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The team slid inside the room, moving quickly and quietly. Sam policed the guards’ weapons.
There were two doors. One led to a balcony; the other featured a peephole. Kelly checked the balcony,then whispered over the channel in their helmets: “This overlooks the alley between buildings. Noactivity.”
John checked the nav marker. The blue triangles flashed a position directly behind the other door.
Sam and Fred flanked the door. John couldn’t get any reading on motion or thermal. The walls wereshielded. There were too many unknowns and not enough time.
The situation wasn’t ideal. They knew there were at least three men inside—the ones who had carriedthe crate upstairs. And there might be more guards . . . and to complicate the situation, their target had tobe taken alive.
John kicked the door in.
He took in the entire situation at a glance. He was standing on the threshold of a sumptuous apartment.There was a wet bar boasting shelves of amber-filled bottles. A large, round bed dominated the corner,decorated with shimmering silk sheets. Windows on all sides had sheer white curtains—John’s helmetautomatically compensated for the glare. Red carpet covered the floor. The crate with the cigars andchampagne sat in the center of the room. It was black and armored, sealed tight against the vacuum ofspace.
There were three men standing behind the armored crate, and one man crouched behind them. ColonelRobert Watts—their “package.”
John didn’t have a clear shot. If he missed, he could hit the Colonel.
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The three men, however, didn’t have that problem. They fired.
John dove to his left. He caught three rounds in his side—knocking the breath from his body. One bulletpenetrated his black suit. He felt it ping off his ribs and pain slashed through him like a red-hot razor.
He ignored the wound and rolled to his feet. He had a clear line of fire. He squeezed the trigger once—athree-round burst caught the center guard in the forehead.
Sam and Fred wheeled around the door frame, Sam high, Fred low. Their silenced weapons coughed andthe remaining pair of guards went down.
Watts remained behind the crate. He brandished his pistol. “Stop!” he screamed. “My men are coming.You think I’m alone? You’re all dead. Drop your weapons.”
John crawled to the wet bar and crouched there. He willed the pain inside his stomach to go away. Hesignaled Sam and Fred and held up two fingers, then pointed the fingers over his head.
Sam and Fred fired a burst of rounds over Watts. He ducked.
John vaulted over the bar and leaped onto his quarry. He grabbed the pistol and wrenched it out of hishand, breaking the man’s index finger and thumb. John snaked his arm around Watts’s neck and chokedthe struggling man into near-unconsciousness.
Kelly and Linda entered. Kelly took out a syringe and injected Watts—enough polypseudomorphine tokeep him sedated for the better part of a day.
Fred fell back to cover the elevator. Sam entered and crouched by the windows, watching the streetbelow for any signs of trouble.