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

take bags marked Tokyo and send them to Buenos Aires instead. Even if your
baggage does arrive safely, if it reaches the carousel five minutes after
the target's, you're fucked.
I bought some toothpaste and other odds and ends, all the time keeping
an eye out for Euan. I knew that he'd be glued to Kerr and McGear, unless
they'd already gone through the security gates.
The departures lounge seemed full of Irish families who were going to
find the Easter sun, and newly retired Americans who'd come to find their
roots, wandering around with their brand-new Guinness sweatshirts,
umbrellas, and baseball caps, and leprechauns in tins and little pots of
grow-your-own shamrock.
It was busy, and the bars were doing good business. I spotted Euan at
the far end of the terminal, sitting at a table in a coffee shop, having a
large frothy coffee and reading a paper. I'd always found "Euan" a strange
name for him. It always made me think of a guy with a kilt on running up and
down a hill somewhere, tossing a caber. In fact, he was born in Oxford, and
his parents came from Surrey.
They must have watched some Scottish movie and liked the name.
To the left was a bar. Judging by where Euan was sitting I guessed that
was where the players were. I didn't bother looking; I knew Euan would point
them out. There was no rush.
As I came out of the pharmacy, I looked toward the coffee shop and got
eye-to-eye. I started walking toward him, big grin all over my face as if
I'd just spotted a long-lost pal, but didn't say anything yet. If somebody
was watching him, knowing he was on his own, it wouldn't look natural for me
just to come up and sit next to him and start talking. It had to look like a
chance meeting, yet not such a noisy one that people noticed it. They
wouldn't think. Oh, look, there's two spies meeting, but it registers. It
might not mean anything at the time, but it could cost you later.
Euan started to stand and returned my smile.
"Hello, dickhead, what are you doing here?" He gestured for me to join
him.
We sat down, and since Euan was sponsoring the RV (rendezvous), he came
up with the cover story.
"I've just come to see you from Belfast before you fly back to London.
Old friends from schooldays." It helps to know you both have the same story.
"Where are they?" I said, as if asking after the family.
"My half left and you've got the bar. Go right of the TV They're
sitting-one's got a jean jacket on, one a black three-quarter-length suede
coat. Ken is on the right-hand side. He's now called Michael Lindsay. McGear
is Morgan Ashdown."
"Have they checked in?"
"Yes. Hand luggage only."
"For two weeks in Washington?"
"They've got suit bags."
"And they haven't gone to any other check-in?"
"No, it looks like they're going to Heathrow."
I walked over to the counter and bought two coffees.
They were the only Irishmen at the bar, because everybody else was
wearing a Guinness polo shirt and drinking pints of the black stuff. These