Month: June 2010

Continued from Twenty-nine: House Call

Thirty: No Delilah

The wall surrounding the estate did not matter. The many electronic baffles set to inhibit eavesdropping did not matter. The psychic shield so strong it gave pedestrians that passed the structure slight headaches or nausea—not even that mattered. Inside the white delivery van, two men watched and heard everything that happened in the house and on the grounds. Inside the van that looked like a hundred, maybe even a thousand other white delivery vans in Cairo, men had watched the happenings in that place and recorded it.

Nothing moved in the building or on the grounds.
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Continued from Twenty-eight: Kitting Up

Twenty-nine: House Call

Willow watched the front of the building over the telescopic sight on her Knight’s Armaments SR-25 sniper rifle. She crouched in an alleyway while Rudi stood behind her. Rudi’s VSS—a Vintorez special sniper rifle—hung at his chest on his tactical rig. A suppressed sniper weapon using heavy, sub-sonic ammunition, the VSS had an automatic fire mode. If he needed to enter the clinic and engage in close quarters battle, he felt confident with the VSS. He had used one in a tight situation previous.

A single-story structure, the target location had double glass doors and two, large windows at the front. Heavy shades covered them. Dark and silent, the building offered Rudi no clues as to its purpose. He knew it held occupants. He had seen five men, dropped off by a non-descript van—not unlike the ones Gurung had acquired—enter the building. How many would they face when the assault came, as it must?
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Continued from Twenty-seven: Hitting the Fan

Twenty-eight: Kitting Up

She hadn’t had a cigarette in almost ten years. How come she remembered it so vividly? Heather imagined the feel of it in her mouth, imagined lighting it, inhaling. The calm would spread. It would take her, relax her, get her down.

Heather really wanted a cigarette.

Mads’ chuckle caught her attention. “What the fuck is going through your head?”
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Continued from Twenty-six: Overt Sly

Twenty-seven: Hitting the Fan

Walker watched the exchange through binoculars. He crouched on a rooftop across the street from the alley mouth. He wasn’t happy with the location, but they couldn’t have gotten much closer without alerting the contact.

That contact apparently expected some kind of trouble. That, or he was compensating. Short and squat, with a patchy beard, he spoke with a cigarette held between his teeth like Walker had seen in Hong Kong movies from the 80s. He wore a leather car coat, which spoke to some level of resolve. It had hit 32 degrees, and that didn’t factor in the humidity.
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