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

ground. I could only hope that Sniper Three was close behind.


THREE

Big Ben struck half past the hour. Thirty minutes to go.
I continued to stare at the box, trying to transmit positive thoughts.
The job was going to happen with or without Sniper Three, but what with the
weapon problems, three chances of a hit were better than two.
My positive transmissions weren't working at all, and after ten minutes
or so my eyes were drawn to the killing ground again. Things were happening.
Different colours of clothing were moving amongst the black and white of the
catering staff like fragments in a kaleidoscope. Shit, they were early.
I put one eye to the binos and checked them out, just as One and Two
would be doing. The new arrivals seemed to be the advance party, maybe ten
suited men, all of them white. I checked that the Yes Man wasn't amongst
them and had fucked up his own plan. He wasn't. He would have fitted in
nicely, though: they didn't really seem to know what to do with themselves,
so decided to mill around the door like sheep, drinking champagne and
mumbling to each other, probably about how pissed off they were to be
working on a Sunday. Dark, double-breasted suits with a polyester mix seemed
to be the order of the day. I could see the well worn shine and lard-arse
creases up the backs of the jackets even from here. The jackets were mostly
undone because of the weather or pot bellies, revealing ties that hung
either too high or too low.
They had to be Brit politicians and civil servants.
The only exception was a woman in her early thirties with blonde hair
and rectangular glasses, who came into view alongside the catering bully.
Dressed in an immaculate black trouser suit, she seemed to be the only one
of the new arrivals who knew what was what. With a mobile phone in her left
hand and a pen in her right, she seemed to be pointing out that everything
his staff had done needed redoing.
The cameraman also wandered into my field of view, taking light
readings, and clearly enjoying the last-minute flap. There was a flash as he
took a test shot.
Then there was another in my peripheral vision, and I looked down.
The third bulb. I nearly cheered.
I left the blonde-haired PR guru to get on with it, and concentrated on
the box as I replied to the flashes. Sniper Three duly acknowledged.
Big Ben chimed three times.
Relief washed over me. I'd known all along that these people would only
get into position at the very last moment, but that didn't stop me worrying
about it while I was waiting. Now I just wanted this thing over and done
with, and to slip away on Eurostar to the Gare du Nord, then on to Charles
de Gaulle. I should make the check-in nicely for my 9 p.m. American Airlines
flight to Baltimore, to see Kelly and finish my business with Josh.
I got back on the binos and watched the PR guru tell the Brits, ever so
nicely and with a great big smile, to get the fuck away from the door and
prepare to mingle. They cradled their champagne glasses and headed for the
nibbles, drifting from my field of view. I kept my focus on the doorway.