Graham Arnold climbed each of the six flights of stairs with silent care. He had cursed the noise that the broken lift’s mechanism had made. Their instructions had been clear: do not underestimate the target. The ease with which he had seen the lawyer enter a secure building and disengage the alarm had made sure he took that warning seriously.
So it was unfortunate the lawyer had been warned of their presence.
‘Of all the dumb fucking luck!’
Noel Best hissed from several steps behind. His lack of breath undermined his attempt to whisper. Best was short, squat and built for explosive power over stamina. The much fitter Arnold would have chosen a different partner if he had known the climb that was ahead of them.
‘For Christ’s sake be quiet!’ Arnold snapped. ‘You’re making more noise than the bloody lift!’
‘Well, this wasn’t in the job description.’ Best’s patience was equally thin. ‘And I don’t see why we’re trying to be quiet. If this guy’s really that good he’ll already know we’re here.’
Arnold did not respond. Best was probably right.
When Arnold finally reached the sixth floor his partner was just half a flight behind him. The noise told him that.
Arnold took his customised Walther PPS pistol from his shoulder holster. With it he covered the length of the corridor ahead of him. A firearm specialist, Arnold had done this a thousand times, both in training and for real. Nothing would step into the corridor and live.
Best was not far behind. At the top of the stairs, he placed his right hand on the corridor wall as he struggled to draw air into his lungs. Looking up, he saw Arnold armed and ready to go. With a deep breath Best reached into his own shoulder holster, drew his weapon and indicated a readiness to continue.
Arnold led the way in silence. Every movement of his body was mirrored exactly by Best. The choreographed efficiency of their progress had been honed over countless hours of practice. Such had been the way in the hardened Royal Ulster Constabulary. Their eyes were everywhere; every angle covered by the sweeping views of their precision-wielded pistols.
Within moments they were either side of the closed door to room 6.11.
Their ability to silently communicate was practically telepathic. No words were needed. They moved into their usual positions. Best stood head-on to the door, with Arnold to his right.
The bigger man steeled himself, ready to open the probably secured door via the precise application of his powerful right boot. Arnold was close beside him, tightening his grip on his weapon as he prepared to enter.
A final glance, a nod of his head and Best burst into action. The power behind his kick was concentrated on the lock and the latch. It sent the door crashing open. Anyone hiding behind it would be in traction for weeks. If they were lucky.
Best used his momentum to take him through the damaged door frame. He regained his footing with a speed that came from repeated execution of the same movement.
The process was so ingrained that Best had no need to consider his step. Instead his attention was all around him as he viewed the room ahead. Satisfied in an instant that the rear of the office was clear, Best swept to his right, lowered himself to one knee and covered one side of the office with a single sweep of his pistol.
Arnold was right behind him.
Positioned at his full height, he used the same expert technique to ensure the safety of the left half of the room. Within half a second he knew that his side was clear, and so he aimed his weapon in the direction of the room’s one remaining hiding place: McGale’s desk.
Arnold was certain that the lawyer had heard them coming and so he expected to find nothing. But that would not prevent him from doing his job. He completed the search before turning back to Best.
‘Nothing,’ Arnold confirmed.
‘No surprise there. So now what?’
‘Now we sweep the building. They’re still in here somewhere.’