Barber took in the entire scene on Coney Island Avenue. Every minute, no fewer than a dozen cars passed the market, coming from either direction. The stoplight at the intersection of Foster and Coney Island didn't seem to have the slightest impact on the traffic. Pedestrian traffic in the immediate vicinity had lightened significantly from rush hour. The bus stop directly across from the apartment had stopped disgorging riders, which eased the flow of pedestrians wandering the streets. Occasionally, one or two passengers would loiter at the stop and board an outbound bus. Still, he counted eight civilians within the designated engagement zone.
He stifled a yawn, turning it into an arm stretch. Just as his arms extended outward, his radio crackled and came to life.
"Two cars approaching. Weapons visible. Right in front of the market!"
The transmission was followed by Supervisory Special Agent Katsoulis's voice and the sound of panicked footsteps rushing into the bedroom.
"Unit transmitting. Identify yourself."
Barber didn't have time to fully process Katsoulis's request. By the time he had shouldered his weapon and kneeled, bracing the rifle's vertical grip against the windowsill, it didn't matter who had given the warning. He watched the street over the scope, not wanting to limit his situational awareness, and saw the attack unfold. The maneuver was brilliant.
A northbound SUV veered left, crossing the median and jumping the curb in front of the El Halal Market. The massive vehicle struck a fire hydrant and smashed into the far right corner of the market, sending a thick column of water skyward. The sharp, staccato crackling of automatic weapons fire immediately filled the street. As the market's front window collapsed and cascaded onto the sidewalk, a white delivery van screeched to a halt in the southbound lane, directly in front of the door to the market. Several figures burst from the van, rushing through the parked cars and cascading water toward the market's front entrance.
Barber needed to make it difficult for anyone to enter the store, so he decided against taking any individually aimed shots. He placed the 4X ACOG scope's illuminated green arrow just forward of the doorway and started firing methodically. He never heard the single boom from Wood's .308 rifle, which took down the first man in line to enter the market. The rest of True America's assault team passed through his scope's field of vision, braving the rapid, semiautomatic fire from his MK14 Enhanced Battle Rifle.
By the time the remaining men disappeared into the El Halal Market, two more attackers had been stopped, their bodies crumpled in the doorway. He had no idea how many had made it inside and didn't have time to think about it. Glass rained down upon his head, trickling through his open collar, which meant that the men in the SUV had turned their attention to their sniper nest. There was nothing he could do for the operatives in the market, so he quickly inserted a new twenty-round magazine into his rifle and went to work on the attackers using the SUV as cover.
He heard the supersonic crack of Wood's .308 high-grain boat-tail hollow-point (BTHP) round and saw one of the shooters snap backward, tumbling uncontrollably onto the pavement. Through the thick downpour of water, Barber sighted in on a man near the back of the SUV and depressed the trigger twice. The black-clad, masked commando spun in place, flinging his compact rifle out of Barber's view before dropping to one knee. A third 7.62mm round from the EBR passed through the man's head and shattered the rear compartment window. Another boom from Wood's rifle echoed through the room, but Barber never saw the result. He scanned the front of the SUV, which was barely visible through the mist created by the geyser of water shooting two stories high. The wind brought most of the water down on the roof of the building.
A head appeared over the hood of the SUV, followed by a blazing assault rifle. Several rounds from the rifle struck the apartment wall, passing through. Screams erupted from behind him, never breaking his concentration. He steadied the green reticle arrow on the head, conscious of the fact that the man's rifle continued to pour rounds into his position. He applied even pressure to the trigger and was rewarded by the rifle's kick. The head and rifle quickly disappeared.
"That's a kill!" Woods yelled.
In the seconds that followed, a vicious firefight erupted in the darkened market below them, drowned out by the ringing in Barber's ears. Repeated muzzle flashes punctuated the gray fountain of water pouring down onto the sidewalk, competing with the red and blue strobe lights from the FBI SWAT team screeching into position on the street directly in front of the market.
The market went dark, and Abraham Sayar dove to the floor with his teacup still clenched in his left hand. His right hand already held his pistol. Naturally right handed, he relegated the busy work to his less coordinated hand while "on the job," keeping his dominant hand free to react. This simple, disciplined act would save his team from a quick demise. Dozens of bullets slapped into the posters behind his seat before he hit the ground, showered in shards of glass from the market's front window. Automatic gunfire shattered the market, filling the aisles with a volume of incoming rounds that Sayar had never experienced before. Concentrated, extended bursts snapped overhead and tore through foreign-labeled packaging, exploding the dried contents. He heard a muffled scream from the back of the market, which sounded like Diyah Castillo. The screech of tires took him out of reaction mode and put him on the offensive. They were up against two vehicles on Coney Island Avenue. The first vehicle had been True America's "shock and awe" attempt. The second would contain the breach team.
He unconsciously released the teacup and gripped the pistol with two hands, quickly rolling through the freshly broken glass to a position directly in front of the market's entrance. A cold mist from the fire hydrant's spray hit his face, as blurred figures appeared on the sidewalk. He aimed at the first figure's head and started to pull the trigger, but the man dropped to the ground. The next darkened mass spun in the doorway, punctured by bullets from an unseen shooter. A man in street clothes wearing body armor and a ski mask burst through the door, shoulder firing a drum-fed Saiga shotgun into the market. Lying well below the Saiga's twelve-gauge shot pattern, Sayar fired a single .40 caliber round from his Glock through the intruder's forehead and searched for another target past the descending body. The lifeless body slumped to the left, pinning the door against the wall.
He watched another body awkwardly fall into the threshold, the victim of FBI sharpshooters. Before he could mentally celebrate, another heavily armed commando jumped through the doorway, dropping to the floor a few feet in front of Sayar. From a prone position, he fired an extended burst from his G36C assault rifle at the area around Sayar's table. The man realized his mistake halfway through the burst and swung the rifle in Sayar's direction. The Israeli-born operative stopped the rifle with his left hand and placed the Glock against the side of the man's head, blasting his brains onto the wall next to the door.
An explosion from the rear of the market told him that their ordeal was far from finished. Another team had been detected in one of the homes across the alleyway. He reached forward to grab the semiautomatic shotgun that had fallen against the blood-splattered door, still hearing gunfire on Coney Island Avenue. He'd have to rely on the FBI to finish the job out there.
He holstered the pistol and shouldered the massive shotgun before moving deeper into the market. In a low crouch, he made it a third of the way through the maze of merchandise before the shooting started. Unable to positively identify anyone through the smoke caused by the blast, he held his fire for a few seconds…until automatic weapons fire and shotgun blasts dominated the store. He couldn't imagine that any of his team had survived. The door leading upstairs was open, which meant that Abdul had joined the fight. Two gaping holes and several smaller splinter marks in the door gave Sayar the impression that he hadn't lasted very long.