"Энди Макнаб. Кризис четвертого (engl) " - читать интересную книгу автора

shithouse, he was probably having an even worse time in the cramped
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
fists, like a sleepy child. I tried to doze off; thirty minutes later I was
still kidding myself I was asleep when I got a kick on the back of my legs.
It was Sarah.
I sat up in my sleeping bag and peered into the semidarkness. Three


CRISIS FOUR 5