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

from the bed. It was too much for him; he vomited on to the bedding as he
tried desperately to keep his feet off the ground, as if it was on fire.
He started to gob off in vomit-soaked Arabic to Lotfi, but halted
abruptly as a blinding light burst through the haze of sweet-smelling smoke
that still filled the air.
It came from the area around the tanks. The OBIs had done their stuff.
The fuel was burning good-style: I could see the leaves on the trees
outside, which were higher than the perimeter wall, reflecting the bright
orange flames.
I concentrated on the job in hand, working at the top of his spinal
column like I was cutting a section of ox-tail. Lotfi had got fed up with
his supporting role and was pistol-whipping the other paedophile. If he
hadn't before, Greaseball now got the message: he was in deep shit. He
started begging, his legs and red-stained soles up by his chest, his hands
down between them trying to protect himself as he lay on the bed.
"Please, please, I'm a friend. I'm a friend ..." something like that,
anyway. His English sounded pretty good; I just couldn't hear too clearly
with the music this loud.
I yelled at Lotfi: "Turn that fucking noise off, it's doing my head
in."
He kicked his way past the furniture that had been thrown around the
room, and seconds later the music stopped, just as Greaseball tried wiping
the vomit from his mouth before realizing his hands were bloodstained.
Hubba-Hubba appeared in the doorway and for a moment looked appalled by
what I had nearly finished.
What?"
"Glasses," he said.
What?"
"One of the boys needs his glasses."
I couldn't believe what I was hearing.
"Fuck him, just get rid of them. We're running out of time."
"He can't. He needs them, they're difficult to get. Really expensive to
buy here."
He rooted around on the floor next to the bed, then pulled back the
blood-soaked covers as I finished what I'd come to do.
I grabbed the top sheet, pulled it from under Greaseball, and wrapped
Zeralda's head in it.
Hubba-Hubba stood over the headless body.
"Can you turn him over?"
"What?"
Turn him over. They could be under him. You have the gloves."
I did as I was told. The precious glasses were under his legs, one lens
cracked and bloodstained.
Hubba-Hubba picked them up between his thumb and forefinger as if he
was holding a scorpion. They can go now, I'll put them in the car."
Lotfi hadn't returned, but I knew what he was up to.
I wiped the knife blade on the bed and put it back into the bergen,
then pulled out a black bin liner and threw in the shrouded head.
And that was it. I'd never cut off a man's head before, and I hadn't
been looking forward to it one bit. But after seeing Zeralda with the boys,