He particularly didn't want to have time to think about all he had to lose; he couldn't afford to hesitate. He needed his mind unobstructed for action.
They finally decided to go into Rifat's villa the following night from the rooftop across the street, and Ant volunteered to see if he could get inside for a glimpse of Rifat's protection.
Posing as a Mexican reporter, Ant appeared at the villa and tried to get an interview with Rifat. He was ultimately refused as he'd anticipated, but returned with a pleased smile on his face.
“When they heard I was a Mexican reporter, the butler wasn't sure what to do. While I was standing in the entrance hall waiting for Rifat's secretary to be wakened, I had a look at the cameras and surveillance. A guard was monitoring a bank of TV screens in a room off the hall, and since he'd just been delivered his breakfast, the door was open. I gave him a cheerful, ‘good morning, nice weather' kind of greeting. It's about all I know in Italian. He shook his head and slammed the door in my face. But I caught a glimpse of the screens before the door shut, and evidently Rifat doesn't allow cameras in his private rooms.
“And as far as the detection devices at the front door and hall windows, I just happen to have a laser which keeps the beam intact even when it's broken. That alarm won't be set off when we enter the house.”
“Something new?” Carey looked at him intently across the remains of breakfast al fresco. Being able to enter the villa undetected was worth a great number of points for their side.
“Yeah.” Ant smiled. “My retirement fund. Evidently Rifat might have something going in our hemisphere to the south because his secretary was actually polite when he told me, ‘No interview.'”
“We're set, then.” There was a new energy in Carey's voice.
“Everything on track, except…”
“Except?” Carey probed.
“If Rifat doesn't feel the need for camera surveillance in his private apartments, he may have some other defense.”
“We'll find out.”
They napped that afternoon, ate lightly, then geared up while Jess packed the car with all the necessary equipment. The saddles and tack were carefully resettled atop the mortars and assault weapons, the detonators and missile sights hidden beneath one level of the carefully constructed wooden crates.
Jess was to wait for them at a prearranged site, down the hill from Rifat's villa. He would be inconspicuous even if the house exploded in a ball of fire.
“Heaven forbid,” Ant said with a wide smile.
“I haven't fired a baby TOW in a long time,” Luger commented, longing evident in his voice. But at the warning light in Carey's eyes, he quickly added, “Relax… I'm under control.”
Carey didn't relax completely, however. Handing Luger a firing mechanism was a bit like putting a woman in a jewelry shop and saying, “Don't touch.”
Shortly after ten they walked into the area in timed intervals. Dressed in dark cotton shirts and slacks, wearing sneakers and carrying canvas bags, the men resembled tourists out for an evening stroll. Slipping into the building across the street from Rifat's through the back door of an antique shop, they carefully moved up the stairs past two levels of apartments and climbed up onto the roof through a wooden trapdoor at the back of the third-floor hall.
Since there were still sounds of activity in the apartments below they maintained complete silence when they assembled on the roof and waited for darkness to descend. They spent their time preparing their weapons and rappelling equipment. Their rappelling gear was a lightweight aluminum rope with a grappling hook on the end to which special harnesses were attached both for men and weapons.
Shortly after eleven, when a cloud temporarily covered the small quarter moon, Ant threw the grappling hook and caught the roof parapet the first time. Carey led the team across in a smooth routine, without noise or problems.
The roof was a shallow pitch tile. After silently pointing out the beam of light protecting the perimeter, Ant adjusted his laser device to jam the beam to a continuous on position, and they dropped over it onto the tile. They unstrapped their MP5s from their backslings, clipped the explosive packs to their belts, and crept slowly toward the peak.
Typical of many Renaissance villas, Rifat's was built around a central courtyard, quiet and shadowed now under the thin moon, but patrolled by two armed guards. Lying flat on their bellies, Carey's crew peered over the peak searching for Rifat's suite, the private rooms facing on the courtyard.
The second- and third-floor balconies rimming the courtyard shadowed the windows of the villa, partially obscuring the numerous windows. Silently the three men perused the portion of the villa opposite them, searching for some clue to Rifat's rooms. Figures passed by windows occasionally but they were armed guards dressed in fatigues. The guards at least explained the reason Rifat's rooms weren't surveyed by monitor screens. Apparently, he preferred the privacy accorded by hall guards.
They all counted as they lay on the rooftop. The sultry summer night was more appropriate for lovers than assassination, the perfumed scent of the courtyard flowers heightened the incongruity of their mission. Luger indicated by sign the number of guards, pointed out their positions, and without speaking asked verification of his total. Ant and Carey both agreed, and all three realized they were moving into an armed camp. Although no direct sign of Rifat had been seen, the concentration of guards on the east wing of the second floor strongly suggested the location of his suite of rooms.
They entered the villa through a narrow attic dormer. The process of slowly easing it open in full sight of the courtyard below was a slow, nerve-racking procedure. Especially when a nest of sparrows disturbed by their manipulation erupted into a brief agitated squawking. For the next few minutes the men lay flattened against the roof tiles, still warm from the sun.
Instantly the guards looked up, contemplating the half-dozen circling sparrows silhouetted against the nebulous gleam of the moon. After what seemed endless minutes, they went back to their gossip and cigarettes.
Right now Carey had enough adrenaline pumping into his body to keep him awake for a month. He signaled he'd go through the dormer window first. Servants had slept under the dusty eaves in past decades, but the attic was empty now, except for the distinctive pink beam of light crossing the large space six inches above the floor. Ant's smile was smug as they stepped over the colored line of protection without marring its perfect symmetry.
The floor immediately below the attic contained small rooms. They paused, listening carefully, and realized from the unmistakable sounds of snoring that the rooms contained sleeping men. Rifat had at least two platoons of guards in residence. They moved on with great care, each covering a door with his weapon as they went down the carpeted hall to the stairway.
They paused at the top of the stairwell, weapons poised up and down the staircase, knowing when they descended to the second floor they would be on the level of active guard operation. They also had to pass the living area before reaching Rifat. If that wasn't daunting enough, even if their mission was successful, they would have to return the entire distance they'd traveled in order to escape back across on their wire. Rifat had chosen his villa well. Solid walls buttressed him on two sides, while the third side overlooked a steep drop into a Roman temple complex: The only point of access was the street side, which they'd used for entry.
Carey led the way down the stairs, one cautious step at a time. At the bottom, he eased his head around the corner of the wall just enough to survey the second floor hall. The lengthy corridor was elegantly appointed with Kazak carpets loomed to order, their distinctive red-dye weft enhanced by the bold dragon pattern popular in that region. The original beechwood paneling had darkened over the last four hundred years to a sepia shade brightened by the addition of several large, gilded mirrors.
Although the hall was luxuriously appointed, the interior space was spare and uncluttered. By design, Carey presumed. Rifat chose not to impair his line of fire with large potted plants or console tables that would divert his guards from their target.
As if on cue, a guard walked into the apex of the juncture where the north-south corridor met the east-west
