‘Well no harm checking it twice?’
The ranger looked puzzled, ‘Say I did not see your name on the roster. What was it again?’
Since the second Alfred had seen the ranger, he had scanned the perimeter for witnesses, there were none. He had wandered towards the trees, naturally seeking cover, the ranger had moved with him, intercepting his path. With a technique practised over many deaths, he moved the knife concealed against his right sleeve forward, the eight inch blade slashing any scream in his victim’s throat. The shock and surprise was now on the Rangers face, and Alfred stepped forward, grabbed the back of his head, and rammed the knife up through his jaw and mouth, puncturing his brain and killing him. Two seconds had passed since he removed his knife from his sleeve. He lowered the corpse to the floor, checking all directions with precise movements.
The green grass hid the blood splatter, but his clothes were covered with the warm fluid. He took the jacket from his rucksack and dabbed the patches on his shirt with a cloth. The ranger’s body was discarded in a bush, an unfortunate but necessary act. Alfred had been seen before or after assassinations, and if he had, the witness had not survived.
He moved onto Barry Road and there on the right was his destination, a white octagonal building, one hundred twenty five feet wide and almost one hundred feet high, sitting on its own island just off shore. It was built to ventilate the Brooklyn Battery Tunnel, running under the riverbed, stop the occupants from breathing in all the fumes their cars expunged every hour.
The tunnel system had three of these vents, but this one gave him line of sight with the Manhattan Heliport one kilometre north-north east. It was not accessible from the tunnel, the masses of warm air flowing up, would disguise his heat signature from passing patrols. His main concern was the NYPD Aviation Unit who routinely over-flew the area using night vision and heat sensitive cameras. If he was on the land he would glow in the dark to them, but the vent should reduce his image.
He climbed the substantial fence on the shoreline, and moved along the edge of the causeway. He knew it had motion sensors on the surface for anything larger than a gull, but he did not want to get wet again. He fired his piton into the newly placed stone façade of the vent, cracking the finish as it secured itself. The structure appeared like an ancient temple floating on the water, crisp clean white lines of the stone against the blue brown of the river. He slid along the rope line, traversing swiftly to the top of the structure an awkward but necessary manoeuvre, in the late afternoon, his body only a few feet above the water, better than a black wetsuit against the white stone. If he had come out of the river on any side of the vent building, his silhouette may have attracted unwanted attention. He would leave the same way he arrived, avoiding detection and returning to the Brooklyn side of the river.
He climbed quickly, levered himself over the lip of the building and onto the timber supports. He threw a line over the side and hooked his gear stored in another canister underwater, the third attempt snagging it. His substantial muscles straining as he pulled the sixty pounds of gear upwards and onto the timbers inside, avoiding the fifteen foot vents below his feet. Checking the time, he rapidly assembled his M-82A-1A Barrett sniper rifle, clipping it to a chest harness, while he secured a soft mount to place it on. A single pin through the weapon secured it, allowing him to pivot and target without taking on the thirteen kilogram weight.
He loaded the ten round magazine of fifty-calibre ammunition, originally designed for a heavy machine gun. The rifle was his favourite weapon. It was almost four feet in length, a long removable spring-loaded barrel, leading to the main body and a single pistol grip. There was a thick pad on the rear and a second grip point to steady the weapon during firing, and reduce the substantial recoil. The tip of the barrel had a twin vented exhaust port, to displace some of the recoil; the spring-loaded barrel reduced the transmission of this back to the shooter. The muzzle flash was his main concern, it was substantial, a ball of flame three feet in diameter exiting from the front and sides of the weapons barrel. The first shot would give away his position; to the trained observer any second shot would confirm it.
The old rule of three people sharing a light, remembered from sniper school. His instructor had told them it was considered bad luck for three people to light cigarettes with one lighter or match during the First World War. The reason was simple, the first light would attract the attention of enemy snipers in the trenches opposite, the second they would aim at, and the third light they would shoot. If you were number three you were getting probably about to be shot.
The only compensation was that his range and isolation would make it difficult for the Diplomatic Security Service team to return fire immediately and with their firearms he was just out of lethal range. They could summon assistance from either NYPD or other DSS units, and he had taken precautions to reduce this threat during his window of opportunity. He had to hit the President with one shot, from one kilometre, he had done it before in Chechnya.
The President arrived as scheduled, his limousine gliding up to the heliport. The security detail made their perimeter checks, a litter collector arguing that he wanted to clear up the cans and cardboard scattered around the car park. The Diplomatic Security Service remained in place, one large black SUV in front and behind, each with four armed agents. They were discreet but imposed an unspoken authority, their weapons holstered, sunglasses off in the dim light, eyes scanned in all directions. Uncotto and his assistants remained in the vehicle as instructed, while the agents swiftly and efficiently acted.
They were familiar with the heliport adjacent to the FDR Expressway, the two storey grey office building blocking direct access to the helicopters. The building sat on a concrete pier which extended one hundred metres out into the East River, with another section on the left at ninety degrees going out some ninety metres to support the constant airborne activity. Their helicopter was close to the building, only a few metres exposed before entering the security of the Dauphin EC155. He had arrived in the same machine, twelve seats, two pilots and enough room for his four man escort and assistants to travel in comfort. They moved through the building, two agents ahead moving out to the helicopter, its engines starting up at their command. Uncotto was about to move out to the helicopter when his private line rang.
Alfred could see that the group had stopped, then moved back into the building, the helicopter warmed up, rotors increased speed, two agents waited, watched, by the double doors. Minutes passed and he grew impatient, he had only a short time before the Ranger’s body was discovered and then he knew NYPD would be all over the island and its perimeter. Alfred had to provoke the DSS to move.
The first set of explosions was from the road the sound carrying through the surrounding buildings. It was adjacent to the limousine and SUV’s in the car park, the shrapnel from one hitting the DSS agent outside the car. His two colleagues moved him into one of the hard cars and drew their SIG Sauer handguns, their training taking the safety off as they did so in one smooth movement, seeking a target. A car near the entrance exploded blocking the exit in a pool of fire. They could locate no direct threat and so secured the scene and prepared to move.
Uncotto and his team had moved back into the building just a minute before, and were ready to respond to any threat, scanning the perimeter, the two agents by the helicopter the most exposed, moved back inside the entrance.
Alfred had placed the improvised incendiary devices before taking the water taxi, a variety of cans and cartons containing plastic explosive, nails and glass for maximum damage. The mobile phone he had dumped in a bin was within range, and when called had set off the devices. To ensure the protection team could not call for backup, he had placed a small jammer to block all radio and cell-phone signals, this was active now, he could see the DSS agents checking their equipment for faults. The combination of explosives and signal jammer isolated the team, and did not allow them to call specific back up, they would have to wait for response from local NYPD officers nearby, that would give him the few minutes he needed.