Hot Streak

splintering wood as the door was shot open.

“I'm going up and out of here,” Ant said. “You two cover my ass while I find something to anchor this rope to.” And following Ant, they stepped out onto the balcony through the smashed window. After looking in both directions they opted for the more dimly lit area to the left. Undetected, they raced down the length of the veranda, away from the commotion concentrated in the area around Rifat's suite.

At the corner they stopped, assessing where best to gain access to the roof. The balcony supports were smooth marble columns unsuitable for climbing, and the balcony eaves were without decorative detail. “Christ,” Ant swore. There was nowhere to secure a rope, and even a grappling hook would never catch on the polished handrails. “I'm going to see if I can slip this rope through the third floor balcony railing. Hang on to me, 'cuz I'm going to have to lean out.” It went without saying the third man would cover them against attack. Down below them the courtyard was a hive of activity with soldiers running, orders being shouted, and sounds of frantic movement, but no one had seen them yet, concentrating as they were on racing to Rifat's quarters. “Shit,” Ant swore, the eave on the balcony obstructing his view, “we could use Mac's long arms right now.”

“Here,” Carey said, “let me try. I'm taller.” Jumping onto the railing, he grasped the marble column with one hand and leaned out past the roofline. Extending his hand, he felt the coiled rope being slapped into his palm. With a swinging toss he threw it toward the third-floor railing. It slid off and tumbled back down. The noise levels below were escalating. He heard bursts of fire power and wondered if they were through Rifat's bedroom door yet: Lights were coming on even in the formerly dark rooms of the mansion.

Gauging his distance carefully, Carey swung the weighted rope upward again in a slow, looping arc. Though it flipped over the marble railing, it didn't have enough trajectory to continue downward so a knot could be secured. Carey swore.

Ant swore.

Luger checked his clip.

Violently jerking the rope down, Carey meticulously coiled it so it wouldn't tangle. Leaning out so far the muscles in his arm strained with the effort, he tossed the coil of rope up a third time.

It ascended into the silvery moonlit sky in a lazy, curving sweep as though time didn't matter. Carey watched the rope sail skyward. His mouth was dry, the tension in his body acute. How long would it be before they were observed, like sitting ducks in a target gallery? And still the rope rose in its indolent course.

A silent prayer was forming in his mind when the soft nylon drifted over the railing. His prayer was changing to a pleading appeal as the free weighted end snapped through the balustrade uprights with a small purring whoosh.

So far so good, he was thinking, as though the rope were listening to his encouraging words. It was descending downward now.

Hurry, he silently admonished, fucking hurry! Time was precious. He tried to mentally speed up the formulaic equation for gravity as the rope seemed to sink downward in excruciating slow motion. He heard the machine gun blast tearing up the barricaded door. If this bloody rope didn't touch his fingers soon, they were all in deep shit.

Every muscle in his body strained toward the rope, his arm extended to its absolute limit. And then the slippery nylon touched his fingertips. He grabbed it and hauled it down. Thank you, God.

They were up the rope and onto the third floor balcony with a buoyant agility that overlooked the fact they had a long way to go yet.

“The rest is a piece of cake,” Ant jubilantly declared. “Look at all the damn chimneys. Now watch this cowboy technique.” As good as his word, he lassoed a chimney easily, and they pulled themselves onto the roof without mishap. They were all silently congratulating themselves when the first shots rang out, narrowly missing Luger, who was closest to the edge of the roof.

They scrambled up the roof and over the ridge peak, followed by a barrage of bullets and flying pieces of tile. Out of sight of the courtyard now, they ran, dashing over the rough roof surface as though it were a flat track.

Their rappelling line was two hundred yards away when the first guard came out of the dormer window they'd used for entrance into the villa. He reached the roof peak just as Luger began hooking his harness to the wire. The burst of bullets raked the parapet above their heads, and they dove out of sight behind a chimney.

“Ant and I'll keep them down on the other side of that ridge. You go over first, Luger.”

Discussion was unnecessary; they'd performed this procedure so many times as a team, their roles had become automatic. Luger moved out first because he was a flawless shot at long-range.

Ant went next because he couldn't sprint as fast as Carey. And when Ant and Luger were both away, Carey would race for cover. It had developed into such a routine maneuver, they'd begun calling it their football play, as if the game of battle were stylized and amusing.

But the roof ridge presented a formidable bunker for Rifat's guards, and no jungle or underbrush existed to conceal one's retreat. There was no cover at all until they dropped below the parapet and hung from the rappelling wire.

Carey and Ant tore up the roof ridge while Luger made a dash for the wire, and both breathed a small sigh of relief when they heard the added sound of his fire power behind them. He was over and in position.

Once Luger was adding to their defense, Ant ran for the wire. Reinforcements were continually coming up- Carey could tell from the additional rounds bombarding them and the increasing number of shouting voices. He hoped there weren't any zealots in Rifat's troops; they'd be hard to keep down. Mercenaries were a different matter. Trained and skilled and deadly, they still preferred collecting next week's paycheck. Zealots alarmed him, their mad eyes reflecting the chaos in their minds.

A man screamed and then another. He knew that sound. Good. Two less-whatever their persuasion. And he glanced toward the parapet, gauging the time it would take Ant to cross. He wasn't staying on this side a second longer than necessary. Emptying his magazine in a spraying sweep across the roof peak, he was crouched behind the chimney in the process of reloading when his instinct for self-preservation screamed, Go! Without hesitation he dropped his rifle and ran. He never, never ignored that voice.

They hadn't expected him to break cover without firing, and he had a few scant seconds of reprieve before they began sighting in on him. He was up on the parapet and then on the wire before the first guards rose in pursuit. He heard Luger's shouted warning, but didn't slow down as the first rush was almost immediately followed by a full- scale charge. Ant and Luger were doing their best to stop them, but it was possible several might make it to the parapet. Carey was halfway across the thirty feet in a light run when a stream of bullets flashed by him so closely he felt the heat on his face. “Cut the wire,” he shouted, “cut it.” His additional directive erased the first shocked look from Ant's face, and he was reaching for the wire with his cutters when Carey leaped the last eight feet for the roof. In midair he heard the snap as the taut wire split apart and saw the welcoming grin on Ant's face.

An enormous explosion erupted behind him. He rolled to his feet and he saw Luger with a missile launcher balanced on his shoulder, a look of infinite satisfaction on his face.

“Where the hell did that come from?” Carey inquired, breathless and astonished.

“Brooks Air Force Base.”

“I didn't mean that.”

“Helluva nice hole over there,” Luger remarked, and Carey turned to see the entire roof, half Rifat's villa, and the pursuing guards disappear in a blaze of fire.

On the ride back to the airport, Luger explained: He'd brought the TOW missile to the antique shop earlier in the day and had hidden it in the stack of empty boxes outside the back door. Making sure he was the first one to arrive at their rendezvous that night, he'd carried it up to the roof before Carey and Ant arrived.

“Fucking pyromaniac,” Carey grumbled, though his grin belied his words. “You should be committed.”

“Stopped 'em, didn't it?”

“Stopped the entire operation of the villa, not to mention calling out half the fire trucks in the city.”

“Any problem there?” Luger replied angelically.

Carey's grin widened. “Hell no. That was one big mother of a blast, though.”

“Yeah… it was a beauty,” Luger replied with the fondness parents reserved for compliments on their children. “Although it's small in relation to other missiles.”

“How do you get your hands on those?”