"Andy McNab - Crisis Four" - читать интересную книгу автора (McNab Andy)

conditions.

His curly black hair, going a bit gray at the sides, was all over the
place. Like me, before I left in '93, he had been selected to do work
for the intelligence and security services, including the sort of job
for the U.S.

that Congress would never sanction. I had done similar jobs myself
while in the Regiment, but this was the first I'd been on since
becoming a K. Given who we were going in against, none of us was giving
odds on whether we'd get to do another.

I glanced across at Sarah, to my right in the semidarkness. Her eyes
were closed, but even in the dim light I could see she wasn't looking
her happiest. Maybe she just didn't like flying without complimentary
champagne and slippers.

It had been a while since I'd last seen her, and the only thing about
her that had changed was her hair. It was still very straight, almost
Southeast Asian, though dark brown, not black. It had always been
short, but she'd prepared for this operation by having it cut into a
bob with a fringe.

She had strong, well-defined features, with large brown eyes above high
cheekbones, a nose that was slightly too large, and a mouth that nearly
always looked too serious. Sarah would not be troubled in her old age
by laughter lines. When it was genuine, her smile was warm and
friendly, but more often it appeared to be only going through the
motions. And yet, just when you were thinking this, she'd find the
oddest thing amusing and her nose would twitch, and her whole face
would crease into a radiant, almost childlike, grin. At times like
that she looked even more beautiful than usual maybe too beautiful.
That was sometimes a danger in our line of work, as men could never
resist a second glance, but at thirty-five years of age she had learned
to use her looks to her advantage within the service. It made her even
more of a bitch than most people thought she was.

It was no good, I couldn't get comfortable. We'd been on the aircraft
for nearly fifteen hours and my body was starting to ache. I turned
and tried the left side. I couldn't see Reg 2, but I knew he was to my
left in the gloom somewhere. He was easy to distinguish from Reg 1,
being the best part of a foot shorter and with hair that looked like a
fistful of dark-blond wire wool. The only thing I knew about them
apart from their zap numbers was that, like me, they had both been
circumcised within the last three weeks and that, like mine, their
underwear came from Tel Aviv. And that was all I wanted to know about
them, or about Regs 3 to 6 who were already in-country, waiting for us
even though one of them, Glen, was an old friend.

I found myself facing Sarah again. She was rubbing her eyes with her