contacted her police department. “The Fidel Castro Metro, Savmak Station, requires a stretcher without an orderly near the statue of Savmak,” – she said.

“Estimated time of arrival about one minute and ten seconds,” – the department informed.

A minute later, the anti-gravity stretcher of the Red Cross municipal service arrived along the air corridor allocated to them along the ceiling of the station. The stretcher slowed down at the statue of Savmak, and sank near the officer’s feet. Kmykh put the terrorist body on the stretcher, took them by the control handle and raised them to the level of the belt, convenient for transportation.

“Thanks for the help, officer. Have a nice day,” – Kmykh said, and set off transporting the stretcher toward the locking door along the corridor to the parking shaft. These were standard stretchers with a control handle and a return button to the medical base. Having thrown the body of the terrorist into the luggage boot of the capsule, Kmykh sent a stretcher to the base of the Red Cross and dialed the number of the parcing attendant. While the Maserati capsule was rising through the shaft of the carousel, Kmykh appeal to Alice.

“Hi, Alisa.”

“Hello, hello, Eugene.”

“I have terrorist in the luggage boot. Prepare medical preparations for interrogation. I'll be in Liverpool in twenty minutes.”

“Okay, Eugene. We have some bad news. Ippolite Reznik is kidnapped. Our employee, who took Reznik under protection, is killed, and two security drones are destroyed. External surveillance cameras show that he voluntarily siting in UAZ capsule. This morning he was in the GKZ library and received files for work. Video surveillance was lost at the pier number 1756 where the capsule of the terrorists went under water.”

"It is bad news. I am heading to pier 1756. Do we have a hangar on this pier?"

"Yes, there is garage under inscription 'Diagnostics of parking anchors of all models'."

"Thanks, Alice. Turn autopilot on these coordinates."

"Already included. In touch."

Four minutes later, Kmykh was already at the pier, and the Maserati capsule smoothly entered the garage gates just opened by Alice. Kmykh lowered the capsule to the concrete floor, stepped out of it and went to the luggage boot. Opening it, he saw a body that was already conscious and writhed in pain. Kmykh dumped the body onto the concrete floor. Then he took a medical pistol and two liquid pills from the glove compartment. Inserting an anesthetic pill into the gun, he leaned it against the terrorist's shoulder and fired. The terrorist instantly felt better, and Kmykh noticed relief in his eyes. Then Kmykh inserted a second liquid pill. It was the strongest drug for interrogation.

“Now you will tell me the coordinates of the houseboat where your friends are terrorists. If you refuse, I will give you the Trichlorechinococcus-18 injection and you will tell everything yourself. This drug shortens life, but under its influence you will tell absolutely everything, whatever I ask. After its use, usually no one lives longer than 150 years.”

In response, Kmykh heard a selective swearing, which was borrowed from the Old Russian language. Kmykh, without hesitation, leaned a medical pistol against the neck of a terrorist and fired. After a minute, the terrorist's pupils dilated and filled with blood, and Kmykh realized that it was already possible to ask questions.

"The coordinates yours friends on houseboat, please, and your identification number."

The terrorist gave the coordinates and his number. The terrorist’s eyeballs were inflated and were ready to burst, but he did not feel pain.

“Fine,” said Kmykh, “now tell us the coordinates of your base.”

The terrorist wanted to say something, but his eyeballs burst, and eye fluid and blood plasma flowed onto the concrete. After a second, the terrorist froze.

"Alice, look at his ID number his age. Out of time, he kicked a bucket."

"He was 162 years old. In this age, in any case, he would not have survived after Trichlorechinococcus-18."

"Well, you heard the coordinates. I'm flying out. Please open the gate."

Kmykh sat in the capsule and scored the coordinates. The garage door opened automatically, the Maserati capsule smoothly left the garage and set off with acceleration to the open sea. Kmykh chose a height of 14 meters above the sea, which was reserved for FSB.