"Энди Макнаб. Кризис четвертого (engl) " - читать интересную книгу автораSarah's morale.
She looked at him blankly and said, "Let's get on with it, shall we?" There was a pause as he let the tone of her reply sink in. He didn't like it. "OK, let's go." He pointed at her. "You, behind me. Nick, behind her, OK?" On the track between the olive groves I could see shadowy figures shaking out into single file. My only job was to protect her; we hadn't let Glen in on this, but if there was a drama, the two of us were going to fuck off sharpish. We'd just let them get on with it and die. As we joined the snake I wondered about the times I'd done jobs while in the Regiment, not realizing that no one really cared. We moved off into the shadows, weapon butt in the shoulder, index finger across the trigger guard, thumb on the safety catch. Sarah was carrying only a Beretta for self-defense. We were there to do everything else for her. For about forty minutes we moved through wide groves. When we finally stopped I could hear only the crickets and the wind in the trees. Ahead of us now was the target, a row of six or seven low-level, brick faced light industrial units with flat aluminium roofs and windows. The entire complex was surrounded by a three-meter-high chain-link fence, with just one entrance, which was gated off for the night. The road was lit by yellow street lamps every thirty meters, and there were floods on the fronts of the buildings, facing down the walls and lighting up the shutters. There were also lights on in some of the units, but no sign of Apart from the fence there seemed to be no security, which would be about right for units that supposedly housed nothing more serious than JCB spares. The buildings gave off enough light for us to see what we were doing, but we were still in the shadows of the grove. Glen came alongside me and said quietly, "This is the FRV (Final Rendezvous). The target ... if you look at the nearest building on the left..." We were looking at the long sides of three rectangles. He indicated the closest one. "You see the lights on?" I nodded. "All right, count three windows from the left. That's where we reckon he is or was last night." The "reckon" would have been a bit of a judgment call: the latest pictures we had of the Source were three years old. I didn't even know his name. Only Sarah did, and only she could positively identify him. I could make out two small mobile satellite dishes and a wire half-wave dipole antenna on the roof, looking like the world's longest washing line. You didn't need that lot for road building. I sat against a stubby tree while the patrol prepared itself, bringing out kit from their berg ens very slowly to eliminate noise. There was no light from the town to the north, which was lost completely in the dead ground. Reg 1 and 2 checked in with Glen, then moved off. Glen pulled an antenna out of a green twelve-by-eight-inch metal box and began to press |
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