where the Slavic bitch and the English asshole were staying and that was too coincidental for his liking. He needed to find out who had set them up together. He’d go to work on Sanderson later, and get him to tell him who.
But he had something else to attend to first. He took a bite on his burger and turned, looking over at O’Hara. He was standing behind him, eating and looking down at the three captives, Katic in particular.
‘Don’t look at me like that,’ he told Katic, who was glaring up at him. ‘I blindfolded the kid for you. I can take it off.’
Siletti took another bite, then rose. He signalled O’Hara to follow him, and he headed over to the bathroom, out of earshot. The other man followed him and they both stood inside the stall, the door open, the two hostages watching them, the girl blindfolded.
‘What?’ O’Hara asked him, inside the bathroom.
‘I planned ahead,’ Siletti told him. ‘I brought us weapons and body armour for taking on Farrell.’
O’Hara’s eyes widened.
‘You did. Where is it?’
‘I hid it behind those tiles,’ he said, pointing behind O’Hara at the wall. ‘Check it out.’
O’Hara turned. He reached over across the bathtub, reaching for the tiles.
In the same moment, Siletti’s silenced HK USP pistol appeared in his right hand.
He aimed the gun at the back of O’Hara’s head and pulled the trigger.
The weapon gave a thud, like someone had stamped once hard on the floor. Blood, brains and skull sprayed into the air and spattered all over the wall, and O’Hara collapsed with a thump over the bath. There was no shower curtain to shield Siletti from the gore, so he ended up wearing some of his former partner’s brains and blood on his face and shirt. Siletti walked back into the main room, not bothering to wipe himself down. Katic and Sanderson were staring at him, their eyes wide with horror. The girl was blindfolded, but she was shaking like the temperature was below freezing in here.
With blood and bits of brain all over his shirt and face, Siletti took a seat.
He grinned at them, taking another bite of the burger, and checked his watch.
Across the city, in a dark brick room below the Astoria Sports Complex, Farrell, Ortiz and Regan stood together, making final adjustments. They were all wearing the black reinforced body armour, black boots on their feet and the usual three layers of latex gloves on their hands. The stolen car they’d use was parked in a garage connected by doorway to the building, so they wouldn’t have to go out on the street.
For this final job, they’d need a quicker rate of fire than the shotguns would offer. This time, none of them gave a shit about ballistics. They’d be out of the country before anyone could make a match to the weapons they used. Each of them lifted an M16 203 assault rifle from the desktop at the same time, slamming a full 32 round magazine into each base and pulling the slide, loading the three weapons. Each M16 was modified and also had a grenade launcher attached to the front, under the main barrel, and there was a grenade already loaded inside, four more in special sewn-in compartments on their black uniforms. They each checked the safety on the weapons, then laid them back down on the table, turning to look at each other.
‘Final check,’ Farrell said. The three of them looked each other over, checking everything was in place, no gaps in their armour.
‘Good,’ Ortiz said.
‘Good,’ Regan said.
Farrell nodded. He took one last look at the room, where every job they had ever pulled had been planned. The last time he’d ever be inside this room.
This was it.
Showtime.
‘Ready?’ he asked.
His two companions nodded.
‘OK. Let’s do this,’ he said.
TWENTY-TWO
The Billie Jean King Tennis Center was located in Flushing Meadows Corona Park, a 1200 acre area on the east side of Queens towards Long Island. Renowned as being one of the largest tennis venues in the world, the Billie Jean King was also the proud location for the U.S Open tennis tournament every year, one of the major highlights in the sport’s annual calendar. The tournament was two weeks long, and the stands, even for preliminary matches, were always packed so the concessions stands, ATMs and businesses inside made an absolute killing in that fortnight. The main court, the Arthur Ashe, had the largest capacity for any tennis stadium in the world, 23,200 seats, and with