Cutter went down the hill swiftly, sprinting when he was between houses and slowing to a casual walk when he was passing in front of them.
He approached the hairpin turn cautiously and spotted no traffic, no parked cars, no dog walkers or joggers.
He held his breath as he vaulted over the metal gates to the house and exhaled in relief when no alarm or lights went off.
He checked the outside yard to see if the cops had mounted any security cameras but didn’t spot any.
He checked the lawn at the front of the house, the gate and the adjoining wall. He tested the front door and found it locked.
He went to the side window where he had entered the previous time. Nothing seemed to have changed. The same stale air, the smell of an unused house. He checked all the rooms and went out to the patio, which was partially shaded by roof. His face turned grim when he took in the dark patches on the concrete. No one bothered to clean the blood stains.
He went to the front of the house and headed to the garage at the side. Cut its lock with the bolt-cutters he had brought along and inspected the contents.
He found what he was looking for, neatly arranged on a shelf on the wall. Neutral-colored duct tape, cans of paint in various colors, a bag of cement and, hanging on the wall, a shovel. A bunch of floor tiles, strips of ceiling molding, rolls of lawn turf and sacks of soil were a bonus.
Cutter went to the lawn and dropped the weapons bag and backpack to the ground. Rolled up his sleeves and got to work.
He dug several holes strategically in the lawn and at the base of the wall. Assembled C4 slabs with detonators and timers. He rocked back on his heels and wiped sweat from his forehead.
When do I need the first one to go off?
Forty-five minutes from my arrival?
He thought about it and nodded. Adjusted the timer on the first bomb and buried it in the first hole, near the gates. He set the other explosives to go off at random intervals thereafter and buried them, too.
He covered the holes with soil and turf where needed, got to his feet and surveyed his work critically. He adjusted a patch of grass here, raked soil there with his fingers, until he was finally satisfied the front yard and lawn would pass muster.
They won’t be looking for explosives.
He was confident about that.
Cutter went inside the house and cut molding from the ceilings of several rooms and planted more explosives behind them. He went around the house testing for loose tiles. Dug them out carefully when he found them, and buried bombs in the holes he made beneath them.
Sweat streamed down his face by the time he went to the patio. It’s concrete. I don’t have the equipment to dig it out.
His took in the large flower pots in the corners, long since dried out. Those will do. He removed their soil, planted his explosives and covered them with a fresh layer. The low wall that hung over the bluff had two ornate light poles in the corners. He turned them into bombs by inserting C4 into their hollows, then wiped his hands on his camo pants.
He went inside the house and duct-taped scabbards to the back sides of the legs of several chairs. He inserted four-inch knives in them and painted over them, a color to match the wood. He dragged a glass coffee table to the patio as the emulsion dried.
He checked out the chairs when he returned inside. A close look would show the tape and the bottom of the hilt. It’ll have to do, he thought, shrugging. He drew the knives out to check they moved freely in their sheaths and dropped them back in place.
He brought out the chairs and arranged them around the table, with a couple to each side of the sliding door.
Janikyan and Matteo will come to the house and go out to the patio when they see the furniture.
It was war strategy that he had learned in Delta. Draw the enemy into the field of his setting.
He leaned over the low wall and let the breeze cool his face as he took in the panorama of the city spread out below him.
It might be the last time I get to see LA like this, he thought grimly. Alive.