"Coming up the alley. Thirty seconds."
"Driscoll." Sterling's breath floated out of his mouth like fog.
"Rear perimeter. Got the south alley sighted."
"Marlow, where's that Renault?"
A pause. Sterling didn't like the pause. Pauses often meant something bad happened. "Mar?—"
"Stopped at the end of the block," Marlow said. "Lights off. Four out. Moving toward you on foot. South side of the street."
"Distance," Doyle asked.
"Hundred meters. Closing."
A hundred meters was thirty seconds at a walk, fifteen at a jog. Sterling did the math and the math told him they had ninety seconds to get inside the building before the wet team was in the stairwell with them.
"Let's do this."
Everyone took a step back.
Nelson smiled. He always did. He hit the door with the breaching tool.
A heavy, hollow boom followed by splintering wood seconds later. Wood pulp sprayed against Sterling's cheek. The door swung inward and banged against the interior wall.
Nelson led the charge.
Sterling followed.
The stairwell smelled like old cooking oil, fried rice, and burnt eggs. The lighting was dull. A single bulb on the second-floor landing threw a yellow hue onto cracked tile. Everything looked like it had a film of dust.
Sterling glanced over his shoulder as Nick crossed the threshold. "Two flights, and Restrepo's the first door on the right. Nelson, you're with me. Nick, you've got lookout on middle floor. Doyle you've got the door. I've got lead."
Nelson stepped aside.
Sterling took the first flight in five strides. He kept his rifle up, swept, and tracked. He trusted that Nelson and Doyle had his back.
"Got two charging the door," Doyle said.
Pop! Pop!
Pop! Pop! Pop!
"One down, but I'm hit," Doyle said. "One hiding behind a vehicle."
"Shit," Sterling mumbled. "Someone help Doyle."
Pop!
"I'm good," Doyle said. "Got the second one in the leg. He's retreating. I'll take cover."
"Contact rear," Driscoll said, calm as a man reading a menu.
Bang! Bang!
"Two down at the rear. One mover, west alley," Driscoll said. "The extraction must be done now, or we'll miss our chance."
"Copy. Nelson?—"
