"Mack Bolan - Stony Man - Message to America" - читать интересную книгу автора (Bolan Mack)

Might have been.
Beneath their loose-fitting coats, they wore combat
harnesses loaded with fragmentation, CS gas and stun
grenades, and high-capacity 9 mm semiautomatic
handguns and extra magazines rode in shoulder
leather. The canvas tool bags at their feet held gas
masks and silencer-equipped, German-made machine
pistols. In addition, Manning's gear bag contained
blocks of Semtex plastic explosive and a complete
demolition man's tool kit. McCarter and Manning
were two-fifths of Phoenix Force, a supersecret U.S.
covert-action team, operating under direct but un-
traceable order of the President. If they were caught
this night, the Latvian police would regard them as
international terrorists. The U.S. State Department
would provide no explanation for their presence in-
country; the executive branch would not intervene,

publicly or privately, on their behalfi If they were
captured alive, the warriors of Phoenix Force would
be left to twist in the wind.
McCarter and Manning's immediate concern
wasn't the police, but a lanky, bearded man in black
oilskins pushing a two-wheeled metal cart toward
them. The guy's eyes !it up when he saw the Kuban
bottle. McCarter lowered the bottle and flicked away
his cigarette as the man approached them.
"Yey," the sailor said, licking his lips, "da-vai gla-
tok.t "
McCarter recognized the language as Russian, not
Latvian. Either the man was an expatriate sailor, one
of the many who had settled here prior to the Soviet
breakup, or he was posing as one. If he was with the
opposition, he could have been a military black mar-
keteer or a thug from one of the many ruthless subsets
of Russian mafia. While McCarter watched the man's
eyes and hands, Manning scanned the dock in both
directions, looking for signs of trouble. Even if the
sailor was just thirsty, there was always the chance
he would make a fuss when he discovered the liquor
was actually water and they were only pretending to
be boozing.
A fuss was something they didn't need just now.
The earpiece hidden under McCarter's watch cap
crackled. "Hawk here. I have him."
Hidden atop the superstructure of the rusting
trawler moored across the pier from them, Thomas
Jackson "Hawk" Hawkins, had an easy seventy-yard
head shot with a suppressor-equipped, Leupold-
scoped Remington Model 700 sniper rifle. McCarter