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question, it was making a statement.
"Yes," Hellstrom replied. "All of the highest quality, too. What do you offer
for it?"
The beetle pivoted slowly, its glowing photoreceptor eye turning toward the
AMAC.
Ryan ducked back out of sight.
"We will make that decision once we examine your goods and ascertain if they
meet our present needs."
"Then we shall remain in the area until you contact me with your offer,"
Hellstrom replied. "Is that acceptable?"
"If you withdraw back to the valley, then it is acceptable. Return to this
spot forty-eight hours hence. Understood?"
"Understood. Will you now make preparations to receive the merchandise?"
"Yes. You are familiar with the procedure."
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As it had done before, the beetle retreated across empty air, ascended,
twirled and skated back toward Mount Rushmore.
Hellstrom entered the AMAC, face glistening with a sheen of perspiration. He
mopped his brow with a handkerchief and said to Ryan and Mildred, "Almost
time."
Ryan threw him a mocking half-smile. "Hot out there, is it?"
Hellstrom's lips compressed in a tight line. "Where you and that Beforetime
woman are going, you'll be praying for some hot."
The driver started up the AMAC and rolled it over the bluff, heading for the
boulder-
strewn base of Mount Rushmore. Above it, vast and exuding an ancient sadness,
towered the ruin of Lincoln's head.
As the vehicle rumbled closer, something lowered itself from the huge pit of
Lincoln's right nostril. Like streams of metallic mucus, four steel cables
connected to a long, flat platform descended from the nasal passage.
"Rapunzel, Rapunzel, let down your golden hair," Mildred murmured in a
singsong tone.
Ryan didn't bother asking her what she meant.
When the platform scraped rocky earth, two sec men left the wag and pulled it
away from the cliff side, while others busied themselves unloading the crates
of crops and homemade goods.
Hellstrom announced, "Your transportation has arrived. Time to get ready."
Ryan and Mildred ran a quick inventory of their equipment and ordnance. The
pair of small radio transceivers were tucked into the pockets of their coats,
and they donned the headsets, inserting the receiver plugs into their right
ears. They made sure the comm devices were tuned to the same frequency and the
circuits were open. Then they walked to the pair of metal containers at the
rear of the AMAC.
"Hurry up and climb in," Hellstrom said anxiously. "I don't want to make them
suspicious."
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They slid into the metal-walled containers feet first. Each held a small
oxygen tank, with a length of flexible hose extending from the nozzle. The
hoses terminated in breathing masks, which fit securely over the nose and
mouth.
It was an extremely tight fit for Ryan. He had to lie in a fetal position
beneath the bottom tray that held human organs and dry ice. A sec man pushed
in the back panel of the box, and when Ryan tightened it with the inner latch,
it squeezed against a flexible seal. It was dark and cold, but the air was
breathable. Still, he felt a stirring of claustrophobia.
After what seemed like a long, cramped, cold wait, Ryan felt the container
being heaved up and carried out of the AMAC by at least four men, judging by
the voices. He was dropped none too gently onto the platform, and he winced.
The knife wounds on his shoulder and arm hadn't yet begun to heal, and the
jolt set them to stinging. A few minutes later he heard a thud he assumed was
Mildred's container being loaded onto the platform beside his.
A jerk shook the container around him, and he experienced a giddy, rising
sensation in the pit of his stomach. Faintly Ryan could hear the steady
creaking of a winch. He could feel the platform swinging gently back and
forth, and he tried not to think of what might happen if the container slid [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]