Black Sun Reich Read Online Free PDF Page B

Germans,” The Brazilian nodded toward the office suite. “Still, he’s not really a direct threat.”
    â€œErgo,” Rucker said, “You and me have to get moving if you want to make your appointment in Austin without the black jackets knowing you’re doing anything more than medical research.”
    Deitel gripped his satchel tightly “It is the most vital information, it could mean—”
    Rucker cut him off with a wave. “Don’t care. Save it for Austin. Not my business.”
    Chuy was frowning, staring across the flight deck at one of the passenger lounges. He tapped Rucker’s shoulder. Rucker followed his gaze.
    â€œYou see them?” the Brazilian giant asked.
    â€œYep,” Rucker nodded. “And they see us. Dammit. German SD, and they are a direct threat.”
    Deitel strained a bit too obviously to see what Rucker and Chuy were discussing. Two men in the starboard aft passenger lounge in dark overcoats and fedoras were looking their way and then at the office where an exasperated Chamberlain was being told to strip off his shoes, coat jacket, and to empty his pockets.
    â€œWhat now?” Chuy asked.
    Rucker scanned the flight deck. He spotted an older model, long-range cargo plane that bore a painting of a cartoon warthog on its nose. He smiled.
    â€œHey, you still in good with Jimmy M’Benga?” he asked Chuy.
    The two men in fedoras were forcing their way through a line of passengers crowding the terminal gate, intent on the office where an angry but obsequious Chamberlain was now stripped down to his shirt and underwear.
    Chuy nodded. “If by ‘in good’ you mean does he still owe us for those two crates of engine parts? Yes.”
    â€œI got an idea,” Rucker said. He grabbed hold of Deitel’s arm and told Chuy the plan. Meanwhile, through the glass, the men in fedoras were gesticulating, yelling, and pointing, first at Chamberlain and then at Deitel, and then at Rucker’s friends who’d been playing Chamberlain for a mark.
    Deitel was terribly confused. Rucker took off and yanked him along by the collar. They clanged down a metal stairway to the belowdecks while the SD men were still pushing past crowds of passengers. Once down the steps, the clang of heavy machinery fought with the droning sound of diesel and steam engines in what Deitel imagined was an active intent to deafen him. There was a chalkboard with a duty schedule at the base of the stairwell. Rucker grabbed a piece of chalk and went to his right, dragging Deitel by the collar, as Chuy went left.
    The height of the ceiling in the cargo loading deck was twice as high as the terminal deck. Wooden crates were stacked upward of nine feet high in what amounted to a maze of goods bound for ports of call up and down the eastern seaboards of North and South America, and most islands in between. Steam-powered cargo pulleys on ceiling-mounted rails, controlled by crew loaders inside enclosed cabs at regular intervals throughout the expansive deck, allowed for movement of the boxes to and from cargo elevators to the flight deck above.
    The German SD men bounded down the steps, Lugars drawn, on the hunt. Knowing their prey was only seconds ahead, they chose the likeliest looking route through the cargo boxes. They turned three corners and stopped short, surprised to find Deitel standing just six feet in front of them, his hands raised in surrender, his back to a line of cargo boxes stretching a hundred feet in each direction. One SD man trained his pistol on Deitel while the other swept his in a circle, looking for Rucker.
    Deitel said something, but they couldn’t hear it over the din of the steam and diesel engines. The first SD man took a few steps closer. Hands still raised, Deitel pointed down at the man’s feet. Cautiously, the SD man looked down and saw he was standing on an X marked in chalk. Confused, he looked up at Deitel, who waved goodbye. He