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

Lotfi dropped down below the ledge and whispered in Arabic to
Hubba-Hubba before coming to me: "Just a car, no police yet."
The wet T-shirt under my pullover was a bit warmer now, but it was just
as uncomfortable. So what? It wouldn't be long before it was black tea and
diesel fumes again, and, for about the first time in my life, I'd be pro
actively planning a future.
I pulled back my pullover sleeve and glanced down at my traser. 00:58.
I thought of Mr. and Mrs. B. Just like the Bouteflikas, they too were
probably having a wash and brush-up while they talked about what on earth
they were going to talk about over the Tex Mex. Probably something like,
"Oh, I hear you have lots of gasoline in your country? We wouldn'tmind some
of that, instead of you giving it to the Italians to fill up their Fiats.
And, oh, by the way, there'll be one Algerian fewer for you to govern when
you get back. But don't worry, he was a bad 'un."
As the sound of the vehicle faded in the direction of Oran, we all
raised our heads slowly above the lip to scan the rock and sandy ground. The
constant noise of crickets, or whatever they called them here, rattled into
the night.
The fuel compound was an oasis of yellow light and bright enough to
make me squint until my eyes adjusted. It was just under two hundred metres
to my half-left. From my perspective the tanks were sitting side by side,
surrounded by the bung. To the right of them was the not-so-neat row of fuel
trucks.
The perimeter of the compound was guarded by a three-metre high chain
link fence, sagging in places where the trucks had backed into it over the
years.
In the far corner of the compound, by the gate that faced the road, was
the security hut. It was no more than a large garden shed. The security was
for fire watch just as much as for stopping the trucks and fuel disappearing
during the night; the depot had no automatic fire system in the event of a
leak or explosion. Lotfi told us there was a solitary guy sitting inside,
and if the whole thing sparked up it would presumably be his job to get on
the phone.
That was good for us, because it meant we didn't have to spend time
neutralizing any fire-fighting apparatus or alarms. What was bad was the
police barracks. A complete fuck-up on our side was only a phone call and
three Ks away. If we got caught it would be serious shit. Algeria wasn't
exactly known for upholding human rights, no one would be coming to help us,
no matter what we said, and terrorists were routinely whipped to death in
this neck of the woods.
Three.
The target house was to the right of us, and closer than the compound.
The wall that surrounded it was a large, square, high-sided construction of
rendered brick, painted a colour that had once been cream. It was built very
much in the Muslim tradition of architecture for privacy. The main door
faced the fuel tanks, and we knew from the satellite that it was rarely
used. I couldn't even see it from where I was, because the lights in the
compound weren't strong enough. From the shots Lotfi had taken during the
CTR, I knew it consisted of a set of large, dark, wooden double doors rising
to an apex, studded and decorated with wrought iron. The pictures had also