Nick Stephenson - Panic

The streetlights emitted a soft glow, an altogether different light from the harsh neons of mid-town Manhattan, which would make it a little easier to avoid being spotted. This was an important factor. Leopold knew his plan would only work if they could access the garden at the back of Logan’s house, which would inevitably mean climbing a few of his neighbors’ fences.

Thankfully the lights were even dimmer at the end of the street, where Leopold could make out the wooden fence that marked the boundaries of the last house in the row. Once they had climbed over that, there were another six or seven fences to cover before they got to the right garden. From the satellite photos Leopold had printed out earlier, it would be easy to tell which was the right place; Logan looked like he’d spent a fortune turning his entire back yard into something that would give the botanical gardens a run for their money.

Jerome led the way, carrying a rucksack filled with the weapons they had picked out from the storage rooms earlier, and vaulted each of the fences with ease. Leopold and Mary followed, struggling to keep up.

“This is it,” whispered Jerome, as the others landed on the soft grass of the largest garden and rolled into a crouching position.

Leopold held out his hands as Jerome unzipped the rucksack and handed out the equipment. The consultant had chosen a silenced Glock .45, which now felt a lot heavier in his hands than it had before. He looked around the garden, making mental note of blind spots and exit routes. He could make out an ornate gazebo nestled at the back of the plot, standing next to three large greenhouses filled with plants. To the front was an illuminated pond filled with what looked like carp. The rest of the expansive garden was thick with foliage, and the view of the house was obscured by bushes and trees. There was a good twenty feet of lawn, but there was plenty of cover around to reach the back door unseen. The real challenge was what they were going to do when they got there.

Leopold felt a cool splash on his face as the first few fat droplets of cold rain began to fall. After a few seconds, the intensity increased and he could hear the rainfall against the glass of the greenhouses, clattering loudly through the otherwise silent darkness. His eyes adjusted to the lack of light, and he could just about make out the silhouette of three cameras mounted at various points along the back wall of the house. There would probably be motion sensors and infra-red imaging too. There was no way they were getting anywhere near the house without Stark knowing about it. Fortunately, this was essential to the plan.

“We triggered the alarms when we landed,” Jerome whispered. “They should send out a small team to investigate, just as we planned.”

Leopold nodded and checked his watch. So far everything was running on time. He crouched next to Mary and stared intently at the back door, watching for any sign of activity. After a few seconds, the door opened and three armed men walked slowly out onto the flagstones, submachine guns raised at eye level. They wore armor but no helmets. Probably too dark. The weapons had torches mounted on them, and the beams cut across the garden, illuminating the heavy rain as it fell. Leopold watched the three men creep slowly and quietly deeper into the garden. He held his breath. They were only a few feet away from his hiding place.

The man at the front of the group raised his fist, signaling his companions to halt. The three of them kept their weapons raised, scanning the darkness for any sign of movement. Ten seconds of silence, then the leader relaxed his stance and lowered his weapon; the others followed suit. He reached for his radio.

“This is Red Leader. False alarm. Probably a cat or something. No sign of any intruders. Coming back inside. Confirmation gamma-echo-delta-four. Over.”

The radio fizzed and a voice on the other end acknowledged. The three men turned slowly and made their way back in the direction of the house.

Even though he knew it was coming, Leopold still flinched as Jerome fired his silenced handgun, the sharp whip sound making the hairs on the back of his neck stand straight up. He saw the bodyguard’s shot catch the leader as his back was turned, piercing his skull as though it were soft fruit. Leopold and Mary followed suit, each taking out their target from behind with a single burst from their weapons, their silencers proving unnecessary as the mounting storm lashed about them. Their bullets slammed into the men’s exposed heads and they crumpled to the ground like cut rope.

Jerome knelt and removed the leader’s weapon and radio and Leopold and Mary did the same. As the bodyguard led the three of them toward the back door of the house, the consultant prayed the plan had worked. Three go out, three come back in . The infrared cameras wouldn’t be able to tell the difference.

Leopold was familiar with the radio check-in procedures that most military units adopted. The last transmission had been a few seconds earlier, meaning they had anywhere between three and ten minutes before the unit commander would check on them again. When they didn’t receive the right pass phrase over the radio, they would raise the alarm immediately and all hell would break loose.

The three of them slipped quietly through the back door and into the kitchen, taking care not to disturb the heavy frying pans and skillets that hung from hooks above the counter tops, and stood dripping near the back wall, checking for any signs of movement. The kitchen and dining area was large and empty, and appeared to be unused. Leopold could make out the other rooms from here, also empty, meaning they had this floor to themselves. Satisfied the coast was clear, Jerome signalled they could proceed, and Leopold pulled out the antipersonnel explosives from his backpack and placed them carefully on the counter top, taking care that they didn’t slide off the polished surface. There were three in total, one each. The consultant handed them out as the radio in Jerome’s hand stuttered.

“Red Leader, check in,” a crackly voice came through the speaker. “Authenticate delta-alpha-delta-three. Over.”

Jerome didn’t answer.

“Red Leader, check in. Over,” the voice came through again.

Jerome held the radio up to his mouth. “This is Red Leader, checking in. Over.”

There was no response for a few seconds. “Roger that, Red Leader. Out.”

“They know something’s wrong,” said Jerome. “We didn’t have the code. They’ll be sending a team to engage us. It’s time to put the next phase of the plan into action.”

“Take up your positions,” said Leopold. “We only get one chance at this.”

The few lights in the house snapped into darkness. The soft glow that had given the rooms a warm and welcoming feel vanished in an instant, replaced instead by inky blackness and the occasional burst of white light from the storm flashing outside. The darkness gave more weight to the rain, which sounded like gravel hitting a tin roof. Leopold tightened his grip on the anti-personnel explosives and glanced over at Mary and Jerome, both stood ready for action, coiled up and tensed like springs.

Stark’s men were using classic engagement tactics. First, kill the power and disorient your targets. Second, surround and cut off exit routes. Third, neutralize. Leopold knew the drill. He listened intently through the clattering of the rain for the sound of movement, but there was nothing. He glanced at Mary, who seemed to be thinking the same thing. Jerome kept still, tilting his head slightly, listening. There was only the noise of the storm outside as they waited in the stagnant darkness. Just waiting and listening. Finally Jerome’s head turned sharply and he nodded to Leopold. They were here.