"Энди Макнаб. Последний свет (engl) " - читать интересную книгу автора

stock. Her binos, mounted on a mini-tripod, would also be on the desk, and
in front of her would be her plastic lunch-box. With the weapon butt in her
shoulder, she would have confirmed the arcs of fire, making sure she could
move the weapon on its bipod to cover all of the killing ground without
being obstructed by the window-frame or trees. She'd generally sort herself
out and tune into her environment, maybe even dry practise on one of the
catering staff as they rushed around the terrace.
One of the most important things she would have done before signing on
with me was check her muzzle clearance. A sniper's optic sight is mounted on
top of the weapon. At very short ranges the muzzle may be three or four
inches below the image the sniper can actually see through the sight. It
would be a total fuck-up if she fired a round after getting a good sight
picture and it didn't even clear the room, hitting the wall or the bottom of
the window-frame instead.
To deaden the sound of the shot, each weapon was fitted with a
suppressor. This had the drawback of making the front third of the barrel
nearly twice the size of the rest of it, altering its natural balance by
making it top heavy. The suppressor wouldn't stop the bullet's supersonic
crack, but that didn't matter because the noise would be down-range and well
away from the fire position, and covered anyway by the device going off;
what it would stop was the weapon's signature being heard by hospital staff
or Italian tourists eating their overpriced ice cream on the embankment just
a few feet below.
The Portakabin's windows had to be slid open. Firing through glass
would not only alert the tourists, but would also affect the bullet's
accuracy. There was a risk that someone might think it unusual for the
window to be open on a Sunday, but we had no choice. As it was, the
suppressor alone would degrade the round's accuracy and power, which was why
we needed supersonic rounds to make the distance. Subsonic ammunition, which
would eliminate the crack, just wouldn't make it.
It would only be once she was happy with her fire position, and had
checked that her commercial hearing-aid was still in place under her hood,
that she would sign on. Her box of tricks didn't have lights, just a green
wire antenna that would probably be laid along the desk then run along the
floor. A copper coil inside the box emitted three low touch tones; when I
hit my send press el they picked that up through the hearing-aid.
There was one other wire coming out of the box, leading to a flat,
black plastic button; this would now be taped on to the weapon wherever she
had her support hand in position to fire.
Hitting the press el five times, once she was ready to go, was what lit
up my number-two bulb five times.
There was nothing left for her to do now but sit perfectly still,
weapon rested, naturally aligned towards the killing area, observe,
wait, and maybe listen to the comings and goings just below her. With luck
the other two were going to be doing the same very soon. If anyone from
hospital security attempted to be the good guy and close her window, a woman
dressed like an extra from the X-Files would be the last thing they ever saw
as she dragged them inside.
It was only now that she was in position that her problems really
began. Once she'd zeroed the weapon in Thetford Forest, it would have been