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

candidate for Old Labour. The tie was important because it was his main VDM
(visual distinguishing mark). The rest of his kit and his physical
description had also been given to the snipers, but he was easy enough to
identify from his permanently blushing complexion, and a neck that always
seemed to have a big boil on the go. On any other forty-year-old it would
have been unfortunate, but as far as I was concerned it couldn't have
happened to a nicer guy.
On his left hand he wore a wedding ring. I'd never seen a picture of
his wife in his office, and I didn't know if he had children. In fact, I
really hoped he didn't or if he did, that they looked like their mother.
Producing his mobile, the Yes Man came off the threshold and moved to
the right of the doorway as he finished dialling. He looked up and nodded
hello to somebody out of my field of view, then gave a wave to them and
pointed at the mobile to show his intentions.
I watched him listen to the ringing tone, keeping his back against the
wall so that we could check the tie. His hair was greying, or it would have
been if he'd left it alone but he'd been at the Grecian 2000, and I was
catching more than a hint of copper. It complemented his complexion very
well indeed. I felt myself grinning.
A young waiter came up to him with a tray of full glasses, but was
waved away as he continued with his call. The Yes Man didn't drink or smoke.
He was a bornagain Christian, Scientologist, something like that, or one of
the happy-clappy bands. I'd never really bothered to find out, in case he
tried to recruit me and I found myself saying yes. And I didn't set much
store by it. If the Yes Man discovered C was a Sikh, he'd turn up at work in
a turban.
His conversation over, the phone got shut down, and he walked towards
the river.
As he wove and sidestepped through the crowd he bounced slightly on the
balls of his feet, as if trying to give himself extra height. Watching his
progress, I gently undid the tripod restraining clips so I could swivel the
binos and continue to follow him if I needed to.
He passed the two PR women, who looked pretty pleased with themselves.
Each had a phone and a cigarette in one hand and a glass of
self-congratulatory champagne in the other. He passed the cameraman, who was
now busy taking group shots with Big Ben in the background for the Latin
folks back home. Little did he know that he was a couple of chimes short of
a world exclusive.
The Yes Man side-stepped the photo session and continued to go left,
still towards the river. He stopped eventually by a group of maybe ten men,
gathered in a wide, informal circle. I could see some of their faces, but
not all, as they talked, drank or waited for refills from the staff buzzing
around them. Two were white-eyes, and I could see four or five Latino faces
turned towards the river.
The older of the two white-eyes smiled at the Yes Man and shook his
hand warmly.
He then began to introduce his new Latin friends.
This had to be it. One of these was the target. I looked at their
well-fed faces as they smiled politely and shook the Yes Man's hand.
I could feel my forehead leaking sweat as I concentrated on who he was