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

system and basically just used as a K on deniable operations. The only
reason I did it was to finance the other things I wanted to do. What they
were I didn't know yet;
I was a thirty-seven-year-old man with a lot on his mind, but not too
much in it. Euan, however, still felt very much part of the system. He still
had that sense of moral responsibility to fight the good fight whatever that
meant and he'd be there until the day he was kicked out.
Simmonds handed me the folder.
"Check that off," he said.
"There are thirteen pages. I want you to sign for it now and hand it
over to the air crew when you've finished. Good luck," he added, not meaning
it at all.
"Am I going now?" I said.
"I don't have my passport with me -fastball isn't the word."
Lynn said, "Your passport's in there. Have you got your other docs?"
I looked at him as if I'd been insulted.
Passport, driver's license, credit cards are the basic requirements for
giving depth to a cover story. From there the K builds up his own cover by
using the credit cards to buy things, or maybe make direct payments for
magazine subscriptions or club memberships. I had my cards with me as al
ways, but not my passport. The one Simmonds handed me had probably been
specially produced that morning, correct even down to visas and the right
degree of aging.
I didn't have time to finish my coffee. The clerk reappeared and took
me downstairs. I signed for the documents in the outer office before I left;
thirteen pieces of paper with the in formation on them, and I had to sign
each sheet. Then I had to sign for the folder it was in. Fucking
bureaucracy.
A car was waiting for me outside. I jumped in the front;
when I was a kid I'd look at people being chauffeured and think. Who
the fuck do they think they are? I talked shit with the driver, probably
bored him silly; he didn't really want to talk, but it made me feel better.
A civilian Squirrel was waiting on the pad at Battersea heliport,
rotors slowly turning. I had one last job to do before boarding; from a pay
phone I called up the family who covered for me, people who'd vouch for me
if I was ever up against it. They'd never take any action on my behalf, but
if I got lifted I could say to the police, "That's where I live-phone them,
ask them."
A male voice answered the phone.
"James, it's Nick. I've just been given a chance to go to the States
and visit friends. I might be a week or two. If it's more, I'll call" James
understood.
"The Wilmots next door had a break-in two days ago and we're going to
see Bob in Dorset over the Easter weekend."
I needed to know these things because I would if I lived there all the
time. They even sent the local paper to my accommodation address each week.
"Cheers, mate. When you see that son of yours next weekend, tell him he
still owes me a night out."
"I will... Have a nice holiday."
As we skimmed over the Irish Sea I opened the briefing pack and thumbed