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Snipers tended to work in teams, so Rapp assumed two men. Based on their vantage point, it would make sense for the spotter to be at the dormer to the right. That would also put him in a reasonable position to cover the door. Based on the architectural plans he’d studied, Rapp put the spotter at two o’clock with the sniper dead at twelve. What would be between him and the two mercs was impossible to know for certain. Even if the attic was as cluttered as the basement, though, he guessed he’d have a shot. They would have moved anything obstructing their line of retreat.

Rapp took a few steps back and charged the door, throwing a foot out into the ancient wood. As expected, it gave easily, and he went sailing through, gun stretched out in front of him.

The spotter was right where he expected him to be. Also as anticipated, he’d been paying close attention to the door. Rapp saw a muzzle flash and felt the sting of a bullet grazing his right shoulder. He lined up his sights and fired, twisting in the air without bothering to confirm if he’d hit his target. When he landed on the wood floor, he was facing the sniper who was spinning in his direction. The rifle was far too unwieldy for him to move quickly, though, and Rapp’s shot hit him directly between the eyes.

Rapp got to his feet and moved to the edge of the window, careful not to expose himself to Bruno McGraw, who would be watching for movement. He activated his throat mike, mindful that the frequency had been compromised. “Ended like Herat, too.”

Coleman would understand. Rapp had resolved their sniper problem in that Afghan town by scaling the wall and shooting the man through a broken window.

“Roger that.”

Rapp was now able to move to a better vantage point without worrying about being taken out by McGraw. He could see the damage to the wall was as impressive as the guy from Raytheon had promised—a burning hole that you could drive a semi through. Other than the two dead men on the ground, none of Obrecht’s mercs were in evidence. The Gatling gun was bolted to a platform on the north end of the wall. There was no operator visible, but various cables and flexible hoses were. Definitely remote controlled. But from where?

Rapp started for the exit but then spotted an iPad lying on the floor next to the dead spotter. He was going to stuff it in the waistband of his fatigues for Dumond to examine but stopped when the screen came to life.

It displayed four squares arranged vertically on the left. Three were blank and one was feeding video of the tree line west of the wall. Alongside each square were arrows for up, down, right, and left, as well as a green and red button. He pressed the right arrow next to the live image and it tracked obediently north.

Rapp moved to a position where he could see the Gatling gun placement and tapped the arrow again. If the only man who could help them figure out Joe Rickman’s plan weren’t lying dead in the basement, he might have actually smiled. The gun obeyed his command.

Now the only question was how cautious the engineers who had set up the weapon were. Rapp would have had its range of motion limited but most people were less suspicious of technology than he was. It turned out Obrecht’s men fit into the latter category. By pressing and holding the right arrow, Rapp was able to spin the gun 360 degrees.

He ran a finger down the green buttons on the iPad and watched two of the three other camera feeds come to life. They were gray at first, scanning the interior surface of the wall as the guns rose on hydraulic lifts. In a few seconds, both had cleared the barrier and were showing high-definition images of the surrounding forest.

Using the arrows, he spun the guns to aim at the ground floor of the building, concentrating on the points of entry.

“Get ready to move,” he said into his throat mike.

Coleman sounded a bit confused at what he saw as Rapp knowingly giving away their strategy. “This frequency’s being monitored. I repeat, this frequency’s being monitored.”

“In a second, it’s not going to matter,” Rapp said, swiping the red buttons pulsing on the screen.

• • •

“South corner clear. One tango down,” Wicker’s voice said over the radio.

“West corner clear,” Bruno McGraw followed up. “One man dead. All civilian employees uninjured and accounted for.”

Rapp could feel the blood flowing down the back of his flak jacket as he fireman-carried Stan Hurley’s body down the stairs. The dust on the ground floor was thick enough to make it hard to breathe. There was a hole about nine feet in diameter next to the door, and a significant portion of the wall to the right of it had collapsed. Scott Coleman was putting flex cuffs on a man lying facedown in a bed of shattered glass. At the other end of the room, the upper half of a torso was on its side in the fireplace. A quick scan of the demolished room didn’t

turn up the rest of the body.

“One more over there,” Coleman said, shaken by the sight of -Hurley’s body, but trying to hide it.

“That leaves one unaccounted for,” Rapp responded.

Charlie Wicker came on the comm a moment later. “There’s a man running east toward the wall. I have a shot.”

Rapp gave a subtle nod and Coleman brought a bleeding hand to his throat mike. “Take him.”

“Affirmative. Tango’s down.”

The man at Coleman’s feet craned his neck around and looked up. Rapp didn’t know him but the recognition—and fear—were clear in his eyes.

“You speak English?” Rapp said.

“Yes.”

“Louis Gould brought in a team to take out Obrecht,” Rapp said to him. “Your men killed Gould but not before he got to Obrecht. The rest of his team got away to the east. You’re the only survivor.”

Source: www.allfreenovel.com
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