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

dates, all diaried, even pictures of the snipers."
We turned down towards the Old Kent Road, and as I shifted position
slightly I glimpsed Sundance's face in the wing mirror.
He was looking dead ahead, his expression giving nothing away.
"Show me."
That was easy enough.
"Sniper Two is a woman, she's in her early thirties and she has brown
hair." I resisted the temptation to say more. I needed to show him I knew a
lot, but without running out of information too early.
There was silence. I got the impression that Sundance had started to
listen carefully, which I took as my chance to carry on. 'You need to tell
him," I said.
"Just think about the shit you'll be in if you don't. Frampton won't be
first in the queue for taking the blame. It'll be you lot who get that for
sure." The message had at least got through to Trainers. He was swapping
glances with Sundance in the mirror: my cue not even to look up now, but let
them get on with it.
We stopped at a set of lights, level with carloads of families swigging
from cans of Coke and doing the bored-in-the-back-seat stuff. The four of us
just sat there as if we were on our way to a funeral. It was pointless me
trying to raise the alarm with any of these people as they smoked or picked
their noses waiting for the green. I just had to depend on Sundance to make
a decision soon. If he didn't, I'd try again, and keep on until they
silenced me. I'd been trying hard not to think about that too much.
We approached a large retail park, with signs for B&Q, Halford's and
McDonald's.
Sundance pointed at the entrance sign.
"In there for five." The indicator immediately started clicking and we
cut across the traffic.
I tried not to show my elation, and let my eyes concentrate hard on the
lunchbox of tricks at the top of the sports bag as I felt the Merc lurch
over a speed bump.
We stopped near a bacon roll and stewy tea van, and Sundance
immediately got out. Trolleys filled with pot plants, paint and planks of
wood trundled past on the tarmac as he walked out of sight somewhere behind
us, dialling into a StarT ac that he'd pulled from his jacket.
The rest of us sat in silence. The driver just looked ahead through his
sunglasses and Trainers turned round in his seat to try to see what Sundance
was up to, taking care to cover my handcuffs so the DIYers couldn't see that
we weren't there for the kitchen sale.
I wasn't really thinking or worrying about anything, just idly watching
a young shell-suited couple load up their ancient XRi with boxes of wall
tiles and grout. Maybe I was trying to avoid the fact that the call he was
making meant life or death for me.
Sundance shook me out of my dreamlike state as he slumped back into the
Merc and slammed the door. The other two looked at him expectantly probably
hoping to be told to drive me down to Beachy Head and give me a helping hand
in my tragic suicide.
There was nothing from him for twenty seconds or so while he put his
seat-belt on. It was like waiting for the doctor to tell me if I had cancer