At eleven in the morning the Land Cruiser swung in front of the block and waited, its engine ticking over. The man on the street whispered in his gutrah and got an acknowledgement from Bwana and the spotter.
At half past eleven, the target’s bodyguards came out, forming a protective circle around the target. One of them opened the door for him, and Khalid Ashraf, the target, settled into the window seat with a satisfied grunt. The Toyota set off.
A hundred yards later, the Toyota slowed, and Ashraf squinted through the window at the large white banner on the side of the street. ‘Salaam Alaikum, Ashraf,’ read the banner in large Arabic script.
Another hundred yards, another banner. ‘Ashraf, we have a secret for you.’
Ashraf leant forward, ignoring everything else, and his eyes grew wide as the next banner approached, ‘Pay attention, Ashraf.’
The Toyota was approaching the crossroad and was slowing down in anticipation. Khalid ignored everything else on the street and yelled out to the driver to go slower as he spotted another banner on the street. The banner became his universe.
He squinted harder to make out the smaller lettering. He couldn’t.
He squashed his face against the glass and tried again. No luck. He wiped the glass with his sleeve and tried again. The letters still remained unreadable. The banner was almost in line with his window now.
He cursed and lowered the window.
‘I have a message for you, Ashraf,’ it read.
And Bwana took the shot.
The spotter continued watching through a pair of Steiner binoculars and then patted him silently on his back and stood up without a word. Bwana took apart the rifle swiftly, without haste, and looked up at the spotter when it was neatly packed. Bwana acknowledged only one other sniper as his better.
That sniper was Zeb, his spotter on that day.
Roger tapped the roof, bringing Bwana out of his reverie. He folded the rear seats, set up a tripod and mounted the rifle on it. He made small adjustments and murmured, ‘All set,’ in his collar mic.
Broker went to the front passenger side and leaned casually against it while Roger fiddled with something stuck in the rear wheel. Chloe and Bear were still on the street, on opposite sides, making sure the street was clear, Bear drifting closer to the warehouse.
‘Now,’ Broker said and leaned inside and turned on a cell phone jammer. An NSA classified device — he had gotten hold of it through his channels — it had an effective radius of a kilometer, which was enough for them.
Bwana took a deep breath and released it and then swung the driver’s side passenger door sideways. He now had a view of the warehouse and, more importantly, the three CCTV cameras.
He crouched down, and the first camera jumped at him through the Leupold. A moment to allow the rifle to become an extension of his arm, the trigger, a sixth digit on his hand, and the camera to the right disintegrated. Bwana swung the rifle steadily to the left and shot that one.
When Broker saw the third camera explode, he nodded at Roger. Roger straightened and, wiping his hands on his trousers, reached inside the SUV and picked up a small satchel. He walked swiftly through the gate of the warehouse and made his way to the corner on the right.
He glanced back and saw Bear heading to the corner on the left with a similar satchel. He hugged the wall and ran to the first window. It was glassed and barred and a foot above his head. He paused for a moment and heard movement and muffled voices from inside. None of the voices appeared to be shouting or strained.
His Glock slid smoothly in his hand and, reversing his grip, he extended his hand and rapped the glass firmly. Highly unlikely anyone’s near the windows. They’ll be packing and unpacking and doing whatever shit hoods do inside.
From the satchel he took out a couple of cylindrical objects, a stun grenade and a CS gas grenade, pulled their pins, and tossed them through the broken window in an overarm arc.
He heard the first bang from the stun grenade when he reached the second window, and then he heard shouting. A second bang followed, and he smiled thinly. Bear.
He broke the next two windows and tossed devices through them and sprinted to the rear of the warehouse. Pandemonium had broken out inside the warehouse, the flash-bangs, shouting and screaming becoming a wall of sound. More than ten inside, closer to fifteen, and likely this is their first experience of flash-bangs. How does it feel, assholes?
Half a minute from entering the gate, he navigated the rear corner and stopped suddenly.
The rear door was wide open, and five hoods were outside.
Three of them were armed, one had an AR-15 rifle and two of them had Skorpion machine pistols. The other two were in no position to offer any resistance. One was retching against the wall, and the fifth was kneeling down, holding his stomach. The three with guns were looking through the open door in amazement and shock.
AR-15 spun round on hearing Bwana’s approach, his loose shirt stretching tight across his stocky frame, the barrel coming up.
‘The fuck you are? What…?’
Roger flowed from a standstill, all thought and speed, moving under the arc of the rising rifle, twisting his body to the side, grabbing it with both hands like a javelin, and jabbed back, hard, catching the hood flush in the face. He collapsed in a heap; another jab and he was out of the equation.
Roger turned to look at Bear and saw that he didn’t need any help.
Bear had two facing him with the Skorpions, but he had the advantage of surprise and training. It also helped that the two were bunched closely together. He moved swiftly, turning, keeping one hood between the other and, coming inside the firing arm of the first hood, kicked his knee out. As the hood fell, losing his gun, Bear picked him up bodily, a hand on his collar and one at his belt, and threw him at the second hood. He hit them with a Skorpion and swiftly bound their hands with the plastic ties.
He bumped fists with Roger, and the two of them picked up the three hoods and threw them inside the warehouse. The two affected by the stun grenades were still dazed and stumbled inside the warehouse without offering any resistance when Roger and Bear frisked them for weapons and then pushed them inside.
Roger took a quick peek and saw the rest of the gangbangers were lying incapacitated and dazed, some of them crying.
‘Better be sure,’ he said and picked up the fallen AR-15 and fired a burst in the ceiling of the warehouse.
He stepped to the side immediately, slammed the door shut, and wedged the AR-15 against it. It wouldn’t hold against a determined and concerted assault from inside, but they weren’t expecting one and were prepared for that eventuality too.
Bear opened his satchel and brought out a thick steel mending brace, a battery-operated screw driver and drill set, and with Roger helping, sealed the door against the frame with the brace.
They collected the Skorpions and the AR-15 and with a last look around, headed back.
‘On our way,’ Bear said in his mic and got an acknowledging ‘roger’ from Broker.
Bear threw the last of the flash-bangs and CS gas grenades through the windows as they left, for good measure.
Roger looked at him quizzically, and a grin parted the thick beard. ‘Mamma always said I should finish my lunchbox at school.’