"Энди Макнаб. Удаленный контроль (engl) " - читать интересную книгу автора

I needed to get in front of them. That shouldn't be a problem, since
club class had its own shuttle to get us to the terminal ahead of the herd.
However, since they'd pre booked a transfer, I'd need to grab a cab PDQ if I
was going to beat them to M Street. I could have booked one of my own when I
spoke to Washington Flyer, but I'd tried to do that in Warsaw once in
similar circumstances, only to come out and find the two drivers fighting
over who to take first, me or the target. It was the taxi stand for me from
then on.
I came out of arrivals through two large automatic doors and into a
horseshoe of waiting relatives held back by steel barriers, and limo drivers
holding up name boards. I carried on through the bustle, turned left, and
walked down a long ramp into heat and brilliant sunshine.
There were lots of people waiting for taxis. I did a quick calculation;
the number of passengers didn't go into the limited number of cabs. I
wandered toward the rear of the rank and waved a twenty-dollar bill at one
of the drivers. He smiled conspiratorially and hustled me inside. Another
twenty soon had me screaming along the Dulles access road toward Route 66
and Washington, D.C. The airport and its surroundings reminded me of a
high-tech business park, with everything green and manicured; there'd even
been a lake as we exited the terminal. Suburbia started about fifteen miles
from the airport, mainly ribbon development on either side of the
Beltway-very neat wooden and brick houses, many still under construction. We
passed a sign for the Tyson's Corner turnoff and I strained my neck to see
if I could see Kev's place. I couldn't. But, as Euan would have said,
executive housing all looks the same.
We crossed the Potomac and entered the city of monuments.
The Westin on M Street was a typical upscale hotel, slick and clean,
totally devoid of character. Walking into the lobby, I got my bearings and
headed left and up a few stairs to a coffee lounge on a landing that
overlooked the reception area; it was the only way in and out. I ordered a
double espresso.
A couple of refills later, Kerr and McGear came through the revolving
door. Looking very relaxed, they went straight to the desk. I put down my
coffee, left a five-dollar bill under the saucer, and wandered down.
It was just a matter of getting the timing right; there was a bit of a
line at the desk, but the hotel was as efficient as it was soulless and now
had more people behind the reception desk than were waiting to be served.
I couldn't hear what McGear and Kerr were saying, but it was obvious
they were checking in. The woman looking after them was tapping a keyboard
below desk level. Kerr handed over a credit card; now was the time to make
my approach. It makes life far easier if you can get the required
information this way rather than trying to follow them, and there was no way
I was going to risk a compromise by getting in the elevator with them. I
only hoped they were sharing a room.
To the right of them at the reception desk was a rack of postcards
advertising everything from restaurants to bus tours. I stood about two
yards away, with my back to them.
There was no big deal about this; it was a big, busy hotel-they weren't
looking at me, they were doing their own stuff. I made it obvious I was
flicking through the postcards and didn't need help.