“Seated.”
“In range?”
Hughes peered over the lip of the window pane to see the Chinese president. It would be an awkward shot from that angle. “Negative. Proceed as planned.” He returned to his rifle, eye behind the scope, waiting for his target to arrive at the podium.
The General Assembly President called for a customary pause of one minute for prayer and meditation. Hal looked at the moment as providence, scanning the entire assembly of frozen delegates and officials. He turned the thermal sensor on in his HMD. Seeing heat signatures of everyone in the room in neon yellow, orange and red.
Hal crept to the center of the assembly — a better vantage point to look up at the rows of translation booths. The translators’ heat glowed within the darkened booths, and a handful of booths were empty. The translators were all standing during the moment of silence.
Hal scanned the translator booths on the opposite side of the assembly. The General Assembly President called the room back to order. Hal had to hurry, standing under the lights may expose when he moved back to the shadows. He reached the last row of translator booths and something peculiar caught his eye in a corner booth — the heat signature of a man lying down. In sniper position.
Hal slowly passed from beneath the bright lights, arriving at a wall in shadow. He crouched low and hustled along the wall to the nearest exit. One that he hoped led to the translation booths.
Hal spoke in a whispered tone, not knowing his helmet was made to muffle a normal speaking voice. “I’ve got a sniper. East wall. Translator booths. Lower corner booth.” Once through the exit he darted down the hallway, finding the stairwell. He leaped up the stairs to the first level of translator booths. Hal could hear the voice of the UN General Secretary from speakers piped into the hallways, reporting the status of UN missions around the world.
The General Secretary returned the floor to the General Assembly President… “I now invite his Excellency Li Weilen, President of the People’s Republic of China, to make a statement.” Hal picked up the pace, knowing he only had moments to find and disable the sniper.
The Chinese President rising from his seat was Matt’s cue at the lighting grid. He panned the spotlight, away from the podium to the President Weilen. If an enemy ghost tried a close quarter attack, Weng was close enough to see it and defend the president. Assembly members and the General Secretary stared up at the bank of lights — a clear protocol breach. World leaders never got their own spotlight escort to the stage.
A live C-SPAN feed from the UN appeared inside the box. McCreary watched the Chinese President make his way down the sloped aisle of green carpet, bathed in bright light. Weng followed the Chinese President and Ambassador, clutching the briefcase.
“Maintain position, Ghost Two.”
“Roger.”
“Grid ready?” McCreary asked Baldo.
“Yes, sir.” Baldo stared at a monitor of the electrical grid for the UN General Headquarters. Fingers hovering above the keyboard, awaiting further commands.
“Cobra-22 SITREP?”
“Tracking target. Ready to fire on your go.”
“Steady… Hold until my command,” McCreary said, waiting for the exact moment. The President reached the elevated stage platform. Weng and the Ambassador stayed back as the older President slowly trod toward the podium.
Hal reached the translation booth door. It was the nearest one on the lower level. It has to be this one, he thought. Trying the locked handle. Hal threw his shoulder into the door. The Door Jammer held tight. Inside, Hughes glanced back at the door. “Call it. I’ve got company.”
Hal knew he wasn’t getting in the conventional way. He stood back a foot from the door and raised his suppressed MP10 submachine gun, firing a long burst into the door. Wood splintered away, and he kicked the door handle through, creating a gaping hole the size of a baseball. The door was still locked. He pulled his SRK VG-1 tactical fixed-blade knife from the sheath and jammed it into the blasted-out hole, twisting it into the lock mechanism. The sniper pulled his sidearm, firing back at the door. A bullet struck the knife blade and it flew from Hal’s hand. He could see the legs of the sniper on the table. Hal jammed the nozzle of his MP10 in and ripped off a burst. Raking it across the sniper’s body.
“NOW. FIRE!” McCreary shouted over Hughes’s radio, who was himself under fire, riddled with bullets. Hughes pulled the trigger, but his shot was way off the mark. The bullet blew a chunk of green marble out of the backdrop behind Weilen. The assembly went pitch black and screams erupted throughout. Weng sprinted to the President, throwing his body around him like a blanket. Checking him for gunshot wounds as he guided him to the ground, ducking back against the marble backdrop for cover. The President survived, unscathed — for the moment.
On the auditorium balcony, Merrick calmly rose in the darkness. He removed an NVG headband and strapped it on. Delegates around him clamored over seats in pitch black. Feeling their way toward the main aisle leading back to the exit.
Merrick stalked down the balcony aisle, toward the banister. Stopping at the railing and looking down at the calamity of the General Assembly. He spotted his targets — the ceremonial UN guards posted at both sides of the General Secretary box. Turns out they’re not just decorative as they had taken cover against the booth, weapons drawn, protecting the UN leaders. Merrick raised his suppressed XT104, a Taiwanese 9mm submachine gun, and expertly cut loose a burst at the first guard. Dropping him. The second guard turned toward his muzzle blast, and Merrick dropped him before he could raise his sidearm to the balcony. “Secondary targets eliminated,” he reported over his headset.
“Stay on the balcony,” the reply sounded. “Provide suppression fire for entering guards.”
Hal fired at the base of the door, dislodging the Door Jammer and barreled through, into the translator booth. He checked the pulse of the downed sniper. There was none. Hal switched his view to night vision and scanned the assembly room. The last stragglers were feeling their way along walls to the exits. Hal spotted Weng, the President and Ambassador crouched up against the marble backdrop. All okay. The guards on either side weren’t so lucky. A blur caught Hal’s eye as the Secretary General and President scampered out from behind the booth on hands and knees. He assumed the third member of the booth didn’t make it.
Hal searched the assembly, spotting a man on the balcony with a submachine gun and NVG headband, aiming down on the east exits — waiting for any SWAT or SF rescue attempt. The shooter was too far away for an accurate shot from Hal’s MP10. Hal glanced down at the dead sniper and was struck with an idea. He swung the CSR sniper rifle around on the translator table, lining up on the balcony gunman. PLING! Headshot. Merrick fell sideways over the railing. Plummeting to the empty chairs below. Dead.
Weng and the Ambassador huddled over the President. Weng knew they were sitting ducks for the enemy ghost and anyone else with night vision. “Come on!” He said in Chinese to the President and Ambassador. “Follow me! Crawl!”
The three of them scurried to the edge of the elevated platform. It was about a three-foot drop. Blind from the dark, Weng dropped down first with the briefcase and then helped the President and Ambassador down. Once on the main assembly level, he sandwiched the President between he and the Ambassador, clinging their backs to the low platform riser. Now, they had cover from the back, and the assembly seats provided some cover from the front. Weng clicked the latches on the briefcase and popped the lid. Handing a Norinco CF-98 9mm sidearm to the Ambassador. Weng removed a Type 06 9x19mm submachine gun, snapping the lever and readying it to fire. “Turn that way,” he told the Ambassador. “Shoot anything that moves.” Weng then yelled at Matt over the microphone, “Get some lights!”