Page 90 of Nightfire

No, this was America, he reminded himself. 911.

He studied the security camera system for a minute while Dmitri was taking care of the front doors. He was familiar with most security systems. This one was particularly upscale.

But not invulnerable.

He flipped a switch and raised his eyes to the four corners of the atrium. The LED lights next to the cameras were off.

Okay, the building was sealed and blind.

Phase two.

The Mason woman had been on the 4th floor, second apartment from the right. Ordinarily, he would have ascended to several floors above hers then come down the stairwell, but time was tight. The security system was off but he had no idea whether there were two guards on duty. That was the problem with improvisation—no intel and no proper planning.

Outside the door of the apartment, Nikitin held out his hand and Dmitri placed the infrared scanner in it. Nikitin switched it on, then looked, frowning, at the screen. There was nothing. Absolutely nothing.

He walked quickly down the hallway, aiming the scanner and found two people behind the doors and the walls of the apartments. One two doors down to the right and the other behind the door of the last apartment to the left.

The heat signatures were small. Women or very small men. Housewives or cleaning ladies, most likely.

He walked back fast to the apartment where Chloe was. Nothing.

The door was featureless, obviously a sliding door operated by a keypad to the right. The door was impenetrable to infrared. So were the walls to either side of the door.

Shit! This Mike Keillor was very security-conscious. Nikitin met Dmitri’s eyes. He indicated the next apartment over and Dmitri nodded.

They moved to the next door in complete silence. Dmitri had been well-trained. Nikitin didn’t have to give orders.

He aimed the infrared at the door of the apartment right next to where Mason was staying. Wood, no barrier at all to infrared.

He walked the length of the corridor corresponding to the apartment and saw no heat signatures at all. Perfect. Whoever owned this place was out, probably at work. If they were out shopping, they’d regret it because Nikitin would shoot to kill if they returned.

His weapons were beyond traceable reach of US law enforcement authorities. The security cameras were down. If he had to kill, they’d never trace it back to him. They were being very careful, but even if they left some DNA behind, neither he nor Dmitri would be in their system.

Nikitin eyed the lock. It was pickable, but it would take time. He nodded to Dmitri and stepped back. The shot was barely audible standing right next to the gun. It sounded like a can of beer being opened.

With a slight push of the door, they entered. Nikitin immediately turned right, aiming his scanner at the walls while Dmitri went from room to room, weapon up.

By the time Dmitri came back giving the all-clear hand signal, Nikitin had found Chloe, sitting in a room directly next to this apartment’s living room. He studied the scanner’s monitor.

A slight figure sitting on a chair, hand curled around something hot, the only other heat source what looked like a microwave, cooling rapidly.

She was sitting drinking tea or coffee. Perfect.

On October 23, 2002, Nikitin had been a young lieutenant in the elite Vityaz counter-terrorism unit under the FSB. He’d been seconded to Moscow from Grozny for a three month course in NBC terrorism when the call came in at 9:20 pm. Fifty terrorists had taken over 900 people hostage during the presentation of a popular musical. The terrorists were armed to the teeth and wore explosive vests. A few hostages who had been backstage escaped out the back and briefed the special forces who were staged around the theater. The terrorists moved among the hostages, essentially walking bombs.

It was impossible to storm the theater—the casualties would be horrific. Unsustainable for a government elected on an anti-terrorism ticket.

Negotiations sputtered into a stalemate that lasted four days. At 5 am on the 26th, Russian forces streamed fentanyl, a powerful anesthetic, into the theater, knocking out hostages and hostage-takers alike.

Fentanyl was 100 times stronger than morphine and could fell a bear in five seconds. One small human female was going to be a snap.

Nikitin placed the infrared scanner on the floor, turned the monitor up and took a high speed drill out of his backpack. He had to act quickly. If the Mason woman left the kitchen to go into a room with no common wall, his only other alternative was to break through the wall immediately, but that would give her time to call 911.

No, he needed her unconscious, right now.

He knelt next to the join between wall and floor and applied the drill. It emitted a soft whine which made him frown. It was minor, but noticeable in a quiet room.

He looked up at Dmitri and mouthed shum. Noise. Dmitri nodded and a few moments later loud rock music came from the living room. Perfect. It blocked the noise of the drill.