* * *
Brett returned barely thirty minutes later, tooting his horn to get the garage door up. He entered, the GIGN surrounding him. Knuckles pushed through and said, “Well?”
“I couldn’t get a single apartment, but I necked it down to two. Fourth floor, just like the Frogs said.”
The GIGN commander smiled at the verbal slight and said, “Show me.”
Brett spent twenty minutes describing the entrance, the stairwell, and the target doors. The GIGN men, through the commander, asked questions about breach points, security positions, and lighting, all of which showed Knuckles they were on their game. He relaxed, letting them get to it.
Brock said, “I guess that was a good call.”
Knuckles said, “Intelligence is always a good call.”
“Doesn’t change anything. You’re still in the back, and I’m still the ground force commander.”
Knuckles looked at the ceiling and said, “No worries.”
Five minutes later they were rolling, a caravan of various panel vans and bread trucks, all designed to blend in to the environment. Knuckles looked out the windshield, following along as the men in his vehicle checked and rechecked breaching charges, weapons, and radios.
They turned down a street and he saw a large Orthodox church at the end. The stick leader in his van said something in French, and Brock said, “Thirty seconds.”
Knuckles stacked against the back of the van, next to Brett, giving the GIGN full access to the sliding door. He saw two vehicles continue straight, the regular gendarmerie locking down the block. Sealing off the operational area. The vehicle in front turned into a narrow lane, revealing a metal gate. Incongruously, as often happened in such operations, there was a single man out front on a park bench, talking on a phone, oblivious to the impending storm. Knuckles realized he was white, the sight looking completely out of place.
The lane opened into a courtyard and Brett recognized the building. He said, “This is it.”
Knuckles forgot about the man and focused on the fight, taking deep breaths and getting his adrenaline under control. He elbowed Brett and whispered, “This is cool shit, huh?”
Brett smiled. “Yeah, when we’re surrounded by all this firepower. It was some scary shit thirty minutes ago. You’re lucky you’re not black.”
They pulled in behind the single van. The doors slid open at the same time, and the GIGN spilled out, moving like water from a split dam.
They raced to the stairwell, sprinting up, very little noise other than the clank of equipment. At each floor, two men in the front of the column peeled off, locking down the entrance to the stairwell and preventing any surprises from the rear.
They reached the fourth floor and the teams split, two men locking down the hallway to their rear, and the rest sprinting to their designated targets. The two FBI agents were supposed to follow the first team to their room, leaving Knuckles and Brett for the second door, but there was a tangle in the hallway, and they ended up at the back of the same stack.
The electricity of the operation flowing through him, weapon held high, Knuckles saw the two GIGN breachers look at each other and nod. They raised their battering rams and struck the doors at the same time, shattering the locks. The men shot into the rooms like lava from an erupting volcano, shouting commands to gain dominance.
Knuckles heard no gunfire.
Last in, he entered to find the room empty, the GIGN dominating the entire structure. No furniture and no terrorists. On the floor was a Samsung Galaxy cell phone, blinking. On the walls were packages.
It coalesced in his brain in a nanosecond, and he shouted, “Avalanche!”
Nobody in the room other than Brett understood the Taskforce command for immediate evacuation. Bulling his way to the entrance, Knuckles grabbed one GIGN man and bodily flung him through the door. He took two steps toward it, seeing Brett dive outside, when the room erupted in fire.