"Энди Макнаб. Удаленный контроль (engl) " - читать интересную книгу автора

The idea was for the two boys to walk up to the family house, knock on
the door, take on whatever threat presented itself, make entry into the
house, zap the target, and run.
The second was going to be a sniper option. The target saw himself as a
big-time fitness freak; he'd come out and have a little jog around a track,
all of about four hundred yards. He emerged from his house every day in a
lime green, fluffy velour tracksuit, did one lap, and that was his training
for the day. The boys were going to hit him just as he started to sweat and
slow down-which by the look of him would be after about a hundred yards. I
would be on this one to coordinate the hit so that both fired at once.
The third target was going to be taken out on his way to the ministry.
Two bikes would pull up at stoplights and give him the good news with their
AK-47s.
I landed up in Northern Iraq without any problems and started the
buildup training. At this stage not even the Kurds knew what their task was
going to be. The Draganov sniper rifles were a heap of shit. However, the
weapon is never as important as the ammunition, which in this case was even
worse, Indian 7.62mm. Given a free hand I would have wanted to use Lapier,
manufactured in Finland and the best in the world for sniping because of its
consistency, but Western rounds would have given the game away.
The Indian ammunition was hit and miss mostly miss.
On top of that the Draganovs were semiautomatic rifles. Ide ally, you
need a bolt-action weapon, which is not only better for taking the hit, it
also doesn't leave an empty case behind because it stays in the weapon until
you reload. However, it had to be Russian shit that they were zapped with,
and it had to be deniable.
Once all three jobs went down, the weapons were to be dumped and
destroyed. They weren't. On the AK there is a forward leaf sight, with a
serial number scratched underneath it. I had been told that all serial
numbers had been removed at the source, and had taken the information at
face value. I didn't check I fucked up.
The only way to save the situation as far as London was concerned was
to kill the Kurd teams I'd been training. It was damage control on a
drastic scale, but it had to be done. De tail counts. If the Iraqis could
trace the weapons, they might make the UK connection. If they then captured
the Kurds, who just happened to mention that they had been trained by a
Westerner called Nick, it wouldn't take a mastermind to figure out which
country he came from. It actually pissed me off to have to kill them,
because I'd gotten to know these guys really well. I was still wearing the G
Shock watch one of the snipers had given me. We'd had a bet when we were on
the range, and he lost. I knew that I could beat him, but still cheated
because I had to win. I'd really gotten to like him.
Back in the UK there had been an internal inquiry; every body was
covering their ass. And because I was a K, they could land it all on me. The
armorers and technicians from the intelligence service said it was my fault
for not checking.
What could I say? I didn't even exist. I was bracing myself to take the
hit.
I entered Vauxhall Cross via a single metal door that funneled me
toward reception. Inside, the building could be mistaken for any high-tech