“Let’s go, Clyde. We still have to interact with the yard-birds. They’ll probably say something stupid like we have to leave our weapons with them. We abort on the spot if they insist on it after we tell them to kiss our asses.”
“Agreed.” Clyde exited the car and ran around to open the door for Nick’s senior Major Gibbons character. “Watch your step, Sir.”
“Thank you, Sergeant.” Nick left the vehicle in stiff regal manner scanning the area across from them. A small wooded area bordered the parking lot on the left facing away from the warehouse while a single structure of brick faced the warehouse from the other side. A string of other warehouses lined the road to their right.
Nick moved more slowly, confusing Clyde, his eyes scanning the area from behind his sunglasses. “Is something wrong, Nick?”
“I’m getting one of my bad feelings. Let’s take this slow on the approach. Walk with me around the front of the car to the other side. I want to get an idea of how the greeters react to us. We’ll keep stiff and straight but deliberate, okay?”
“Sure. You’re the boss,” Clyde replied.
Nick led the way, keeping the briefcase in his left hand, careful not to brush against the clasps which would end Ambassador Sahraoui’s life if everything happened as anticipated. In the open, halfway to the warehouse, the greeting guards suddenly hurried inside the entrance. Nick dropped the briefcase and slammed into Clyde as a barrage of bullets rained down from the building roof across the street, kicking pieces of pavement into the air. The shooter adjusted, firing at the scrambling men. A slug struck the pavement near Clyde. It ricocheted to strike Clyde along the side of his temple, catapulting him to his back. Their car roared into life. Ken screeched it into position, blocking Nick and Clyde from sight. More bullets struck the vehicle.
Pulling the heavily bleeding unconscious Clyde over his shoulder, Nick creeped to the rear seat area. He threw Clyde atop the seat and undid the briefcase he had handcuffed to his wrist for the meeting. Nick pulled his MP5 out of the bag with extra clips stuffed in his pockets with calm and deliberate movements. Grabbing Phil by his jacket, Nick yanked a yelping Phil into the back. He ripped the front of Phil’s shirt off, jammed it against Clyde’s head wound, and guided Phil’s hands to it.
“Keep pressure on it! Nice work, Ken. Hold position. Watch the warehouse entrance while I spot the asshole shooting at us.”
“Will do.” Ken took the proffered MP5 from Nick. “Don’t you want to get out of here?”
“Like I told another friend of mine, I don’t like being hunted even when I deserve it. If you see anyone but me come out of the building once I fix our shooter across the street, take off. You won’t be able to do me any good. Keep your eyes on the shooter’s position after I fix him. I’m hoping he holds position for another few shots like the amateur I figure he is. Lock up after I close the door.”
“Understood,” Ken replied, watching for movement at the warehouse entrance as ordered. He also kept an eye on Phil who continued cringing with his eyes closed but kept pressure on Clyde’s head.
Nick watched the roof of the building across the street with the killer intensity always just under the surface he showed the public. Nearly every ten seconds he saw the shooter on the rooftop across the street pop up either to look for targets or fire a few shots to keep his prey pinned down. During a ten second lull, Nick took careful aim, visualizing the way the shooter took aim over the roof. He kept his sight on target low, inches above the roof’s built up safety ledge. Nick locked on with relaxed assurance the shooter had no intention of changing his position or varying his targeting. Two seconds later, the shooter emerged over the ledge, bringing his rifle to firing position. Nick fired a short burst which stitched the shooter from sternum to left shoulder. There you go, boot camp. Even if you’re wearing Kevlar, you’re bleeding.
Nick glanced into the car and opened the rear door again to see Clyde groggily holding the shirt rag to his head. “Hey brother, how you doin’?”
Clyde’s eyes fluttered open, his face cringing in pain and from the light. “I’m good. Where the hell am I?”
Nick chuckled. “In the middle of another shit storm. Ken will explain it to you. I have to go deliver some lovely parting gifts for the ambassadorial party. That guy on the roof might only be wounded, Ken. Keep an eye on the roof for me now.”
“Will do, Nick. Nice shooting. The dummy didn’t change position even once.”