Read Online Terraplane by Jack Womack - Free Book Online Page B

faded; Jake intended
Skuratov's to last, and he drew them on till he squeaked. As
promised, Oktobriana kept to where we left her as we rifled
Skuratov's goods, her look held fast on Jake's slippery form.
Skuratov carried five passports of four nations; a thousand rubles
and numerous credit cards, along with his personal ID, all of
suitable innocence.
    "Two trackers," said Jake. "Take?"
    "Take one. He'll not need." I pocketed his stress analyzer, hoping later to apply it to him.
    "It's candyland, Luther," said Jake, diddling the ordnance, loading my coatpockets with most, selecting some for his own future
use. "Christmas in March." The Dream Team awashed with
postmodern flash. Jake, who followed such developments more
closely than I, demonstrated the safer toys found, told of the more
hazardous. Skuratov's keys shot poisoned needles; his cigarette
lighter carried X75, enough to bring down the neighborhood
around us if a crystal was hooked on. In his belt buckle were
biologics that Jake refused even to touch; by their color, I estimated
them-being more familiar with items of this sort-to contain
microampules of recombinantized anthrax. We pulled his cyanide
tabs, cracking them between our fingers like fleas.
    "We've lost time, Jake. Drive as capabled and we'll get there in
eight. "

    "Get where?" Jake asked. "His airstrip? What if no plane awaits?"
    "When he felt assured, he let slip we'd still be airing it," I said.
"We'll call up the map on the car monitor."
    "His airstrip's secluded?"
    "His estate's road is Krasnaya owned. They know we're coming,
though they won't know of the new arrangements. We won't see
trouble. Come on. " I retrieved the cassette box from where it fell;
wondered if it could possibly prove so useful as our larger confiscations. In any event the trip would now prove cost-effective, so I lost
fears of having to deal with the accounts later on. Jake heaved
Skuratov across his shoulder headdown; as his pain lessened, his
complaints grew
    "Carry me properly," Skuratov shouted, kicking so much as his
position allowed. "I hurt."
    "Not enough," said Jake, swinging so as to slam Skuratov's head
against the doorframe, calming him once more; a scalp cut drizzled blood groundways. Jake, a puritan in heart, never allowed true
personal pleasure to enter the work that fed him, though passion for
perfection of the work performed was another matter; even when he
actioned irredeemably it was always to purpose and never with
glee. But vengeance, not one of his specialities, perhaps a feeling
least favored, too had time and need.
    Locals rounded as we appeared, curious as to visit-motive; we
moved so unobtrusively as possible to the Mercedes.
    "Where're her cases?"
    "Backseated," said Jake. "As he'll keep. Keep him locked."
    Whether the haze fuzzing the air remained from the blast, or
from whatever the residents burned for fuel, its smell struck metalharsh, as what lingers after chemical attack. We would have hauled
Skuratov trunkways during transport but under circumstance he
would have shown plain; Jake backseated him headfirst. Our outside viewers remained to watch our unexpected, unexplainable
performance. Gripping the cassette box tight I rested myself
between the cases and Skuratov's carcass, finding no comfort. Jake
wheeled himself; Oktobriana drew herself close to him so that he
might more easily prevent her escape.
    "Drive at slow pace within neighborhood," she said.

    "Known," he said. "Can't hurry without drawing wonder-"
    She shook her head. "Many children at play here, Jake. Do you
understand the controls? I realize you seem unfamiliar with Russian language-"
    "The fucker starts how?" At times Jake seemed as unfamiliar
with his own.
    "Check the programmed destination," I said. Oktobriana
pressed two dash buttons; a map rose on the monitor's eye. I
recognized. "His place, undoubted. Aim there without change.
Drive, Jake. "
    "Engine," said Oktobriana, "drive us to next