Dead or Alive - Tom Clancy [221]
“Boost,” Brian said, then stepped to the wall and formed a saddle with his hands. Dominic stepped into it, reached high, and snagged the top of the wall. He scrambled up, then looked down and gave Brian the wait one-hand signal and crawled away. He was back in three minutes. He gave an all okay nod, then leaned over and helped Brian up.
“Bari’s door leads to an inner courtyard. Open doorway on the east wall. One bodyguard there. Bari and the other one are inside. I can hear them banging around. Sounds like they’re in a hurry.”
“Let’s do it.”
They loaded their Brownings, affixed the suppressors, and started across the roof. To their left, in the alley, there came the sound of a dog barking, then a dull thump. The dog yelped and went silent. Brian held up his closed fist, calling a halt. They both knelt down. Brian crept across the roof, peeked over the edge, then returned.
“Four men coming down the alley,” he whispered. “Moving like operators. Or police.”
“Maybe the reason Bari’s in a hurry,” Dominic observed. “Let it play out?”
“If it’s the police, we got no choice. If not …”
Dominic shrugged, nodded. They’d come a long way for Bari; they weren’t going to give him up unless they had no other option. The question was, if these new players had come to kill Bari, would they do it here or take him somewhere else?
Brian and Dominic moved closer to the eaves overlooking Bari’s courtyard, then dropped to their bellies and eased forward until they could see. The lone bodyguard was still standing beside the door, a mere shadowed outline in the darkness. A cigarette’s cherry tip glowed to life, then dimmed.
To their left the footsteps grew louder, scuffing along the sand-and-dirt alley before stopping—presumably at Bari’s door. The Carusos knew the next few moments would tell them all they needed to know about their competitors. The police would go in shouting; anyone else would go in shooting.
Neither happened.
There came a soft knock at the courtyard door. Bari’s bodyguard tossed his cigarette away and leaned into the opened doorway, said something, then headed toward the courtyard door. His body showed no signs of tension; he made no move to draw the weapon that Brian and Dominic assumed was tucked into a belt holster. They exchanged glances: Bari expecting company?
The bodyguard threw back the sliding latch and pulled open the door.
Pop, pop.
The gunshots were soft, no louder than a palm being slapped on a wooden tabletop. The bodyguard stumbled backward and sprawled onto the ground. Three figures rushed past him toward the inner doorway. A fourth followed, paused beside the bodyguard’s body to put a final round in his forehead, then kept walking.
Two more muffled pops came from within the house, then a shout, then silence. Ten seconds later Bari came out with his hands clasped behind his head, being shoved from behind by the three intruders. He was pushed to his knees before the fourth man—the leader, it seemed—who bent at the waist and said something to Bari. Bari shook his head. The man slapped him.
“Looking for something,” Dominic whispered.
“Yeah. URC, you think?”
“I’d say. Unless he’s freelancing for someone else.”
The questioning went on for another two or three minutes, then the leader gestured to the other men, who pinned him to the ground. His hands were bound with duct tape, and a rag was stuffed into his mouth. They dragged him back into the house.
“Mr. Bari’s going to lose some fingernails,” Brian observed.
“If he’s lucky. Best we get to him before they fuck him up too much.”
“Give it a few minutes. He’ll be all the happier when the cavalry arrives.” This Brian said with a grin Dominic decided was halfway evil.
“Shit, Bri, that’s hard-core.”
“That’s leverage.