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

want them exposed, but that could cut two ways: it also meant that someone
like me would be expendable if things weren't working too well. I'd always
operated on the basis that if you were involved in deniable operations for
the intelligence services and hadn't prepared an out for the day they
decided to shaft you, then you deserved every thing you got. The head honcho
knew that Ks had security blankets, but everybody denied it the operators
denied it, the Firm denied it. I'd always been sure that the Firm put as
much effort into trying to find where the blackmail kit was hidden as they
did into the operations themselves.
I'd committed myself now. It was a card I could play only once. No way
would I be living an easy existence after this. I was finished with the
Secret Intelligence Service and would probably have to spend the rest of my
life in a remote mountain village in Sri Lanka, looking over my shoulder.
What if the Firm decided to admit to the Americans that there'd been an
op they'd forgotten to mention? Would they take the rap on the knuckles,
then say, "This man killed one of your officers"? No, it didn't work that
way. The Firm wouldn't know if my blanket was a bluff or not, or, if used,
how much damage it could do in the hands of the press.
They'd have to take it as real; they'd have to help. They had no
choice. We'd get lifted by the Firm, I'd be flown back to the UK, and then
I'd take up basket weaving until they forgot about me.
Kelly was lying on the bed with a towel wrapped around her when I got
back to the room. The cartoon had finished, and there was some sort of
hard-hitting news-type voice on, but I didn't pay much attention to it. I
was more interested in getting a response from this little girl. It seemed
that I was fast running out of friends; she might be just seven years old
but I wanted to feel she was on my side.  I said, "We've got to hang around
for another hour or two, and then somebody's coming to..."
And then it hit me. The no-nonsense. New England female voice was
saying, "... brutal murders and a possible kidnap..." I switched my
attention to the screen.
She was black and in her mid-thirties. Her face was on camera, with
Kev's house in the background and the Windstar still in the drive. Police
were milling around two ambulances with flashing lights.
I grabbed the remote and hit the Off button.
"Kelly, naughty girl." I grinned.
"You haven't cleaned your neck. Just you go and do it right this
minute!"
I nearly threw her into the bathroom.
"And don't come out until I tell you to!"
I hit the On button and kept the volume low.
The woman said,"... neighbors report seeing a white man in his late
thirties, around five-foot-ten to six feet tall, medium build, with short
brown hair. He arrived at the house in a white Dodge with Virginia plates at
approximately two forty-five today. We now have Lieutenant Davies from the
Fairfax County Police Department..."
A balding detective was standing beside her.
"We can confirm that there was a male fitting that description, and
we're appealing for more witnesses. We need to know the whereabouts of the
Browns' seven-year-old daughter, Kelly."