Hard Fall Read Online Free PDF Page B

lower ground in order to circumvent the foothills of potential problems. “But if you don’t check in, then the patrol may question why you are parked over there. And anyway, all guests must be issued a pass.” Ward’s frightened eyes found Kort—knowledge often proved the most powerful tool of all. He continued on and turned the car left at a small guard booth. Seeing the sticker on the car, the guard waved him through. They drove through several large parking lots and stopped outside a well-lit office, all glass and steel.
    â€œYou needn’t worry,” Kort reminded before leaving the safety of the vehicle. He said it as much for himself as for Ward.
    â€œThey’ll ask for identification,” Ward worried aloud.
    â€œAnd I will present identification.” Then, in the clear voice of confidence, Kort told Ward, “Doctor, it is quite possible—probable even—that I know more about their jobs than they do. Yes? There will be no surprises.” He dug into his pocket and came up with the fountain pen he sought. “You will remember as a child, disappearing ink?” He faked a smile, attempting to comfort the man. “We will use this pen in signing me in. Yes?” He handed it to Ward. So simple when you planned ahead; such disaster when you did not.
    Two men in dark blue uniforms with arm patches showing an airplane silhouetted by a gibbous moon, sat behind the Formica counter. Kort heard the low-volume soundtrack of a movie, indicating a television kept out of sight below the counter. One of the men passed them a visitor’s badge as Ward signed them in.
    â€œYou have some form of ID?” the bigger of the two asked.
    Kort produced his shiny new wallet and opened it to the German driving license. As he offered it, the guard, apparently satisfied by the likeness of the photo, waved him off. “That’s okay. Thanks.”
    Kort and Ward left them to the late show. As they reached the car, Kort asked for his pen back. He slipped it into his pocket. Everything in its place.
    Ward set the turn signal and a red light pulsed across his face. He turned right onto Marginal Way and then negotiated a quick left onto a narrow road a block north of Duhning’s main office. The car bumped over an obsolete railroad track. Huge corrugated steel buildings rose out of the darkness, their skylights lit brightly as the night shift continued the day’s work. Ward turned left and left again, parking at the side of a smooth-metal building with curved corners and narrow glass windows that reminded Kort of an aquarium or a science center. It was labeled in bold black letters: E-17.
    The interior of the building proved unimaginative. The center of the mustard-colored carpet was worn smooth by decades of foot traffic. The walls held the mandatory, self-indulgent color photographs of Duhning’s history. The lighting was good, the air a bit stale. The place needed a face-lift.
    Ward was walking too fast. “No hurry,” Kort said quietly, both hands held in his pockets to hide the gloves. “Let’s stop by your office. Yes?”
    Kort shut the door. Piles of paperwork dominated both the desk and bulletin boards. A computer occupied the desk’s return that fronted a window framing the dreary southern parking lot. On the far wall, a series of color photographs showed Ward alongside a variety of private aircraft. He looked much, much older at the moment: his eyes puffy with worry, his shoulders slumped forward in defeat. Ward consulted the simulator schedule. He confirmed that Kort’s information was correct: the 959-600 was free until maintenance took over at two in the morning.
    â€œAre we likely to run into anyone?” Kort asked.
    â€œNo. Not at this time of night.”
    â€œIf we do, I’m nothing but another visitor. That won’t be too difficult, will it?”
    â€œI don’t see why it should be. As you said in the car, we