"MacLean, Alistair - Airforce One is down (John Denis)" - читать интересную книгу автора (Maclean Alistair)

Unnoticed by the firemen, but ushered smartly to the wall by the police, a third
turntable engine coming from the opposite direction from the main force, also
shot its ladder up over the wall. The chief fire-officer in overall charge of
operations in the control vehicle screamed directions at the crew for
concentrating their water and foam.
The message was passed up the ladder to the man at the top, Leading Fireman
Siegfried Dunkels, who acknowledged with a capable wave. Then he waved again,
using both arms and trapping his hose between his knees. This time Smith saw
him.
The yard was filled with smoke, clamour and confusion, and it was easy for Smith
to clutch at his throat, retch noisily, and stumble out of the crocodile, which
automatically closed ranks to fill his place.
Smith fell to his knees, apparently choking, then got up and lurched towards a
patch of clearer air. It was covered by the harsh white glare of a searchlight,
so the prison officer he bumped into en route did not trouble to turn him away
from an area that would normally be strictly out-of-bounds to convicts: the foot
of the wall.
Dunkels' ladder, and the hoses of his men, were pointed at the heart of the
fire, but gradually the ladder began swinging away from the blaze and towards
the yard until it centred over the crumpled figure of Mister Smith. Dunkels
dropped a weighted nylon rope-ladder smack into his lap. Smith grasped it and
started to scale the wall.
A guard - primed, like his colleagues, to watch for signs of a break-out -
caught the unnatural movement of the human fly in the corner of his vision, and
shouted a warning. As he charged over to the gyrating figure he saw the
rope-ladder, and leapt for its trailing end. But Dunkels had already jerked his
hose away from the flames and was swivelling it downwards. Carefully avoiding
Smith, he aimed the hose, and the high-pressure jet of water took the guard full
in the chest, slamming him to the, ground and pinning him there like a butterfly
in a specimen case.
Smith reached the top of the wall and clutched the turntable ladder, which
retracted, dropped its angle, and deposited him on the ground by the
fire-engine. The hard-pressed fire chief also had the bad luck to notice Smith's
escape. He ran in the direction of the third appliance, the presence of which
had been bothering him for some little while.
Dunkels, in the still-retracting ladder, gave him the full treatment, bowling
him over like a ninepin and then worrying him until he crawled back to his
control wagon, where sympathetic hands hauled him inside.
Smith jumped into the cab, and the driver gunned the motor and moved the
appliance away at top speed, sirens blaring. Dunkels, perched on the end of the
now horizontal ladder, used his hose like a tail-gunner to deadly effect,
scattering startled firemen and CRS toughies who tried vainly to stop them.
The madly racing fire-engine left the city limits at an impossible speed five
minutes later. In a quiet country road, the appliance stopped. The crew got out,
peeled off their uniforms, and six of them piled into a neutral-coloured van
which matched the name on their early-shift construction workers' overalls.
Smith, Dunkels and the remaining three boarded a pair of Citroen cars, where
changes of clothing were waiting for them. The limousines moved off together,
and Smith heaved a sigh of profound relief.
'Excellent, Dunkels,' he said,'truly excellent. Now - get me a safe-house and a