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

The pistol was out in front of me; it had to be ready to fire as soon
as I saw a target. Where your eyes go, the pistol goes.
I mentally divided the room into sections. The first was from the couch
halfway across the living room, a distance of about twenty feet; I got there
and froze by a big TV stereo setup, which gave me a bit of cover while I
cleared the door that led back to the hallway. It was still open.
There was nothing in the hallway. As I moved through, I closed the door
behind me. I approached the one to the kitchen. The handle was on the
right-hand side; I couldn't see the hinges, so it had to open inward. I
moved across to the hinged side and listened. Just above the sound of my
breath and that of my heart thumping, I could hear some bonehead going on
about "Injured at work? Fight for compensation through our expert
attorneys-and remember, no win, no fee."
My pistol arm wasn't completely stretched out but the weapon was still
facing forward. I leaned over to the handle, turned it, gave the door a
push, and moved back. Then I opened it a bit more from the hinge side to see
if there was any reaction from inside the kitchen.
I could hear more of the radio and also a washing machine-turning,
stopping, turning. But nothing happened.
With the door now open just a few more inches I could see a small part
of the kitchen. I moved forward and pushed the door fully open. Still no
reaction. Using the doorframe and wall as cover, I edged around slowly.
As the angle between me and the frame increased, I gradually saw more
of the room. I took my time so I could take in the information in stages. If
I had to react, being two yards away from the doorframe would not affect my
shooting, and if it did, I shouldn't be in this business anyway. Using my
right thumb, I pushed the laser sight button. A small dot of brilliant red
light appeared on the kitchen wall.
I leaned my body over to present as small a target as possible.
If anyone was in the kitchen, all they'd see was a very nervous bit of
head, and that would be what they'd have to react to, not the full Don
Johnson.
The room was like the Marie Celeste. Food was still on the side in the
middle of preparation. Kev had said Marsha was going to cook something
special. There were vegetables and opened packs of meat. I closed the door
behind me. The radio was now playing some soft rock and the washing machine
was on spin. The table was half-set-and that really upset me.
Kev and Marsha were very strict on the kids' chores; the sight of the
half-set table made me feel sick inside because it heightened the chances of
the kids being either dead or upstairs with some fucker who had a 9mm stuck
in one of their mouths.
I moved slowly to the other end of the room and locked the door to the
garage. I didn't want to clear the bottom of the house only for the guys to
come in behind me.
I was starting to sweat big-time. Were Marsha and the kids still in the
house, or had they made a run for it? I couldn't just leave. The fuckers
who'd done that to Kev would be capable of anything. I was starting to feel
my stomach churn. What the fuck was I going to find upstairs?
I went out into the hallway again. As I moved, I had my pistol pointing
up the stairs, which were now opposite me.