Michael stood at the door to room 6.3. A five-iron golf club was gripped firmly in his hands; the closest thing to a weapon he had found as he had rushed to leave McGale’s office. He hoped it would be good enough. With the repeating crash of violently opened doors growing ever closer, he would soon find out.
‘They’re almost here.’
Sarah stood behind Michael, another snatched golf club shaking in her terrified grip.
‘I know.’
Michael was keeping one ear on the corridor. The violent entry into McGale’s office and the systematic search of the sixth floor had confirmed that the newcomers were there for them. He turned back to Sarah.
‘Just stay calm and do exactly what I told you. Do that and we’ll be alright.’
‘How can you be sure? We barely survived against one. What chance have we got with more?’
‘These aren’t the same kind of guys.’
Michael needed Sarah to be unhesitant if they were to survive this. For that she needed confidence. He would do his best to provide it.
‘And I only hear two of them. There’s no reason we can’t take two, Sarah. You just have to do as I’ve said. Remember, when the door crashes open you hit the first gun.’
‘When the door crashes open, hit the first gun. When the door crashes open, hit the first gun . . .’
Sarah was almost chanting to herself. Michael hoped for both their sakes that the mantra would hold. That it would overcome her panic. If it did not then they were dead; Michael could not do this alone.
The sound of the door to the neighbouring office being smashed from its hinges took Michael’s mind away from Sarah. The noise that passed through the poorly insulated walls had a welcome familiarity. It confirmed what he had hoped.
Michael listened closely. In his mind he could see the movements he was overhearing. Movements he had witnessed so many times in a hitherto forgotten past. A door being opened with a single boot, followed by a forward assailant covering one half of the room in a single sweeping movement while his partner covered the remaining half. It was the classic technique employed by the Tactical Support Units of the Royal Ulster Constabulary.
Michael had seen it first-hand as he grew up in the wrong neighbourhoods of Belfast. Tried and tested, the system was both devastatingly effective and yet fatally flawed. It worked perfectly against those unfamiliar with it. But when the prey was aware of the formulaic movements involved, that prey could be prepared.
Exactly as Michael intended to be.
Their pursuers stayed true to routine. Just as Michael hoped they would. The sound told him that the office across the hall had been entered with the same degree of terrible force, while the silence that followed indicated another efficient but fruitless search. It was in this silence that Michael turned to Sarah.
‘We’re next. Get ready.’