Judgment Night [BUREAU 13 Book One] by Nick Pollotta Page B

an angle. Ugh. Now we were going sideways.
    "Hey, this must be a pneumatic tube,” Richard exclaimed with a broad grin.
    "Wow! Neat!” Mindy added, obviously enjoying the ride.
    "Swell,” I contributed, meaning every word.
    "Ed, I just realized something,” Donaher said, sounding very serious.
    I swallowed lunch and focused my eyes on him. “What?"
    "At present, we don't have a single functional weapon or defense prepared. Better do something about that."
    Words of wisdom, indeed. In frantic haste, the 10mm pistols were retrieved and loaded. As we thumbed off safeties, Richard pulled a long, curved knife from out of the air. Our swift journey continued, and just as I was beginning to swear off food forever, the transport leveled, then slowed and finally started to rise upward like a proper elevator. Thank god. After a minute, the cubicle came to a gentle stop, the door separated and we stumbled into a dank, smelly garage, a horde of very startled rats scampering for safety away from the harsh light of the transport.
    Fanning out in a standard pattern, we did a fast sweep of the place to secure the perimeter. It was clean, or rather the dump contained nothing more dangerous than rabid rats, broken glass and old copies of the New York Post.
    Wiping the dirt off a window, I saw that the garage was situated on the waterfront, a battered wooden dock directly in front. Moored at the pylons, was an ordinary DC-3, twin prop, sea plane. Lounging by her side, smoking a cigarette, was a dark skinned man of average height and black hair. He was dressed in tan slacks, deck shoes and a white shirt that had been painted on by a close friend.
    "Nice,” Mindy purred in frank appraisal.
    "Yeah,” George agreed happily. “The DC-3 is a classic."
    Donaher and I exchanged glances and sighed. Sometimes, our Mr. Renault was a bit of a muttonhead.
    There were four doors leading from the place. Three were bricked closed, the fourth lined with steel plating and bolted shut. Trust Gordon to think of everything. Undoing the lock, the garage door swung noiselessly aside and we moved to the loading platform. An inclined cement ramp led to the dock and we forcibly pushed, pulled, and dragged our semi-portable department store of survival supplies to the waiting airship.
    In the distance, the horizon was a featureless expanse of gray fog. But it behooved nobody to mention that.
    As we approached the plane, the pilot ambled towards us, a hand dangerously near a holstered Wesley .44 revolver that I hadn't noticed before.
    "Ah, raincloud,” I said hopefully.
    At that, the fellow relaxed and offered his hand. We shook. “Mr. Alvarez? Captain Hassan, awaiting your orders."
    "Howdy-do. Open the cargo hatch, and let's boogie."
    "Fair enough."
    Glancing at the team, he started for the front of the plane when he saw Mindy and gasped. “Good lord miss, are you okay?” he asked in concern.
    Puzzled, Mindy looked at the guy as if he was crazy, but then noticed her ripped shirt and the amount of skin showing. He probably thought she had been saved from a fate worse than death. The white, seamless, sports bra only served to accentuate her trim figure.
    "Yeah, I'm fine. Thanks. Did it myself.” Openly, she looked over the man's square jaw, piercing black eyes and muscular build. Then she dimpled in a manner that almost made me jealous.
    "But your concern is most appreciated,” Mindy smiled daintily.
    He stepped closer. “My pleasure."
    She stepped closer. “That can be arranged. Jennings."
    The man blinked. “What?"
    "Mindy Jennings."
    A toothy smile. “Abduhl Benny Hassan."
    "Hump later, work now,” I said from the end of the dock heaving a box of grenades towards them.
    Mindy turned in time to catch the box and carried it inside the plane. The pilot went off to the cockpit and we got to work. Briefly, I wondered how she did things like that? Hear the air currents moving around the box, or what?
    "Yes,” Jessica said, loosening a knot.
    "Stop reading