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

Was the killer still in the house?
I had to get a weapon.
There was nothing I could do about Kev at the moment. I didn't even
think of him, just that I needed one of his pistols. I knew where all five
of them were concealed in the house, always above child level, and always
loaded and ready, a magazine on the weapon and a round in the chamber. All
Marsha or Kev had to do was pick up one of the weapons and blast anyone who
was pissed off at Kev-and there were more than a few of those in the drug
community. I thought. Fuck, they 'we got him at last.
Very slowly, I put the presents on the floor. I wanted to listen for
any creaking of floors, any movement at all around the house.
The living room was large and rectangular; against one wall was a
fireplace. On either side of it were alcoves with bookshelves, and I knew
that on the second shelf up, on the right, was the world's biggest, fattest
thesaurus, and on top of that, tucked well back out of view, just above head
level but close enough to reach up for, was a big fat gun. It was positioned
so that as you picked it up it would be in the correct position to fire.
I ran. I didn't even look to see if there was anyone else in the room.
Without a weapon, it wouldn't have made much difference.
I reached the bookcase, put my hand up, and took hold of the pistol,
spun around, and went straight down onto my knees in the aim position. It
was a Heckler & Koch USP 9mm, a fantastic weapon. This one even had a laser
sight under the barrel where the beam hits, so does the round.
I took a series of deep breaths. Once I'd calmed myself, I looked down
and "checked chamber." I got the top slide and pulled it back a bit. I could
see the brass casing in position.
Now what was I going to do? I had my car outside; if that got reported
and traced, there'd be all kinds of drama. I was still under my alias cover;
if I got discovered, that meant the job got discovered, and then I'd be in a
world of shit.
I had a quick look at Kevjust in case I could see breathing.
No chance. His brains were hanging out, his face was pulped.
He was dead, and whoever had done it was so blase they'd just thrown
the baseball bat down and left it there.
There was blood all over the glass coffee table and the thick shag pile
carpet. Some was even splattered on the patio windows. But strangely, apart
from that, there wasn't much sign of a struggle. I had to make sure Marsha
and the kids weren't still here, tied up in another room or held down by
some fucker with a gun to their heads. I was going to have to clear the
house.
If only room clearing were as easy as Don Johnson made it look in Miami
Vice: run up to the door, get right up against the doorframe, jump out into
the middle of it, pistol poised, and win the day. A doorway naturally draws
fire, so if you stand in one, you're presenting yourself as a target. If
there's a guy waiting for you there with a shotgun, you're dead.
The first room I had to clear was the kitchen; it was the nearest, plus
there was sound there.
I was on the opposite side of the living room from the kitchen door. I
started to move along the outside wall of the room. I stepped over Kev, not
bothering to look at him.