Red Notice

10

Two dark shapes cradling AK-47s ran to intercept Tom and Blue Five as they burst into the hall and made for the stairs. The guards swung up their weapons; Tom dropped to one knee and fired two Value rounds, which struck them not with the soft thud of a projectile hitting flesh but with a hard, almost metallic sound that indicated they were wearing body armour.

The two men were driven backwards by the force of the impact but remained upright until the CN clouds started to take effect. Tom closed in and gave them another two rounds between their legs that took them down. He checked their faces. The imagery of Laszlo might be old, but there was one thing that time wouldn’t change: the South Ossetian’s washed-out grey-blue eyes.

Tom ran for the stairs. Bryce Rea, Blue Five commander, was right behind him with another of his team. The other two zip-tied the fallen guards while they were still fucked up by the CN.

The din of percussive bangs, thuds and shouts thundered from the upper floor as the Blue team cleared the house, fighting their way through yet more false doors and barricades. Tom’s group found no further obstructions as they cleared the hall and raced up the sweeping staircase. He crossed the landing, the plan of the upper floors firmly imprinted on his mind.

He pushed open the master-bedroom door and dived through it, his gaze tracking the moving barrel of his rifle until it came to rest on a body-shaped hump on the emperor-sized bed. Tom pumped two rounds into it as the rest of the team made entry. He moved forward, ripped the duvet aside. The two pillows beneath it were dented by the hits, but were too soft a target to project their CN.

Blue Five cleared the bathroom and dressing room.

The half-full cup of coffee on the bedside table was still warm to the touch. ‘He’s here somewhere…’ Tom’s voice rasped through the respirator.

Bryce yelled, ‘It could be the blonde’s.’

‘Could be.’ Tom headed for the door. ‘But in that case, whose is the one on the dressing-table?’

The net was heaving with assault teams telling Alpha that their areas were clear. Then Jockey chipped in: ‘Stand by, stand by. Blue One has a possible escape route under the main hall stairs. Wait out.’

Tom’s team peeled out of the room. They found the Scotsman fitting a framed charge down the hinged side of a steel-reinforced door. They flattened themselves against the wall. Jockey detonated the charge, then led the way into the basement. It was pitch black down there, but he left the light switch untouched in case it was booby-trapped. Hyper-alert, he moved down the steps, his gaze tracking the beam of the Maglite fixed to the barrel of his MP5. His team followed, ready to fire their ARWENs the instant the torch beam illuminated a target.

They found themselves in a large, completely empty cellar. There were none of the usual rich man’s embellishments, no swimming pool, no home cinema, no cavernous wine store, just bare, freshly skimmed concrete.

Tom headed for the doorway opposite.

He stood to the left of the frame, ARWEN in the shoulder, forefinger on the trigger, muzzle pointed to where the door would swing open towards the assault teams. Jockey joined him, Maglite at the ready. Blue Five gripped the handle, turned it and pulled.