"Clancy, Tom - Op-Center 06 - State of Siege - with Steve Pieczenik" - читать интересную книгу автора (Clancy Tom)

She'd probably run, then walked until she could
no longer move. Then she must have lain down here
to look at the waning night sky. Phum used
to look at the sky a great deal when she was a little
girl. Ty wondered if that sky, the memories of a
better time, had given his little sister any peace at
the end. Hang slipped his trembling fingers through his
sister's long, black hair. He heard splashing
in the distance. That would be Ty. He'd radioed his
partner that he'd spotted the girl and saw her go
down. She said she'd be there within a half hour. They
had been hoping, at least, that
she could give them a name, help them break the
monstrous union that was destroying so many young lives.
But that didn't happen. Seeing him, Phum only
had the strength to say his name. She died with her
brother's name and the hint of a smile on her bright red
lips, not the name of the creature who had done this. Ty
arrived and looked down. Dressed like a local
peasant, she stood there with the wind whispering around her.
And then she gasped. She knelt beside Hang and put
her arms around him. Neither of them moved or spoke for
several minutes. Then, slowly, Hang stood with his
sister's body in his arms. He carried her back
toward the old station wagon that served as his field
outpost. He knew they shouldn't leave Kampong
Thorn now. Not when they were so close to getting what
they needed. But he had to take his sister home. That
was where she should be laid to rest. The sun quickly warmed
and then baked his damp back. Ty opened the back
of the station wagon and spread a blanket amid the
cartons. Inside the boxes were weapons and radio
equipment, maps and lists, and a powerful incendiary
device. Hang wore the remote trigger hooked
around his belt. If they were ever caught, he would
destroy everything in the car. Then he would use the
.357 Smith and Wesson he carried to take his
own life. Ty would do likewise. With Ty's
help, Hang placed the body of his sister on the
blanket. Gently, he folded her inside. Before
leaving, he looked out across the field. It
had been made sacred with her blood. But the land would
not be clean until it was washed with the blood of those who
had done this.
It would be. However long it took, he vowed that it
would be.
Paris, France Monday, 6:13 A.m.
Seven years ago, during training for service with
UNTAC -- the United Nations Transitional
Authority in Cambodia-brash, adventuresome