“The rest is a piece of cake,” Ant jubilantly declared. “Look at all the damn chimneys. Now watch this cowboy technique.” As good as his word, he lassoed a chimney easily, and they pulled themselves onto the roof without mishap. They were all silently congratulating themselves when the first shots rang out, narrowly missing Luger, who was closest to the edge of the roof.
They scrambled up the roof and over the ridge peak, followed by a barrage of bullets and flying pieces of tile. Out of sight of the courtyard now, they ran, dashing over the rough roof surface as though it were a flat track.
Their rappelling line was two hundred yards away when the first guard came out of the dormer window they'd used for entrance into the villa. He reached the roof peak just as Luger began hooking his harness to the wire. The burst of bullets raked the parapet above their heads, and they dove out of sight behind a chimney.
“Ant and I'll keep them down on the other side of that ridge. You go over first, Luger.”
Discussion was unnecessary; they'd performed this procedure so many times as a team, their roles had become automatic. Luger moved out first because he was a flawless shot at long-range.
Ant went next because he couldn't sprint as fast as Carey. And when Ant and Luger were both away, Carey would race for cover. It had developed into such a routine maneuver, they'd begun calling it their football play, as if the game of battle were stylized and amusing.
But the roof ridge presented a formidable bunker for Rifat's guards, and no jungle or underbrush existed to conceal one's retreat. There was no cover at all until they dropped below the parapet and hung from the rappelling wire.
Carey and Ant tore up the roof ridge while Luger made a dash for the wire, and both breathed a small sigh of relief when they heard the added sound of his fire power behind them. He was over and in position.
Once Luger was adding to their defense, Ant ran for the wire. Reinforcements were continually coming up-Carey could tell from the additional rounds bombarding them and the increasing number of shouting voices. He hoped there weren't any zealots in Rifat's troops; they'd be hard to keep down. Mercenaries were a different matter. Trained and skilled and deadly, they still preferred collecting next week's paycheck. Zealots alarmed him, their mad eyes reflecting the chaos in their minds.
A man screamed and then another. He knew that sound. Good. Two less-whatever their persuasion. And he glanced toward the parapet, gauging the time it would take Ant to cross. He wasn't staying on this side a second longer than necessary. Emptying his magazine in a spraying sweep across the roof peak, he was crouched behind the chimney in the process of reloading when his instinct for self-preservation screamed, Go! Without hesitation he dropped his rifle and ran. He never, never ignored that voice.
They hadn't expected him to break cover without firing, and he had a few scant seconds of reprieve before they began sighting in on him. He was up on the parapet and then on the wire before the first guards rose in pursuit. He heard Luger's shouted warning, but didn't slow down as the first rush was almost immediately followed by a full-scale charge. Ant and Luger were doing their best to stop them, but it was possible several might make it to the parapet. Carey was halfway across the thirty feet in a light run when a stream of bullets flashed by him so closely he felt the heat on his face. “Cut the wire,” he shouted, “cut it.” His additional directive erased the first shocked look from Ant's face, and he was reaching for the wire with his cutters when Carey leaped the last eight feet for the roof. In midair he heard the snap as the taut wire split apart and saw the welcoming grin on Ant's face.
An enormous explosion erupted behind him. He rolled to his feet and he saw Luger with a missile launcher balanced on his shoulder, a look of infinite satisfaction on his face.
“Where the hell did that come from?” Carey inquired, breathless and astonished.
“Brooks Air Force Base.”
“I didn't mean that.”
“Helluva nice hole over there,” Luger remarked, and Carey turned to see the entire roof, half Rifat's villa, and the pursuing guards disappear in a blaze of fire.
On the ride back to the airport, Luger explained: He'd brought the TOW missile to the antique shop earlier in the day and had hidden it in the stack of empty boxes outside the back door. Making sure he was the first one to arrive at their rendezvous that night, he'd carried it up to the roof before Carey and Ant arrived.
“Fucking pyromaniac,” Carey grumbled, though his grin belied his words. “You should be committed.”
“Stopped 'em, didn't it?”
“Stopped the entire operation of the villa, not to mention calling out half the fire trucks in the city.”
“Any problem there?” Luger replied angelically.
Carey's grin widened. “Hell no. That was one big mother of a blast, though.”
“Yeah… it was a beauty,” Luger replied with the fondness parents reserved for compliments on their children. “Although it's small in relation to other missiles.”
“How do you get your hands on those?”
Luger smiled. “Privileged information.”
“That means he stole it,” Ant interjected, sprawled in one corner of the backseat, a Mexican beer in his hand.
“I didn't steal it. I purchased it,” Luger explained as if the distinction were important.
“I think we're all aware of the occasional lapses in integrity in the Defense Department and its agencies,” Carey noted, wiping the camouflage black off his face. “So what do you have from your supermarket for Miami?” Carey had briefed them on the memo on Rifat's desk and their need for haste, since they had no way of knowing if Rifat had set the operation in motion yet or not. But they were safest assuming the mission to kidnap Sylvie had been initiated. They had to proceed as though the danger to Sylvie existed. If it did not, they would all breathe a collective sigh of relief.
In the meantime, Carey called Sylvie and, without alarming her into panic, explained she should hire extra guards and stay in the hospital until he arrived.
CHAPTER 41
T he wing was bristling with off-duty police officers when they returned to Miami. Sylvie had taken Carey's order to heart. But essentially she was calm. Everything was fine, she told him. She had hired a great number of security and there was nothing more to worry about. Although Carey was slightly more cautious than she, he did have to agree they seemed protected behind the barricades of police officers. No one was allowed in or out of the wing unless they were personally approved by Sylvie or himself.
Egon was still on the critical list, but not worse, the doctors' prognosis one of guarded optimism. “He may live,” they said.
“Great,” Carey replied. “What about the paralysis?”
Their faces became more somber at that point and none dared offer hope.
“Surely someone can try operating. What the hell does he have to lose?”
His condition was too critical, they replied. He would never survive the surgery.
Carey dropped the discussion. Clearly some research was necessary, other specialists had to be called in. All avenues would be pursued later when the threat to Sylvie was resolved.
After stopping by to visit Egon and Mariel, Carey called Molly.
Rifat was dead, he said.
And she asked quickly if he was all right, her voice concerned and warm.
He was fine, he replied.
Could she go home then? she asked, her tone more controlled and less vital.
He wanted her to wait a few more days, he politely mentioned, until he reconciled the threat to Sylvie.
“Are you with Sylvie?” she inquired, and the brittleness in her voice was unmistakably cool.
He wished he didn't have to say yes. “Just for a few more days,” he said.