Chavez slung his MP5, drew his suppressed MK23, stood up, and slid down the wall until he was within arm’s reach of the door.
“At door,” Johnston called.
It swung open, and a figure stepped out. Chavez took a half-second, saw the AK-47 slung across the man’s chest, then put a round above his right ear. Ding pivoted on his heel, brought his left arm up, and grabbed the man across the chest as he fell. Bianco was already moving up, going through the door, looking for more targets. Chavez eased his man to the ground.
“Clear,” he radioed five seconds later, then came out and helped Chavez drag the body into the room. They closed the door behind them, got themselves restacked, and crouched down to wait. If his shot had attracted any attention, they’d know in short order. Nothing moved. “At second door, north wall,” he radioed.
“Don’t see any more movement,” Johnston replied.
Ding and Bianco cleared the room and came back out.
“Command, Blue Actual. Upstairs clear,” Ding called. “Heading to main floor.”
“Roger,” Stanley replied.
Twenty feet down the hall lay an arch and a sharp right turn to what Chavez knew was the stairway to the first floor. The stairs were open, twenty feet wide, bordered on the right by a wall, and open on the left, overlooking what they’d decided was probably the embassy’s main work area—and the most likely place the terrorists had bunched the hostages.
This had advantages and disadvantages, Ding knew. If the hostages were bunched together, there was a good chance most of the bad guys were as well. This would make Rainbow’s job easier, having targets concentrated like that, but it also meant the hostages, sitting cheek by jowl, were fish in a barrel should the terrorists open fire.
Then we just don’t give ’em that chance, mano.
He crept forward, moving slowly on flat feet until he reached the arch. A quick glance around the corner revealed the ground floor. Down the stairs and to the right was the front wall, windows still shuttered. At the bottom of the stairway would be that short hall and the four unknown rooms.
Chavez tracked his eyes back to the northwest corner of the room, then mentally measured four feet down the wall. Give or take half a foot, that’s where Weber would be coming through. Farther to the left, just visible over the railing, he could see two figures standing together. Each held a compact submachine gun, but not up and ready. Dangling at their sides. Fine by me, he thought. A few feet away on a desk, a green-shaded banker’s lamp cast a pool of light on the wall.
Chavez pulled back and returned to where the rest of the team was waiting. He gestured: Layout confirmed; move as planned. Chavez and Bianco, joined by Weber and his team once they were through the wall, would take the heavy side of the main room. Showalter and Ybarra would go right at the bottom of the stairs, taking the hallway. He got nods from each man.
“Command, Blue Actual, over.”
“Go, Blue.”
“In position.”
“Roger.”
From Weber: “Red Actual, roger.”
“Moving in ninety seconds,” Chavez said.
“Standing by,” Weber replied.
Start the count,” Ding radioed.
“Five and counting.” This from Weber. Five seconds to Gatecrasher.
Each of Chavez’s men had a flashbang in hand, pin pulled.
Four ... three ... two ...
In unison, Ding and Bianco tossed the flashbangs over the railing and started down, MP5s up and tracking, looking for targets. Ding heard the first flashbang skitter across the floor below, followed a quarter-second later by the Gatecrasher going off. A gout of smoke and debris whooshed across the room. Chavez and Bianco kept moving, Ybarra and Showalter passing them on the right, moving fast for the right-hand hallway that led to the east side of the building.
The second flashbang exploded. Bright light bounced off the ceiling and over the walls. Ding ignored it.
Target.
Over the railing a figure was turning toward them. Ding laid the MP5’s sight over the man’s chest and fired twice. He dropped, and Ding kept moving. To his left he saw another figure but knew Bianco was covering it, and as if on cue, he heard a pop-pop. To Chavez’s right he saw the first of Weber’s team coming through the four-foot-tall oval hole created by the Gatecrasher, followed by a second, third, and fourth.
Ding veered left, moving toward the center of the room. Screams now. A mass of huddled bodies on the floor. Target. He fired twice and kept moving, MP5 tracking. Behind him he heard Showalter