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Chapter EighteenLightning flashed, streaking across the black sky. Noah silently counted. Thunder rolled like a bulldozer slowly plowing through a junkyard. The storm was getting closer. It would come in handy, offering them added cover and possibly slowing down any response to alarms or a shout for help. That was assuming that he fucked up taking down the security system for Clayborne in the first place. He knew how to install security systems, and he also knew how to disable them.
Noah was the first to admit that this was one of Rowe’s more insane and dangerous plans, but neither he nor JB could come up with a better alternative. The information Rowe had brought back from his meeting with the general made it clear that they needed to take down Erik Johnson and his mercenary team. But they also needed to make an effort to wipe out any information that he might have.
And if he was storing it anywhere, Noah was willing to bet that it was at the Clayborne offices.
From what they’d managed to pull together on the man, he wasn’t a big long-term planner. He wasn’t finesse or craft. He was brute force. Hell, Noah could think of half a dozen ways to conduct the Afghanistan ambush that wouldn’t have resulted in the murder of so many American soldiers. But Johnson didn’t care about protecting lives. He wanted his payday. Noah was also willing to bet that the man enjoyed the killing part. A perk of the job for him.
Noah had taken more than his fair share of lives while operating in war zones, and each one left a wound on his soul. They took a toll. But Johnson’s life, he’d take that one and wouldn’t lose a moment’s sleep over it. The man needed to pay for his crimes, and Noah had no qualms over being the executioner.
Leaning against the side of a neighboring building, Noah glanced around the area. Clayborne Security was located outside the city proper in an old industrial warehouse district. For several blocks, the region had a strong blue-collar feel. The place was all about manufacturing goods and shipping products from one location to millions of others around the globe. Everywhere he looked were rows of shipping containers, forklifts, crates, and wooden skids. Too many places for other people to effectively hide and pick off targets. But it also meant that it was hard to effectively place surveillance cameras.
The three-story brick building holding Clayborne was right in the middle of this manufacturing and shipping chaos. It meant no one would give a second look at strange shipments or movements going on with the office building. There was too much other activity going on. Gidget had already run a check of the building when she was pulling plans on record with the city and found that Clayborne was the only one renting space within the building. That certainly made it easier on them.
“How are we looking, gang?” Noah asked softly, knowing the mic pressed to his throat was going to easily pick up anything he said and relay it to everyone listening.
“Security cameras are down, and I’ve got the front doors unlocked,” Cole replied.
The IT specialist had volunteered to stay late and hack his way through Clayborne’s security system remotely. Noah was more accustomed to hearing Quinn’s excited and snarky voice in his ear when he worked, but he was overseeing an actual paying job at Ward Security, so Cole took over. The large, muscular man was serious at all times, which left Noah feeling like Cole would find himself at odds with his coworkers, but Quinn and Gidget raved about him. They found a way to make it work.
“I’m on the move,” Noah said. He shoved away from the building wall and quickly crossed the open parking lot between the manufacturing warehouse and Clayborne Security. Cole had already reported in that the building was empty, but Noah wasn’t taking any chances that he’d missed someone. After all their run-ins, Erik had to be expecting them to do something at this point.
As he reached the office building front door, a little smile grew on his lips. “You know, we totally forgot to come up with code names.” Standing in front of the door, he pulled a spray-paint can from his small pack and wrote the word TRAITOR in big, bold letters across the double doors, careful to miss the door handles. He stuffed the paint can away but left the bag partially open so he could easily get into it again.
“Not this mission. The next one,” Rowe immediately replied. Noah knew this little stunt was just the tip of the iceberg. Rowe had something much bigger and darker planned for Erik and his group of bullies.
“Code names? Really?” JB said, amusement clear in his voice.
