After a commo check to confirm the three of them could communicate on secure primary and secondary frequencies via their smartphones, he said to Sonny, “What if they recognize you when you stop their vehicle?”
Sonny grinned. “Then I’ll recognize them, too.”
“True,” Chris said as he popped open his suitcase. Hannah was already assembling an HK416 assault rifle, and Sonny had attached the upper receiver of a customized M4 to its lower receiver. Chris pulled out a customized M4, too. The bittersweet fragrance of oil on metal smelled like the good ole times. His match-grade barrel was 10.5 inches long, topped off with an Advanced Armament sound suppressor. His US Optics 1-4x red dot sight enabled a shooter to touch someone up to four hundred meters out. And in Chris’s hands, the weapon could reach out even farther. Hannah’s HK416 was easier to maintain and could take more abuse, but the M4s were lighter and more accurate. Especially since Chris hadn’t been training as much as he used to, he’d take whatever advantage he could get.
He slung his rifle over his shoulder, barrel down, and closed his suit jacket to conceal it. But in spite of the short barrel, it still poked out from under his jacket. He grabbed a copy of The Times and held it down at his side. He pressed his thumb into the paper, causing it to curve lengthwise and bend around the barrel to provide more concealment.
Sonny held a white plastic bag stuffed with something, possibly more plastic bags he could dispose of at a moment’s notice, to cover the barrel extending below his suit jacket.
“See you in a bit,” Chris said to Hannah.
“Don’t wait up for me, honey,” Sonny called over his shoulder as they headed for the door.
Hannah snickered. “See you guys.”
They hustled to the staircase. Better not to experience close encounters with nosey business office renters in the confines of an elevator, or walk into a close-quarters ambush. They exited the building and strolled toward the road surrounding a lush, emerald-green park called St. James Square. The buildings around the square were mostly of Georgian architecture — named after the four Kings George — minimalist and symmetrical with paneled doors topped with rectangular windows centered in front and adorned with ornate crowns, pilasters, and moldings.
Cars, motorbikes, and people were already pouring into the square as Sonny went to fetch the car. Chris crossed the street and entered the park, quickly spotting Business Tourist, who didn’t seem to notice Chris or his movement. As he ventured north in the park, the UKP building blocked Business Tourist from sight. Chris stopped at a spot where he had a good view of Duke of York Street and the St. James Square entrance to UKP, and waited.
Although passersby seemed uninterested in their surroundings and the trees partially obscured their view of him, he felt conspicuous at this early hour of the morning, standing alone on the wet grass in the park. He needed a cover story. Maybe he was waiting to meet a friend. It wasn’t an ideal cover, but it would have to do. It was believable enough, anyway. Rather than ponder the details of what he might say if someone asked him what he was doing, though, he needed to focus on the impending attack. The rest he could do on the fly.
He watched in silence for a few minutes, and then Sonny pulled the car around and parked next to the curb, just before reaching Duke of York Street.
Within minutes, Hannah’s voice sounded through Chris’s earpiece. “Two dark Range Rovers on Duke of York heading your way.”
Chris patted his suit jacket to make sure it was unbuttoned. He’d likely need to quickly swing out his rifle and make bang-bang. He’d already spotted the Range Rovers, too.
“They’re behind a MINI Cooper, Sunshine,” she said, using Sonny’s call sign. “Let the MINI Cooper pass before blocking the road.”
“Roger,” Sonny said.
The MINI Cooper rolled into St. James Square and turned left. Sonny moved in behind it and stopped, blocking the Range Rovers before they reached the square. The lead Range Rover honked, and Chris’s heart pounded so loud it seemed the whole of London could hear. He wiped his perspiring hands on his pant leg.
Sonny stepped out of his vehicle and approached the driver’s side of the first Range Rover. “My engine stalled,” he said. “Can you give me a push?”
The throat mic didn’t pick up the voice of the driver, but Chris could tell by the man’s angry gestures that he wasn’t going to get out and push.
“Then I’ll ask the guy behind you,” Sonny went on. He left the first vehicle and walked to the driver’s side of the second Range Rover.
The first Range Rover was blocking Chris’s view, so he couldn’t see the occupants in the second vehicle, but he heard Sonny go through the same spiel. This time, though, Chris couldn’t see or hear the driver’s reaction. A horn blasted from behind the second Range Rover.
“You don’t even know my mother,” Sonny said. He turned and headed back to his vehicle. “Range Rovers clear,” he whispered. He got in his car and started the engine.
“Okay, let them pass,” Hannah said.
Sonny backed up and parked by the curb again, standing by as the Range Rovers disappeared, and vehicles and pedestrians flowed steadily from Duke of York to St. James.
Chris was both afraid and unafraid standing there in the damp morning. The people who say they aren’t afraid are liars or idiots. But sometimes, when civilians asked him about it, he’d say the opposite, claim not to be afraid at all. Contradicting answers to the same question seemed perfectly logical to Chris until Reverend Luther finally asked him about it. How can you be afraid and unafraid at the same time?
After thinking on it, Chris realized that fear was a double-edged sword. One side of the sword was debilitative fear, causing the wielder to flee when he should stay, freeze when he should act, or panic when he should be keeping his head. The other side of the sword was facilitative fear, steadying his nerves, empowering his body and mind, and tightening his focus to a ruthless efficiency. While the debilitative side of the sword wounded the wielder, the facilitative side wounded the enemy. The key was to employ the sword of fear against the enemy rather than oneself. From that first day of Basic Underwater Demolition/SEAL training, Chris had learned how to wield fear to parry, cut, and thrust, facilitating his enemy’s slaughter. In his combat experience, when men became complacent and put the weapon of fear away, they risked certain death.
The possibility of letting Hannah and Sonny down, of a mistake on his part resulting in great harm to them, caused Chris the most fear. He pressed his arm against the hard metal of his rifle under his jacket to reassure himself. Then he touched the chest of his suit jacket until he felt the hardness of the ammo magazines attached to his vest. As a SEAL veteran, he understood the value of training, experience, preparation, equipment, and skill. But as a pastor, he knew these could only take a person so far. He said a quick, silent prayer to God asking Him if He might watch over them all — Hannah, Sonny, the civilians in the financial district, and Chris himself. Prayer gave him no crystal ball as to what the outcome would be, but it was an opportunity to align himself with a greater good. After he said Amen, an inner peace swept over him. Whatever was about to happen was going to happen.
“Business Tourist is moving your direction,” Hannah said in Chris’s earpiece.
Trying not to make any sudden movements that would alert someone, he scanned the area first moving only his eyes, and when he needed to see farther to the side, he slowly turned his head until Business Tourist appeared in his peripheral vision. Business Tourist crossed the road to the park side of the street, coming closer to Chris. It seemed he might be moving into some kind of support position.