Dead or Alive - Tom Clancy [72]
Chavez tracked his eyes back to the northwest corner of the room, then mentally measured four feet down the wall. Give or take half a foot, that’s where Weber would be coming through. Farther to the left, just visible over the railing, he could see two figures standing together. Each held a compact submachine gun, but not up and ready. Dangling at their sides. Fine by me, he thought. A few feet away on a desk, a green-shaded banker’s lamp cast a pool of light on the wall.
Chavez pulled back and returned to where the rest of the team was waiting. He gestured: Layout confirmed; move as planned. Chavez and Bianco, joined by Weber and his team once they were through the wall, would take the heavy side of the main room. Showalter and Ybarra would go right at the bottom of the stairs, taking the hallway. He got nods from each man.
“Command, Blue Actual, over.”
“Go, Blue.”
“In position.”
“Roger.”
From Weber: “Red Actual, roger.”
“Moving in ninety seconds,” Chavez said.
“Standing by,” Weber replied.
Start the count,” Ding radioed.
“Five and counting.” This from Weber. Five seconds to Gatecrasher.
Each of Chavez’s men had a flashbang in hand, pin pulled.
Four … three … two …
In unison, Ding and Bianco tossed the flashbangs over the railing and started down, MP5s up and tracking, looking for targets. Ding heard the first flashbang skitter across the floor below, followed a quarter-second later by the Gatecrasher going off. A gout of smoke and debris whooshed across the room. Chavez and Bianco kept moving, Ybarra and Showalter passing them on the right, moving fast for the right-hand hallway that led to the east side of the building.
The second flashbang exploded. Bright light bounced off the ceiling and over the walls. Ding ignored it.
Target.
Over the railing a figure was turning toward them. Ding laid the MP5’s sight over the man’s chest and fired twice. He dropped, and Ding kept moving. To his left he saw another figure but knew Bianco was covering it, and as if on cue, he heard a pop-pop. To Chavez’s right he saw the first of Weber’s team coming through the four-foot-tall oval hole created by the Gatecrasher, followed by a second, third, and fourth.
Ding veered left, moving toward the center of the room. Screams now. A mass of huddled bodies on the floor. Target. He fired twice and kept moving, MP5 tracking. Behind him he heard Showalter call, “Target, left,” followed by a series of overlapping pops.
Weber and his team had caught up with Chavez and Bianco now and were fanning out, each man covering a sector.
“Down, down, down! Everybody down!” Ding shouted.
To the right: pop, pop, pop.
Chavez kept moving, pushing through the center of the room, Bianco on his left doing the same, looking for movement. …
“Clear,” he heard Weber call out, followed by two more.
“Clear on the left!” Bianco answered.
“Hall clear!” This from Showalter. “Checking the rooms.”
“On my way,” Ybarra called.
From Showalter’s hallway came a woman’s scream. Chavez spun. Ybarra, who had reached the entrance to the hallway, sidestepped right and pressed himself against the left wall. “Target.” Chavez sprinted to the hall and took position opposite Ybarra. Down the hall, a figure had emerged from the last room, dragging a woman along with him. The man had a pistol pressed to her neck. Ding peeked out. The man spotted him and turned the woman a bit, shielding himself. He shouted something in panicked Arabic. Ding pulled back. “Showalter, say position,” he whispered.
“Second room.”
“Target’s just outside the third door. Ten, twelve feet. He’s got a hostage.”
“I hear her. How’s my angle?”
“Half a head shot open.”
“Roger, say when.”
Chavez peeked out again. The man turned ever so slightly, squaring off with Chavez. Showalter, his MP5 shoulder-tucked, stepped up to the threshold of his door and fired. The bullet entered the man