Uncle Target [antikvár]

Since terrorism had become normal, there were police No Parking cones along the streets outside every London barracks, but a guard sergeant who recognised Agnes Algar let her drive in and wait on the edge of the square itself. When it was past midnight, he brought her a mug of tea and chatted, in a confident but stilted way, because she was an officer's girl-friend, not a wife.At last a Land-Rover drove in followed by a Bedford truck, and parked neatly side-by-side some yards away. Two soldiers got out of the Land-Rover, carrying an array of haversacks and weapons, and she knew one of them must be Major Harry Maxim yet for a moment couldn't tell which.That brought a little twinge of isolation, realising that she had never seen him in his camouflaged uniform, slung about with packs and webbing that he would wear if he ever went to the war he had spent his life training for.Then she saw him stretch, cat-like, within the baggy combat clothing, recognised the gesture and saw, or thought she saw in the lamplight, the lean concave face with its uncommitted smile, and then another gesture as he checked the set of his beret, one he must have done thousands of times and she had never seen before, and she felt isolated again.Other soldiers were clambering stiffly out of the back of the Bedford, and the sergeant who had been with Maxim began giving orders in a roaring whisper.'Don't stamp about, lads, your mates are trying to get11