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

The last room uncleared downstairs was Kev's study. I put my ear to the
door and listened. I couldn't hear anything. I did the same drill and
entered.
It was a small room, just enough space for some filing cabinets, a
desk, and a chair. Shelves on the wall facing the desk were full of books
and photographs of Kev shooting, Kev running, that sort of stuff. Everything
was now on the floor; the filing cabinets were open and paper strewn
everywhere.
The only thing not ripped apart was Kev's PC. That was lying on its
side on the desk, the screen still showing the British army screensaver I'd
sent him for a laugh. The printer and scanner were on the floor beside the
desk, but that was where they had always been.
I went back out and looked at the stairs. They were going to be a
problem. They went up one flight, then turned back on themselves just before
hitting the landing. That meant that I'd have to be a bit ofaHoudini to
cover my ass getting up there.
I wouldn't use the laser now; I didn't want to announce my movements.
I put my foot on the bottom step and started to move up.
Fortunately, Kev's stair carpet was a thick shag pile, which helped
keep the noise down, but still it was like treading on ice, testing each
step gently for creaks, always placing my feet to the inside edge, slowly
and precisely.
Once I got level with the landing, I pointed my pistol up above my head
and, using the wall as support, moved up the stairs backward, step by step.
A couple of steps; wait, listen. A couple more steps; wait, and listen.
There was only one of me, and I had only thirteen rounds to play with,
maybe fourteen, if the round in the chamber was on top of a full magazine.
These guys might have semi 5 automatic weapons for all I knew, or even fully
automatic. If they did and were there, it would not be a good day out.
The washing machine was on its final thundering spin. Still soft rock
on the radio. Nothing else.
Adrenaline takes over. Despite the air-conditioning, I was drenched
with sweat. It was starting to get in my eyes; I had to wipe it with my left
hand, one eye at a time.
The girls' room was facing me. From memory there were bunk beds and the
world's biggest shrine to Pocahontas-T-shirts and posters, sheets and
bedspreads, and even a doll whose back you pressed and she sang something
about colors.
I stopped and prepared for the worst.
I reached for the handle and started to clear the room.
Nothing. No one.
For once the room was even clean and tidy. There were piles of teddy
bears and toys on the beds. The theme was still Pocahontas, but Toy Story
was obviously a close second.
I gradually came out into the hallway, treating it as if it were a new
room because I didn't know what might have gone on in the half-minute since
I'd left it.
I slowly moved to the next bedroom with my back nearly touching the
wall, pistol forward, eyes watching forward and rear, thinking: What if-what
do I do if they appear from that doorway? What if... what if?