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

stride.
Once through, we were faced with the rear of the office buildings. I
couldn't see the alleyway we'd come through earlier. I turned left, looking
for any other route through to the main drag. There had to be one somewhere.
 Now on asphalt, I could make good speed, but Kelly started slipping. I
shouted, "Hold on!" and felt her tense up more.
"Harder, Kelly, harder!"
It wasn't working. With my left hand I got hold of both her wrists and
pulled them down in front of me toward my waist.
She was nice and tight on me now, and I could use my right hand to pump
myself forward. My priority was to make good speed and distance. They would
be out and running soon. I needed that alleyway.
It's a strange thing when people are being chased. Subconsciously they
try to get as much distance as they can between themselves and their
pursuers, and, whether it's in an urban environment or a rural one, they
think that means going in a straight line. In fact, what you need to do is
put in as many angles as possible, especially in a city or a town. If you
come to an intersection with four options, it makes the chasers' job more
difficult: they have a larger area to cover and have to split forces. A hare
being chased in a field doesn't run in a straight line; it takes a big jump,
changes direction, and off it goes again the pursuers are gaining momentum
in a straight line and all of a sudden they have to change direction, too,
which means slowing down, reevaluating their position. I was going to be
that hare. As soon as I got to the end of the alleyway I was going to hang a
left or a right, I didn't even know which yet, and run as fast as I could
until I found other options.
I found the alley. No time to think if it was the right decision just
make one. I could hear shouting behind me, maybe 100 to 150 yards away. But
it wasn't directed at me.
They were too professional for that. They knew it wouldn't have any
effect. I heard the cars turning around. They'd be trying to cut me off. I
ran.
By now I was out of breath, with this seven-year-old on my back. My
mouth was dry, and I was breaking into a sweat.
Kelly's head was banging onto the back of mine, and I was holding her
so tight her chin was digging into my neck; it was starting to hurt her and
she was crying.
"Stop, stop. Nick!"
I wasn't listening. I reached the end of the alley and ran into a
totally different world.
In front of me was a narrow road that ran the length of the office
buildings, and on the other side of it a grass embankment that went
downhill to the main drag. Beyond that lay parking lots and the malls.
Traffic noise drowned out Kelly's cries. The flow of vehicles was fast in
both directions, despite the wet road. Most had their headlights on, and
their wipers on intermittent. I stopped.
We must have looked a sight, a man with a shoeless child on his back,
puffing and panting down the grass slope, the child moaning as her head
banged on the back of his. I climbed the railings at the side of the main
drag; now we were playing chicken with the traffic. Cars sounded their horns