Sting of the Wasp by Jeff Rovin

Author:Jeff Rovin
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: St. Martin's Press

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The three Americans left the fourth-floor landing when they heard activity above; feet shuffling, a door creaking, weapon stocks hitting a belt clasp or button. They did not slow but kept up their steady pace. Grace was in the lead; Breen, in the rear, was shining a pocket flashlight ahead of her, sweeping it back and forth, looking for a tripwire. For all they knew JAM owned the entire building and had rigged it with booby traps. It was a strange thought for Grace to have at that moment, under the circumstances, but her admiration for Williams unexpectedly spiked; she knew without a doubt if something like that happened, the commander would charge up to try and salvage the mission or save his people. That gave her own determination a boost.

Behind her, Rivette was listening. During survival training, General Lovett’s team had noted his attention to audio detail; probably a result, the lance corporal thought, of having to survive dark streets at night and heavy-footed gang members in school lavatories.

Rivette was the first to hear the helicopter. He stopped Grace with a tap on her arm and motioned for Breen to wait. A moment later the others heard it, too.

The lance corporal listened, tapped Grace again. She turned. He had detected two overlapping sources of sound: the squeak of new basketball shoes and the rattle of a bracelet. He held up two fingers. Grace nodded. Then he held up seven fingers; she nodded again. The guards were on the seventh floor. She indicated for the men to wait.

Breen frowned. Grace removed a hand grenade from her pocket. Breen stopped frowning. He knew he would have to kill the flashlight anyway, since it would give their position away.

Grace turned ahead and began moving up in the same fluid movement. The men could see her as far as the fifth-floor landing and then she was entirely on her own.

The lieutenant had calculated the height of each set of stairs, used the sixth-floor landing above to ascertain he best place for two men to fire down. She would have to throw the grenade while she was still under the sixth-floor landing in order to remain shielded from gunfire. That meant facing away from the target and making an arcing toss up and over her shoulder.

It wasn’t doable. She was going to have to bring them to her.

Rivette and Breen would come running but she would be there to stop them. Pulling the pin, she lay the explosive on one of the steps, swore loudly, and vaulted over the railing to the adjoining staircase from the fourth floor. The wall to her right would be peppered with shrapnel so she balled herself low and tight against the rail.

The grenade exploded deafeningly, metal shards gouging the concrete walls and pinging loudly off the handrail. Smoke filled the stairwell and she began moaning—while looking down, waiting for the others. They arrived in moments, saw her, understood. She held her hands up for them to wait.

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