JК
The Third Option :: Flynn Vince
Страница: 219 из 267Each lot was separated by a line of trees and bushes for extra privacy. Two houses before his, Rapp turned off the road and cut through his neighbor's yard. Without the moon, it was extremely dark. When they reached the line of trees, Rapp found a small footpath and crossed into the next yard. The men ran in a crouch now. When they reached the next line of trees, they dropped to a knee. Rapp pulled down the lip mike on his headset and asked for one more status report from the chopper. They reported that the situation was unchanged.
Rapp grabbed Hackett around the neck and pulled him close. Pointing toward the water and whispering in his ear, he said, «About twenty feet before the cliff, there's a path that leads from Harry's yard to mine.»
«Who's Harry?»
«He's my neighbor. Don't worry about him. He's eighty-one and as deaf as a door. Now, listen. These two guys standing post are dead. We don't have time to dick around with them. We don't have cuffs, and we don't have enough people to cover our asses. When I give the word, I want you to pop your man in the head. You got any problems with that?»
Hackett was unfazed by the question. It would not the first time he had taken a man's life. He didn't blink or show the slightest sign of tension. He uttered his simple one-word reply. «No.»
«Good.» Rapp slapped his arm. «Get moving.»
Hackett moved silently into the darkness. Rapp spoke to Stroble over the radio. «Dan, get him moving.» He waited a second and said, «Marcus, I want continuous updates once he's inside the house.»
CONAN O'BRIEN WAS on the tube. Jeff Duser stretched his arms above his head and let out a long yawn. He hadn't had enough sleep as of late. Too much work and no play: When he brought his hands down, he said, «Where the fuck is Polk?» The other man sitting at Rapp's kitchen table didn't bother to answer his boss's question. Duser stood and looked out the window onto the back deck. One of his men was pacing back and forth trying to stay warm. Looking around the kitchen, he said, «I can't believe this guy doesn’t even have a bag of chips around here.»
The man at the table looked up from his game of solitaire. «Maybe he's healthy.»
«What in the fuck is that supposed to mean?» snarled Duser.
The man shrugged his shoulders. «Chips are full of bad stuff.»
«Pedro, I've been eating chips my whole life. I'm thirty five years old, and I've got a washboard stomach.»
«Yeah, but what do your arteries look like?»
«My arteries are fine.» Duser wasn't in the mood for one of Pedro's health lectures.
Rapp grabbed Hackett around the neck and pulled him close. Pointing toward the water and whispering in his ear, he said, «About twenty feet before the cliff, there's a path that leads from Harry's yard to mine.»
«Who's Harry?»
«He's my neighbor. Don't worry about him. He's eighty-one and as deaf as a door. Now, listen. These two guys standing post are dead. We don't have time to dick around with them. We don't have cuffs, and we don't have enough people to cover our asses. When I give the word, I want you to pop your man in the head. You got any problems with that?»
Hackett was unfazed by the question. It would not the first time he had taken a man's life. He didn't blink or show the slightest sign of tension. He uttered his simple one-word reply. «No.»
«Good.» Rapp slapped his arm. «Get moving.»
Hackett moved silently into the darkness. Rapp spoke to Stroble over the radio. «Dan, get him moving.» He waited a second and said, «Marcus, I want continuous updates once he's inside the house.»
CONAN O'BRIEN WAS on the tube. Jeff Duser stretched his arms above his head and let out a long yawn. He hadn't had enough sleep as of late. Too much work and no play: When he brought his hands down, he said, «Where the fuck is Polk?» The other man sitting at Rapp's kitchen table didn't bother to answer his boss's question. Duser stood and looked out the window onto the back deck. One of his men was pacing back and forth trying to stay warm. Looking around the kitchen, he said, «I can't believe this guy doesn’t even have a bag of chips around here.»
The man at the table looked up from his game of solitaire. «Maybe he's healthy.»
«What in the fuck is that supposed to mean?» snarled Duser.
The man shrugged his shoulders. «Chips are full of bad stuff.»
«Pedro, I've been eating chips my whole life. I'm thirty five years old, and I've got a washboard stomach.»
«Yeah, but what do your arteries look like?»
«My arteries are fine.» Duser wasn't in the mood for one of Pedro's health lectures.