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

The other two gave me a shove to help me on my way. As I slid down the
wall I tried my hardest not to push against the cuffs and ratchet them up
even tighter than they already were. I finally slumped on to the floor and
ended up facing the TV.


SIX

I guessed this place had been just a temporary set-up for the duration
of the job and the job, of course, was planning and preparing to kill me. No
doubt there was a similar set-up somewhere else in London where a whole lot
of the boys and girls had prepared themselves for the hit on the snipers.
Trainers went over to the TV as the other two headed back into the
garage. I watched as he crouched down by the brew kit, opening the kettle to
check for water. His light brown nylon jacket had ridden up to expose part
of a black leather pancake holster sitting on a leather belt, just behind
his right hip, and a green T-shirt dark with sweat. Even the back of his
belt was soaking, and had turned a much darker brown than the rest.
I could still hear the kids in the background, kicking their ball and
yelling at each other. The pitch of their voices changed as one probably
mis-kicked and was treated to squeals of derision. My hands, still stuck in
the surgical gloves, were pruning up in the heat.
Trainers lined up three not-too-healthy-looking Simpsons mugs, Bart,
Marge and Homer, which pissed me off. Maggie was missing. There obviously
wasn't going to be any brew for me. He threw a tea bag into each, splashed
milk on top, then dug a spoon into a crumpled, half-empty bag of sugar,
tipping heaps of it into two of the mugs.
A toilet flushed in the garage area, and the sound got louder then
softer as a door opened and closed. I could hear Sundance and the driver
mumbling to each other but couldn't make out what was said.
The Merc door slammed, the engine turned over, and there was more
squeaking and grinding as the shutter lifted. Thirty seconds later the car
backed out into the road and drove away. Maybe one K of the mugs was for me
after all.
| Sundance appeared at the office door, his back to us, checking |that
the shutter had fully closed. As the steel banged on to the I floor, he
walked to the settee and threw his green cotton bomber jacket on to the
armrest of the nearest chair, revealing a wet maroon polo shirt and a chunky
Sig 9mm, holstered just behind his right hip. On his left hip sat a light
brown leather mag-carrier, with three thick pieces of elastic holding a
magazine apiece. The first brass round of each glinted in the ceiling's
white light. I almost laughed: three full mags, and just for little old me.
I'd heard of overkill but this was something out of the last five minutes of
Butch Cassidy. It was obvious where this boy had got his best ideas.
He stripped off his polo shirt and used it to wipe the sweat from his
face, exposing a badly scarred back. Two indentations were clearly gunshot
wounds: I recognized them because I had one myself. Someone had also given
him the good news with a knife, some of the slashes running the whole length
of his back, with stitch marks either side. All in all, it looked quite a
lot like an aerial photo of Clapham Junction. I Trainers, who'd just