So shots went off, the thing is, one "devil" took up a defense at the entrance to the
second floor. He ended up with his head blown off.
I looked out and, not seeing a "soul", decided to take a break from the eternal running and fighting. And then the walkie-talkie ranted: "Commander, this is Salvatore, the first floor is ours!"
"Great, get to the second one." "Okay "
"What's up with you and Konstantin?" "The bullet hit the radio, but Emilien "
"I know, I know Tell Kon to look at all the bodies."
"Okay "
"What's wrong with Frank?"
"Because of the body armor, only bruises, he can continue the operation "
"Let him help Konstantin. Over and out."
The second floor appeared to be in the state of one large room, or rather hall, in which no one appeared.
"The second floor is taken, commander," Carlo informed me, standing a few feet away from me and from the stairs to the third floor, along with the rest of the team, except for the "gravedigger" Constantine and the dead Emilien. "Yes I can see that," I snapped back, " — Upstairs take everyone alive.
"I see."
We started moving to the finishing floor, the staircase, which this time was not guarded by any smart guy. And on the whole floor there was only one guard… uh… and where is the one we came for? Maybe we missed him somewhere… And the one in the robe… I got in touch with Konstantin: "Kon, look at the first room to the right from the fork of the corridor… uh… the main entrance".
"Just looked…"
"And, what…"
"Commander, look —" Danila interrupted me. "Con, wait… What else is there?"
"The steel ladder upstairs in the closet."
"Go up and check it out. So… so, what's up, Con?" "George Harrison's citizen's passport…"
"George Harrison?" "Yes."
Obviously he's the brother of the target, but, where is the target himself? "Ah, what's with the guards then?"
"They have FBI agent IDs… WARNING! WARNING…" "Hey, what the hell is that?!"
"Looks like cops."
"Frank, Con, grab Rog's body and fly here!!! On three!!!"
"Commander, there's a helipad…," — Danila returned. Now it was clear how the object had disappeared from the house.
"Very well! When your brother and Polazzi come up with Roja's body, lock the doors on the stairs! Afterward, go upstairs and don't forget to bandage the guard and close the closet (the guard couldn't see our faces, so he had a tangible chance of staying alive)." "Good."
I climbed to the roof through a closet, and once there, I opened my laptop to contact the base, "We have a problem, send a helicopter to the roof right away."
"The helicopter will arrive in twelve minutes."
"This is FBI Agent Betterer speaking, surrender, the building is surrounded!!!" — came a man's voice from downstairs, next to the sirens.
I decided to stall for time, so I called back in a muffled voice, "We have 26 of your employees hostage, as well as George Garrison!!!"
"What do you want?"
"Forty million dollars! I'll give you an hour!" "Okay, we'll get the money."
"Here's proof that we're not kidding!!! — I turned to Shock, who was standing next to me, "Carlo, bring me a dead body.
The body was there in twenty seconds. After counting two bullet holes in the body and firing two shots into the air, I walked to the ledge and threw the body away (nice trick, wasn't it).
"Well, how is it?"
"I hear you, please no more!"
"I won't if none of your people go near the doors of the building!!!! (I remembered the pieces of wood smashed to incomprehensible pieces of wood)"
"No one's coming up."
Then "came" the Bulatovs, the Marlboro, the dead Rye, the Ghost. "Did you lock the closet and the doors?"
"Yes."
"Good."
A helicopter's here.
A couple degrees off
9:06 a.m. Aug. 16.
"What is it, why are we going down?" — I asked the pilot, after three minutes of flight. "We're running out of gas."
"Sit over there," — I pointed to a sturdy two-story house with a helipad in that very mining village (probably the home of the owner of the mine itself or its director). "Good."
We landed, climbed out, leaving only the pilot and Rozh's body in the helicopter, and took up defense in the house just in case: "Shok" — on the second floor, me, Bulatovs, Marlboro — on the ground floor. "Ghost" on my order rushed for spare canisters of kerosene in those "Ford", on which we came here (it is too dangerous to go on the "Ford" itself — the FBI has already blocked everything).
"Chief, I've got a…," our bumblebee on the second one chortled. "The chief is in a cab," I corrected him.
"Excuse me, Commander, we have a problem here." "Speak."
"I spotted some men with guns up north at the edge of the woods (clearly FBIers)." "Don't do anything until I start shooting."
"Got it."
"Hello… Rob (that was the pilot's name), turn off the engine." "Got it."
"Michael, are you coming soon?" "Five meters to the house."
When Lüttvec reached the helicopter, the gunners were trotting seven hundred meters from the double-decker, I opened fire with the words, "Michael get in the helicopter and wait. Everyone else get ready to withdraw."
Shots rang out from the roof, then returned shots at the helicopter that took off and headed towards the forest, I shouted: "What's the matter, where is it headed?!", and apparently from the firing from the roof it fell on the roof of a neighboring house. "Michael, what's the brothel up there?"
"Son of a dog, the pilot, wanted to cum me, but…" "Are you hurt?"
"Bullets in the vest…"
"Okay… Michael, Carlo, bring the Ford to the exit (we were seriously lucky this time, as both the Ford and the exit were located on the side of the house where there were no agents), Bulatovs, are you ready to bail?"
"Yes. That's right," they echoed. "Go away, I've got your back."
No chase or pickets were seen on the road.
The Sicilian hole
2:16 p.m. Aug. 16.
The first question is, why did the pilot start shooting at the Lüttwitz and trying to fly away? Option one, he's a bought one, or he's not ours at all.
The second question is, by whom? There are as many options as there are enemies. Question three, how could anyone know I was even there. My entire squad, every one of whom I can vouch for, and the base knew.
The base consisted of two hired men: Bruce Milton — liaison and information officer, Ray Dulfer — hacker and coordinator. Some of them play for two teams, but I can only find out in person when I see their eyes with my own eyes (one very big advantage of the old man is experience, which helps to determine "who is right and who is wrong" quite accurately), so let's go to Syracuse.
They were located in an absolutely extraordinary hotel in the center of the city on the 20th floor. Sometimes I ask myself the question: "Why the fuck should some people who break the law risk their lives every second of their existence and sometimes be in "dog" conditions, and others, also breaking the law, luxuriate in similar establishments?"
The door was opened by Bruce, who exclaimed, "Oh! I didn't think you'd stop by. Ray, Faust is here!".
My fist smashed into his jaw with the words, "What are you yelling about?". Bruce slumped down, a smile on his face, while Rei entered from the other room, saying, "Good to see you, Commander…"
"You're better off because one of you is a woodpecker…" By the way, their eyes are already glistening, they're both woodpeckers…