One Rough Man - Brad Taylor [18]
There was a pregnant pause before Knuckles responded, “Good to go. Standing by.”
I knew Knuckles was now feeling the pressure, but decided that saying nothing conveyed more trust in him than any hokey attaboy I could give.
I watched Azzam stop at the next intersection, waiting for the light to change. I kept going, passing within five feet of him and continuing south down Rustaveli as if I had a different destination. I found a sidewalk food vendor about seventy meters away and got in line, awaiting my turn and watching Azzam.
I waited until Azzam was across Rustaveli and committed to the school street before calling Knuckles. I stepped out of line and brought my cell phone to my face so I wouldn’t look like a nutcase talking to the air.
“Knuckles, Hedgehog’s across. He’s about five minutes out. I’m headed to my car.”
“Roger all. We’re set. If he takes this route, we have him.”
“Roger. Once you have him, revert back to the original plan. Link up with me at my car and I’ll run interference back to base.”
“Got it. Next call will be jackpot or dry hole.”
12
Knuckles sat in his van, his mind working at warp speed. He was parked on the zigzag road just to the east of the kindergarten street, facing the kill zone, the three-man assault team in position, but the plan was now going to shit. He had picked the zigzag road as the perfect kill zone based on Pike’s following Azzam and triggering the assault as the team leader, something that was crucial to prevent the team from taking out the wrong person. They wouldn’t have the time to identify Azzam before assaulting. They needed to positively know that the next man in the kill zone was the target, and Knuckles was now the man who would have to make that call.
Unfortunately, the zigzag road worked for the actual hit but caused problems with the trigger. From where he was parked, Knuckles couldn’t see through the kill zone to the school street to alert the team, hidden in the shadows. The first he would see of anyone was when they were through it and in front of the van. He cursed silently. Fucking Pike. Always winging shit. He could abort, but the thought never crossed his mind. He turned to the teammate driving the van.
“Where’s the Remington ball? We’re going to have to trigger with remote video.”
“In the small Pelican case right behind my seat.”
Knuckles reached behind the driver’s seat and found the box. Opening it, he pulled out what looked like a black, rubberized baseball. They called it a “Remington ball” because it was sold by the Remington Arms Company, the same people who make firearms. Invented and built in Israel, it was basically a hardened camera that could be rolled, dropped, or thrown. Knuckles had absolute faith in it, mainly because he had tried very hard to break it in the past. No matter how roughly he had treated it, the ball faithfully transmitted video to a handheld screen up to one hundred and twenty-five meters away—farther than he could throw it. What he found really unique—in fact a little creepy—was that the ball would right itself after it stopped rolling, putting the camera into operation as if it had a mind of its own. Once it did that, Knuckles could make the camera rotate a full three hundred and sixty degrees, seeing anything in the vicinity by remote control. In this case, they would only need to see down the street Azzam was walking up, allowing him to trigger the assault team when Azzam turned the corner.
But they’d need to get the ball into position. They drove as fast as they dared, hitting the street and doing a U-turn. Knuckles dropped the ball against the curb as the driver headed back to their original spot. Before Knuckles could orient the camera, Pike called and said Azzam was across the road and five minutes out. Knuckles cursed Pike again, taking a