The Hit (45 page)

He spoke into his mic. “Progress report?”

“Very little, actually. Still walking,” answered Reel. “Don’t think he’s staying at the same place as the hired help. You?”

“Gonna try something.”

“What does that mean exactly?” she said, sounding a little startled.

“It means exactly that I’ll let you know when I’m done.”

“Robie, if you’re going to go in there I’m coming with you.”

“I didn’t say I was going in there.”

“You didn’t say you weren’t either.”

“I’ve been doing this sort of thing solo for a long time, okay?” he said harshly.

“Right, okay,” she said, sounding sheepish. “Report back when you can.”

Robie took a few careful steps out of the alley and peered upward. The front and rear doors were out. They would be guarded. The lower-level windows were out for the same reason.

That was why Robie was peering upward. He figured this strike team didn’t have unlimited manpower. They would have to conserve what they did have and utilize it optimally. That meant not wasting it guarding portals that were literally out of reach.

But few things were truly out of reach. And this building was old. And the veneer was brick. Uneven brick.

That meant there were handholds.

The back of the building faced an abandoned structure. Robie gripped an edge of brick with fingers that were nearly as strong as steel. Handling a fifteen-pound sniper rifle, pulling triggers, and bracing for recoil to immediately fire again had made his grip one of the strongest things about him.

It would come in handy tonight.

He had to make the climb in darkness, because even a penlight would seem like a ship’s beacon. But there was a dull glow of
moonlight. That was both good and bad. Good if it made him see a handhold he ordinarily wouldn’t have seen. Bad if they had a patrol passing around the outside of the building and one of them happened to look up.

He kept going, slipped twice, nearly fell once, but his hand finally gripped the ledge outside a darkened window and he lifted himself up and perched on the narrow space. The window was locked.

He pulled out his Swiss Army knife, which the security checkpoint had missed, and a few seconds later passed through the open window and dropped noiselessly to the floor. Now he used his penlight to see, because the darkness was nearly complete in here.

The room was empty except for a few odd pieces of furniture, some old paint cans, tarps, and rusted tools. It seemed someone was going to renovate the space and then thought better of it.

He moved to the door very slowly. The floors were wooden and old, and such floors creaked. He didn’t take actual steps. He slid his feet along the floor to minimize the noise. He reached the door and put his ear to it.

He could hear sounds. But they all seemed to be coming from downstairs.

He shined his penlight on the hinges. They looked old and rusty. That wasn’t good. They might sound like a fighter jet shrieking in when he opened it.

Robie looked around and his gaze lighted on the stack of paint cans, tools, and tarps. He slid over there, quietly rummaging around until his hand snagged a can of oil.

He went back over to the door and soaked the hinges with it. He let the lubricant seep deeply into the metal joints and then he slowly opened the door.

Thank God for small treasures
, he thought as he peeked between the door and jamb.

The hall was clear.

He moved out into the corridor. There were three doors facing him across the hall, with stairs heading down in the middle of the landing.

He shuffled across the hall and over to the other doors. He pulled
his knife, a poor weapon against guns, but all he had. The hall was thankfully dark, so he used his penlight to examine the lock and floor in front of the three doors.

Bits of rust were in front of only one door, the one obviously that had been opened. He noted that the hinges had been lubricated.

The door was locked. But with his knife it was unlocked ten seconds later.

He opened it, the hinges moving silently, and stepped in. He shut the door behind him and locked it.

He shined his light around.

In one corner, on pegs, was a long line of clothing items. He examined some of them. Now the other side’s plan started to take shape for him. It actually made sense. In fact, it was a tactic that had worked well for terrorists in other scenarios.

As he continued to look around he realized he had hit the jackpot. It looked like the armory at a military base. There were so many weapons here that Robie wondered how they could possibly miss a few. They were stacked haphazardly and weapons of different capabilities were mixed together. He could sense from this disorganization that the team here either lacked military precision or deemed their opponents too weak to put up much resistance. From what he had seen in the town so far, Robie opted for the latter explanation.

These weapons hadn’t come in through the checkpoints. The people who had missed Robie’s knife couldn’t possibly have missed this. Either people had been paid off or, more likely, the weapons had been placed here before the checkpoints were set up.

Robie grabbed a few pistols, two subguns, and as much ammo as he could carry in his knapsack. Ideally, he could sabotage the rest of the weapons by knocking out the firing pins. But he didn’t have the tools to do so. And it would take too much time and make too much noise.

But as he looked down at the weapons an idea occurred to him. He took photos of all of them with his cell phone.

What he was planning to do with these photos was incredibly risky, but in the end, he deemed the risk of not doing it far greater.

R
EEL WAS WAITING FOR
R
OBIE
at a small inn they had chosen as their rendezvous point. They had taken one room, and when Robie knocked on the door, she peeked through the peephole and let him in.

From under his coat and his knapsack he pulled out the weapons he’d taken and dropped them on the bed.

Reel picked up one MP5. “How much did they have?”

“Enough to take down this entire town and then some.”

“How many men you figure?”

“At least two dozen, going by the amount of firepower. What happened with Kent?”

“He’s staying at the finest hotel in this little hamlet. I left him having a glass of sherry by the fireplace.”

“What do you think his role is? He won’t be in the attack itself. You said he was one of us, but that was a long time ago.”

Reel shook her head. “I think he was sent here to oversee things. He was at the building where the weapons were. He probably went over the plan with the troops and their respective assignments.”

“What do you think their exit plan is?”

“With the sort of firepower you saw, I would say they could easily shoot their way out of here. Private wings lifting off a private runway and they’re out of the country.”

“And Kent?” asked Reel.

“He probably has some official role here as a representative of the U.S. He’ll act as surprised as everyone else. He goes home, glad to be alive and properly mournful for all of the dead.” He
paused. “So we still think the opening ceremony is where it will happen?”

“It’s in one big room, Robie. Open spaces, multiple firing lines once the security perimeter is pierced. No place to hide.”

“So they exit, fly away, and Kent goes home to report the success.”

“But if we stop it here?”

He said, “We
have
to stop it here. We’re the last line of defense.”

“A damn thin line.”

“I figure if they have two dozen guys nearly as good as we are, we can take out at least half of them, maybe two-thirds if luck and the element of surprise are on our side. That may be enough to save the day.”

She gazed up at him, a smile playing across her lips. “Not a bad legacy. ‘Robie and Reel; they saved the world.’ ”

“At the sacrifice of their own lives?”

“Nobody’s that lucky, Robie, not even the good guys.” She picked up a pistol, checked the mag, and stuck it into her belt.

“We’ll have to figure out where and how to hit them for maximum effect.”

“The tactic they’re going to employ will make that a little difficult.” He explained what he had found in the room along with the guns.

Before he’d finished Reel was nodding. “I get that. But it allows some opportunities for us as well.”

“Yes, it does.”

“So it’s a waiting game?”

Robie said, “Patience is a virtue. And tomorrow it’ll be the only thing keeping us alive.”

“You know we’ll have two sides gunning for us as soon as we show our hand.”

“We concentrate firepower on the target. They’ll show their hand and we can only hope the official security understands what’s going on.”

“When shots are going off all around and people are running and screaming? It’ll be mass confusion.”

“That’s why I said
hope
. We’re going to have to split up.”

“Two targets to shoot at.”

“Right.”

“But that means we dilute our fire concentrations.”

“Can’t be helped. Benefit outweighs the downside.”

“Then let’s pick our spots well.” She paused, studied him. “If we manage to survive this, I’ve got another set of problems. I’m a wanted woman.”

“Not by me. Not anymore. I’ll help you, Jessica.”

“You can’t do that, Robie. What you’ve done so far could be construed as treason. If you stop this, all will be forgiven. But not if you keep consorting with the enemy. And that happens to be me.”

“Extenuating circumstances.”

“Not proved. And probably won’t matter even if they were. You know how the system works.”

“You mean how the system
doesn’t
work.”

“Let’s just see how tomorrow goes. Things might just take care of themselves,” she added ominously.

“Okay,” said Robie. “They just might.”

T
HE DAY BROKE CLEAR AND COLD.
With each breath taken, tiny puffs of smoke rose into the air. The leaders of various Arab countries made their way to their official motorcades looking discomforted by the chill, their robes buffeted by the stiff breeze.

It was eight o’clock in the morning. People were tense. There was a collective feeling that the citizens of the town simply wanted this to be over. Their wish would come true shortly, but not in a way that they ever imagined.

There was only one way in and one way out of the building where the opening ceremony was taking place, which made it appealing from a security point of view. But it also had its disadvantages.

The motorcades drifted down the street with Canadian police providing the traffic security. There were a number of Canadian Mounties on their horses; they looked resplendent in their red uniforms. But they were also brightly colored sitting ducks when it came to an actual armed confrontation.

Reel’s and Robie’s plan had come together at five in the morning.

Neither of them felt the least bit tired. Adrenaline trumped exhaustion.

Reel was across the street from ground zero, just beyond the security checkpoint. That was a no-go for her because she was armed to the teeth.

Robie stood on the opposite corner, nearer the building but again beyond the checkpoint. Jersey barriers had been erected to prevent a truck bomb from getting close enough to drop the structure. Thus there was barely enough room to get a single car through at a time.

Bottlenecks like that could cause other sets of security problems, but on the whole Robie felt the plan had been well thought out.

He checked his watch. It was nearly time. He said into his mic, “Just about there.”

“I’ve counted seven motorcades so far. From my list that makes five more to go.”

“They’ll want them all in place. Give it a few minutes and then they’ll pull the trigger.”

“Here we go,” said Reel.

Here we go
, thought Robie.

The last motorcade pulled through and disgorged its occupants. They walked into the building and the setting was complete.

The program was on a tight schedule. Opening ceremonies and remarks would last forty-five minutes. After that the group would be dispersed to different places for other discussions and events. This was one of the few times all of them would be in the same place at the same time.