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

ISBN 0345428064

Manufactured in the United States of America
First American Hardcover Edition: June 1999 First American Mass Market
Edition: January 2000 GIBRALTAR: SUNDAY, MARCH 6,1988
We didn't know which of the three was going to detonate the bomb. All
Simmonds had been able to tell us was that it was a big one, and that it
would be initiated remotely.
For now, though, there was nothing to do but wait. The security service
had triggers out on the checkpoints with mainland Spain. Until the players
were sighted, Pat, Kev, and I were to stay exactly where we were: sitting
outside a cafe just off Main Street, drinking coffee, looking and listening.
The spring air was crisp and clear under a blindingly blue
Mediterranean sky, the morning sun just starting to make it comfortable
enough for shirtsleeves. The trees that lined the square were packed with
birds so small I couldn't see them among the foliage, but they made enough
noise to drown out the sound of traffic going up and down the main drag,
just out of sight. It was strange to think that this small outpost, on the
tip of southern Spain, was still under British jurisdiction, a last bastion
of Empire.
Through my earpiece I heard Euan make a radio check to the operations
room. Everything he said on the net was very precise, very clear, very calm.
Euan was the tidiest man in the world. If you sat on a cushion he would puff
it up again the moment you stood up. Dedication was his middle name.
I heard a loud hiss of air brakes and looked up. A tour bus had turned
into the square and was parking about twenty yards away. The sign in the
windshield said young at heart.
I didn't pay much attention. I was bored, looking for things to do. The
laces on one of my running shoes had come undone.
I bent down to do them up and got a jab in the ribs from the hammer of
the 9mm Browning. The holster was covert, inside my jeans; that way, only
the pistol grip would be in view if I pulled open my black nylon bomber
jacket. I preferred to have my pistol at the front. A lot of the guys wore
theirs on the side, but I could never get used to it. Once you find a
position you like, you don't change; you might be in deep shit one day, go
to draw your weapon and it isn't there it's several more inches to the right
and you're dead.
I had an extended twenty-round magazine protruding from the pistol
grip. I also had three standard thirteen-round mags on my belt if fifty-nine
rounds weren't enough, I shouldn't be doing this for a living.
The senior citizens began getting off the bus. They were typical Brits
abroad, the men dressed almost identically:  beige flannels, sensible
shoes, and a V-neck sweater over a shirt and tie. Most of the women were in
polyester slacks with elastic waistbands and a sewn-in crease down the
front. They all had flawless, blow-dried, jet black, white, or blue-rinsed
hair. They spotted the cafe and started to move as a herd toward us.
Pat muttered, "Fuck me, the enemy must be getting desperate They've
sent the Barry Manilow fan club. Friends of yours, grand ad He grinned at
Kev, who offered him a finger to swivel on. Whether you like it or not, you