"Steve Perry - The Man Who Never Missed" - читать интересную книгу автора (Perry Steven)

Because.

The invisible blanket was removed. All the sounds and sights and smells and
tastes came back in a rush. The stink of death, of explosives, the cries, the
blood. Everything burst upon him in that moment. He knew! He understood why!
He could not have said it, there were no words, but the Realization burst from
his innermost being. It was all right. ALL RIGHT! Not good, not moral, but he
understood it, all in a single cosmic flash which lasted only a second. It was
more potent than any psychedelic he'd ever taken, stronger than anything he'd
ever felt. Emile Antoon Khadaji suddenly and without any logical or apparent
reason knew just who he was, exactly what his place in the universe was. He
knew who he was, and so he knew too what he must do.

He grinned and put his left hand on the top block of foam, then vaulted over
it and began to run toward the approaching mob. The sunshine warmed him; the
smells were fine, now.

"Buddha! Emile, what the fuck are you doing—?"

"—Khadaji, get back here—!"

"—pull your fire or you'll hit him—!"

"—slipped his drive—!"

As he ran, Khadaji tore the transceiver from his ear and tossed it away. The
voices from the radio went with it. The explosive bullets screamed and whined
past him, but they didn't matter. He would be hit or he wouldn't, it was all
the same, it didn't matter in the overall scheme of things, whatever was right
would happen....

A tumbling bullet nicked his left boot, ripping the heel away, and he
stumbled, tripped and fell. He managed to turn the fall into a shoulder roll,
came up and kept running. Without the heel, it was a lopsided run, he nearly
fell again, but he kept going. He was fifty meters out and nearing the first
of the dead. Another fifty meters and he would be there—

A body near him jumped under the impact of a slug and an arm blew away from
the corpse and bounced from Khadaji's chest as he ran. He didn't slow. He
could see the faces of the attackers now, dull, almost like plastic dolls,
showing no fear or emotion as they moved toward their goal. They didn't have a
chance of reaching it, of course, he knew that. They would learn it as they
died; only then would the vapid expressions change in sudden surprise.

He passed the first of them. They ignored him. His uniform seemed to make no
difference, they could not focus on a single man. He began to strip the
lightweight gear away, still running.

When he was down to a thin coverall, he finally slowed to a walk. There were