The Hit

Chapter





77





THE DAY BROKE CLEAR AND COLD. With each breath taken, tiny puffs of smoke rose into the air. The leaders of various Arab countries made their way to their official motorcades looking discomforted by the chill, their robes buffeted by the stiff breeze.

It was eight o’clock in the morning. People were tense. There was a collective feeling that the citizens of the town simply wanted this to be over. Their wish would come true shortly, but not in a way that they ever imagined.

There was only one way in and one way out of the building where the opening ceremony was taking place, which made it appealing from a security point of view. But it also had its disadvantages.

The motorcades drifted down the street with Canadian police providing the traffic security. There were a number of Canadian Mounties on their horses; they looked resplendent in their red uniforms. But they were also brightly colored sitting ducks when it came to an actual armed confrontation.

Reel’s and Robie’s plan had come together at five in the morning.

Neither of them felt the least bit tired. Adrenaline trumped exhaustion.

Reel was across the street from ground zero, just beyond the security checkpoint. That was a no-go for her because she was armed to the teeth.

Robie stood on the opposite corner, nearer the building but again beyond the checkpoint. Jersey barriers had been erected to prevent a truck bomb from getting close enough to drop the structure. Thus there was barely enough room to get a single car through at a time.

Bottlenecks like that could cause other sets of security problems, but on the whole Robie felt the plan had been well thought out.

He checked his watch. It was nearly time. He said into his mic, “Just about there.”

“I’ve counted seven motorcades so far. From my list that makes five more to go.”

“They’ll want them all in place. Give it a few minutes and then they’ll pull the trigger.”

“Here we go,” said Reel.

Here we go, thought Robie.

The last motorcade pulled through and disgorged its occupants. They walked into the building and the setting was complete.

The program was on a tight schedule. Opening ceremonies and remarks would last forty-five minutes. After that the group would be dispersed to different places for other discussions and events. This was one of the few times all of them would be in the same place at the same time.

From the heightened looks of concern of the security arrayed around the place, this fact was not lost on them either.

Robie moved to an alley and his hand closed around the butt of his gun as he did so. He looked at his watch. The program had been going on for twenty minutes.

Tactically the attackers wouldn’t want it to get close to the end on the off chance that any of the attendees left early. It was critical to get them all.

He said into his mic, “I think—”

That was as far as Robie got.

Flames shot out from the front door of the building and all four front windows. The same thing happened at the rear entrance.

Thirty seconds later the front of the building was engulfed in fire, blocking the entrance. The rear was similarly cut off.

Robie braced himself as he heard it coming. Fire trucks and ambulances raced down the street, sirens blaring.

Security let them through and the emergency vehicles screeched to a stop in front of the building. Men poured off the trucks and out of the ambulances.

Robie stepped out, his gun ready.

Reel did the same from across the street.

Robie fired and his shots blew out the front tires and windshield of an ambulance.

Reel killed one of the firefighters before he could deploy the subgun he had pulled from under his coat.

Both Robie and Reel opened fire directly on the group of men, forcing them to scurry for cover.

But before they could return fire someone shouted, “Freeze!”

Robie watched as an army of FBI and Canadian security agents charged forward from both ends of the street. They wore body armor and toted subguns. Emerging from hiding places along rooftops were snipers who pointed their long barrels at the fake first responders and fired shots close enough to the heads of the targets to make them realize any resistance would result in a slaughter.

So the targets did the only thing they could do.

They gave up.

A minute later more than twenty men were on their knees on the street, hands over their heads, with an array of pointed guns keeping them there.

Robie came forward and greeted her. Nicole Vance had on body armor and held her pistol in her right hand. Her smile was wide and welcoming.

She said, “Thanks for the heads-up last night. And the photos of the arsenal you found. Couldn’t really believe it at first, but you were very convincing. And in turn, I was very convincing with my superiors. And I can’t tell you what good things this will do for my career.”

Robie looked over as two men came forward holding another man between them. Sam Kent didn’t look very pleased at the sudden turn of events. But he wasn’t saying anything either. No protests of innocence. No demands to know why he was being held.

Robie stared at the man. When Kent caught his gaze he stiffened. Robie thought he caught a hint of a resigned smile pass over the man’s features.

“You can help us,” said Robie quietly. “You know what we need.”

“I highly doubt that I can help you or myself.”

“Going to claim that you know nothing about this?”

“Not at all. It’s just that dead men don’t make capable witnesses.”

“Come again?”

“Can I tell you something?”

“A name would do.”

“No, the message is much simpler.” He smiled and said, “Goodbye, Robie.”

The two men stared directly at each other.

“Robie!”

Robie turned and saw Reel on the other side of the street.

She shouted, “Robie! Johnson isn’t there. He’s not there.”

Robie looked over at the line of men on their knees in the street. He glanced down the faces one by one.

Dick Johnson wasn’t there.

Robie started to move, but knew he was already too late.

The shot hit Kent full in the face and blew out the back of his head, taking a large chunk of his brain with it.

Robie had looked back at Kent a second before the round hit.

There had been no fear in the man’s features. Just resignation.