"Энди Макнаб. День независимости (engl) " - читать интересную книгу автора

one else, remember?" Doing things outside your limits of exploitation can
lead to horrendous fuck-ups elsewhere. We didn't know the whole story, just
this little bit. I felt pretty much the way he did, but.. . "Just the
target, no one else."
Lotfi said he would lead, as the colour of my eyes and skin could still
be a problem for a little while longer. I caught his shoulder.
"Remember. If there's a drama He finished my sentence.
"No head shots." I tapped my traser. We had less than six minutes. I
could hear Hubba-Hubba still murmuring quietly to himself about what Zeralda
was getting up to as there was a burst of laughter from inside the room, and
I remembered that his own sons were nearly as old as these boys.
We stopped just short of the door. I could hear a little Arabic waffle,
then more laughter from inside the room. Then I hear da young voice, clearly
pleading: whatever was going on in there, he didn't like it. I felt a surge
of anger.
Traser told me there were four minutes left on the Parkway timer. I
undid the top flap of my bergen, dug out the rubber gloves and started to
put them on. Those two, and their invisible mates, had better get their
finger out once we were inside: we didn't have much time.
Hubba-Hubba picked up a wrought-iron chair and hurled it against the
windows. The noise of smashing glass was followed by startled screams from
inside, and then by even louder screams of aggression as he and Lotfi kicked
out the remaining glass and pushed their way through. Even Pink Floyd were
no match for this lot.
The next distinguishable sound I heard was begging, this time from the
men. I didn't want to know what was going on in there now, or how Lotfi and
his mate were choosing to control the situation. I heard more breaking
glass, the racket of furniture being pulled about.
A split second later the loud crump of the devices made me duck
instinctively as what looked like sheet lightning filled the sky. There was
a renewed frenzy inside; more furniture being hurled about, and the screams
became wails.
All at once the boys' cries ceased, as if a switch had been thrown.
I checked my she mug took the bergen in my left hand and the Makharov
in my right, and poked an eye round the corner to see what was happening.
The room reeked of cannabis smoke. Pink Floyd were still going for it next
door.
Both men were on the floor, being kicked and stamped on by Lotfi, who
was alone in the room with them. Zeralda was about to collect a boot in the
teeth.
"Not the face," I yelled.
"Not the face!"
Lotfi turned, his huge black eyes wide and quivering. I jumped through
the french windows, my trainers crunching on shards of broken glass. I
dropped the bergen and put my gloved left hand on his shoulder, keeping a
good grip on theMakharov with my right, and my thumb on the safety in case
he totally lost control and I had to stop him.
I gave his shoulder a squeeze and eased him away from the whimpering
and bloodstained heap on the floor. I had to speak up to be heard over the
music.