The Finish Line. Cliff Ryder
and will recover anyone still inside. You heard the man—let’s sweep and clear,” David ordered.
One last thermal scan revealed no one moving inside the hallway. With Tara on his right, David crept to the left and immediately covered the hall’s front half, sweeping from right to left with his weapon. Crouching low, he waved Tara ahead, then slipped in behind her. A dead man in civilian clothes lay sprawled at the foot of the stairs, his face blown away. David spotted the Team Two members taking cover under the staircase, bullet holes pocking the plaster and woodwork around them.
David tightened his grip on his Kriss gun. “Team Two, we’re inside. Go for flash-bang.”
He watched the two grenades arc up onto the first-floor landing, then go off with twin explosions. Right after detonation, Team Two pounded up the stairway, sweeping the landing with their laser-sighted weapons. David and Tara followed, watching their six while also backing up the lead team.
“All teams, I have movement on the roof, repeat, movement on the roof. Hostiles are evacuating on top,” M-One reported.
While he had said that, the two teams had split up, searching and clearing every room on the floor. David and Tara had booted in a door only to find unmoving bodies, already dead from multiple bullet wounds to the head and torso. One of the victims was their own operative, his chest a red smear of blood. Coming out, they met up with the second team, who also shook their heads. Whatever had happened here, they had missed it.
“Proceeding to the roof,” David radioed as he pointed above them. At the end of the hallway they found a ladder and trapdoor. A quick scan showed no one lying in wait for them. David wasted no time in scaling it, readying his weapon before entering the room.
The dark third floor was filled with cobwebs, piles of timber and stacks of drywall. Checking all around, David spotted a square of light at the other end of the room. Once Tara joined him, he cautiously approached the far end, making sure their opponents hadn’t set up any surprises. At the next ladder, he looked up, now aware of faint sirens in the distance.
“Crap, the police are on their way.” Turning off his thermal vision, he climbed up and poked his Kriss out the trapdoor leading to the roof, panning the weapon all around. The small camera lens mounted on the right-side Picatinny rail gave him a good view of the rooftop without exposing him to enemy fire. He saw one black-clad body on the tarred surface a few yards away, a crimson pool spreading from his head.
“M-One, I have one hostile terminated on the roof. We are moving to secure, over.”
“Affirmative, hostiles have left across the buildings, three down. Recover the body, and I will meet you on the south side for exfiltration.”
“Shit, nearly get our faces blown off, and for what—a couple dead tree huggers and some dead shooters who weren’t even supposed to be here? We don’t even know who these guys are. I dunno about you all, but I’m seriously starting to rethink the benefits of this job.” M-Four, the loudmouth who had been riding David’s back earlier that morning, kept grousing as they grabbed the dead shooter’s body and hauled it to the back of the flat. Now they heard shouts and doors slamming as other people checked into the commotion in their previously quiet neighborhood.
As they maneuvered the dead body over the knee-high parapet, something spanged off the edge. The four Midnight Team members ducked for cover, each one taking a quadrant and searching for a target.
“Who’s shooting from where?” David asked.
“From the west.” Tara pointed with her weapon along the row of three-story buildings. David looked over to see a black-suited figure two roofs over sketch a jaunty salute before disappearing from sight.
David saw red. “Regroup with M-One. I’m going after them,” he told the others.
Tara stopped and stared at him. “What? Pursuing is not in our orders. We already have a body for intel—”
David was already shucking his gear, leaving only his vest, pistol and MASC on. “The three of you rendezvous with M-One. I’ll meet up with you in a few minutes. Now go!”
Without waiting for a reply, he took off, hearing a muttered “When did the golden boy’s testicles drop?” from M-Four. Reaching to the edge of the roof, David leaped out over the narrow alley between the two buildings and hit the top of the second one. He tucked into a shoulder roll, and came up still moving, heading for where he had last seen the mystery shooter disappear.
2
This is why I need to get out of the office more, Kate Cochran thought as she sipped champagne from a crystal flute.
Sheathed in a red stretch satin designer dress, she stood in the middle of at least one hundred law-enforcement officials from across Europe who had gathered in Dublin, Ireland, for the Second European Congress on Fighting Organized Crime in Partnership. They had convened in the main wing of the Irish Museum of Modern Art, housed in the converted Royal Hospital Kilmainham.
It was founded and built by James Butler of Kilkenny Castle, also the duke of Ormonde and viceroy to King Charles II. The classically designed building, consisting of three major wings surrounding a large outdoor courtyard, was originally completed in 1684 to serve as a home for old, ill and disabled soldiers. Over the centuries, the building had played many roles, including the residence and headquarters of the commander in chief of the army, as well as the headquarters of the Garda, Ireland’s public police force, until it was converted into the art museum in 1991. While the clean stone walls and colonnade had remained on the outside, the interior halls had all been updated with modern amenities, including a staircase in the main hall that seemed to float in midair, and gleaming, black marble flooring. The hall’s inner wall was made of floor-to-ceiling windows that revealed the immaculate courtyard, with its neat grass lawns and graveled pathways, all shrouded in the light, misty rain coming down outside.
All in all, a rather strange place for a law-enforcement conference, Kate thought. Even though Room 59, the covert-ops agency she ran, was so secret she couldn’t even acknowledge its existence to the rest of the conference attendees, Kate knew the best way to gather intelligence was often to go on-site and get it face-to-face. She had been planning a visit to Europe and the various Room 59 department heads on the continent for some time—which meant as soon as her demanding schedule permitted. Although with the incredible technology at her fingertips, she could—and did—meet with her coworkers in virtual reality, Kate preferred seeing real people and places whenever possible. When the conference came to her attention, she put it on her schedule and refused to move it, figuring she was due for a vacation, even a working one. Her overseers at the International Intelligence Agency had grudgingly agreed, and she had been off before they could change their minds.
“Ms. Massen?”
Kate hesitated a fraction of a second before turning to see a silver-haired, middle-aged man in a sleek, spotless tuxedo standing next to her. Since her position as director of operations was as shrouded in secrecy as the agency itself, she could never go anywhere, even on what would be normal business like this conference, as herself. For events like this, she relied on her cover identity as Donna Massen, a midlevel employee with the U.S. State Department, as its sprawling bureaucracy could easily hide an extra employee or two.
“I just wanted to thank you for your comments on the potential alliance of law-enforcement agencies with private security companies. I feel that there is much potential business—and crime stopping—to be done if both sides can only come together.” The man’s words had that perfect British diction, and sent a slight shiver up her spine. After all, Kate did so like educated men.
She nodded, careful not to dislodge her glossy chestnut hair, which had been done up in an elegant French twist. “I’m afraid that you have me at a disadvantage, sir. So many people here to try to remember, you know.” That wasn’t really the case—she knew exactly who he was—but she often found it very useful to give the person she was speaking to the idea that he or she had gained a slight advantage in the conversation.
“Please excuse me, we met briefly at yesterday’s