forth.
There! A figure suddenly moved into frame, settling himself into a chair facing the laptop, his features now cast into sharp relief by the electronic glow. A man, late thirties, muscular build with a thickening midsection, his head crowned by an unruly tangle of dark curls. In the space of two seconds she compared the face in the grainy video feed with the one she had committed to memory before the operation, looking for differences, variations, distinguishing features that might separate them.
She found none.
‘Confirmed. Target on site.’
That was all the confirmation Drake needed. ‘Copy that. Moving in.’
Signalling to Mason that they were good to go, he ascended the stairwell to the level just above them, and pushed open the fire door to the dimly lit hallway beyond. Mason was close behind, carrying a few essential tools in a canvas holdall slung over one shoulder.
The door they were looking for was apartment 313. Counting down the numbers on each side, Drake moved forward at a steady, confident pace. There was little sense in creeping along inch by inch, since the chances of the hallway being booby trapped were remote to say the least.
‘Coming up,’ Mason said quietly, indicating the next door on their left.
They had rehearsed the next part several times, so there was no need to talk. Laying the holdall down, he unzipped it and pulled the top open. Stowed inside were a pair of heavy-duty bolt cutters, a taser, and a single concrete brick.
Mason took the taser while Drake helped himself to the other items, and together the two men advanced the last few feet to the apartment door.
‘Call it out, Overwatch,’ Drake prompted, lowering himself into a crouching position and placing the brick on the floor beside his left foot. Mason hunkered down beside him, keeping the taser at the ready.
Hollywood would have people believe that they could use some kind of tranquiliser gun to immobilise their target within seconds, but if such a weapon existed then Drake had yet to hear about it. Even the best sedatives designed to bring down big-game animals took several minutes to kick in; minutes during which Fayed could scream, call for help, grab for a concealed weapon or do any one of a hundred things to completely ruin their day.
No, the only reliable methods of taking someone down quickly were either to shoot them or tase them. Since they’d been instructed to return Fayed alive, their choice for this job was obvious.
‘Copy, One. Ready when you are.’
Mason gave a nod to confirm the taser was primed and ready to fire. Gripping the bolt cutters and checking that his foot was just touching the brick, Drake reached out and knocked on the door. Not loud or aggressive; just the simple knock of a new arrival announcing their presence.
A few seconds of strained silence passed.
‘He’s moving, One,’ Frost announced. ‘Heading for the door.’
Drake paused, readying himself. When it happened, he would have to act fast. A mistake from either himself or Mason might give Fayed time to barricade himself into his apartment, forcing them to use a far louder and more dangerous method of entry. Since their briefing had been to effect a covert extraction of the target, that would not be a good thing. It would also drastically increase their chances of being apprehended by the local gendarme, which would be an even worse thing.
Shepherd teams were by their nature deniable operators, meaning they could expect no support from the Agency, the State Department or anyone else in the US government if they were captured. Drake had little desire to sit out the rest of his career in a French prison.
The next several seconds passed in silence, save for the loud thumping of Drake’s heart as he gripped the bolt cutters, ready to spring into action. The waiting was always the hardest part of any op like this. Danger and problems he could deal with, but waiting for something to happen was enough to test anyone’s
There! A figure suddenly moved into frame, settling himself into a chair facing the laptop, his features now cast into sharp relief by the electronic glow. A man, late thirties, muscular build with a thickening midsection, his head crowned by an unruly tangle of dark curls. In the space of two seconds she compared the face in the grainy video feed with the one she had committed to memory before the operation, looking for differences, variations, distinguishing features that might separate them.
She found none.
‘Confirmed. Target on site.’
That was all the confirmation Drake needed. ‘Copy that. Moving in.’
Signalling to Mason that they were good to go, he ascended the stairwell to the level just above them, and pushed open the fire door to the dimly lit hallway beyond. Mason was close behind, carrying a few essential tools in a canvas holdall slung over one shoulder.
The door they were looking for was apartment 313. Counting down the numbers on each side, Drake moved forward at a steady, confident pace. There was little sense in creeping along inch by inch, since the chances of the hallway being booby trapped were remote to say the least.
‘Coming up,’ Mason said quietly, indicating the next door on their left.
They had rehearsed the next part several times, so there was no need to talk. Laying the holdall down, he unzipped it and pulled the top open. Stowed inside were a pair of heavy-duty bolt cutters, a taser, and a single concrete brick.
Mason took the taser while Drake helped himself to the other items, and together the two men advanced the last few feet to the apartment door.
‘Call it out, Overwatch,’ Drake prompted, lowering himself into a crouching position and placing the brick on the floor beside his left foot. Mason hunkered down beside him, keeping the taser at the ready.
Hollywood would have people believe that they could use some kind of tranquiliser gun to immobilise their target within seconds, but if such a weapon existed then Drake had yet to hear about it. Even the best sedatives designed to bring down big-game animals took several minutes to kick in; minutes during which Fayed could scream, call for help, grab for a concealed weapon or do any one of a hundred things to completely ruin their day.
No, the only reliable methods of taking someone down quickly were either to shoot them or tase them. Since they’d been instructed to return Fayed alive, their choice for this job was obvious.
‘Copy, One. Ready when you are.’
Mason gave a nod to confirm the taser was primed and ready to fire. Gripping the bolt cutters and checking that his foot was just touching the brick, Drake reached out and knocked on the door. Not loud or aggressive; just the simple knock of a new arrival announcing their presence.
A few seconds of strained silence passed.
‘He’s moving, One,’ Frost announced. ‘Heading for the door.’
Drake paused, readying himself. When it happened, he would have to act fast. A mistake from either himself or Mason might give Fayed time to barricade himself into his apartment, forcing them to use a far louder and more dangerous method of entry. Since their briefing had been to effect a covert extraction of the target, that would not be a good thing. It would also drastically increase their chances of being apprehended by the local gendarme, which would be an even worse thing.
Shepherd teams were by their nature deniable operators, meaning they could expect no support from the Agency, the State Department or anyone else in the US government if they were captured. Drake had little desire to sit out the rest of his career in a French prison.
The next several seconds passed in silence, save for the loud thumping of Drake’s heart as he gripped the bolt cutters, ready to spring into action. The waiting was always the hardest part of any op like this. Danger and problems he could deal with, but waiting for something to happen was enough to test anyone’s
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