inch strips of packing tape from the roll and stuck them around both forearms. Finally I shouldered the pack of charges, gripped the coiled-up main line in my left hand and moved back out into the cold.
41
I headed for the gap between the two buildings. Ahead of me the dim light from the house still spilt onto the snow.
I cleared the gap and moved toward the rear. Stepping over the genny cable, I checked the det cord was still in the hole, ready for when I came back for it later, then continued down to the corner. The elevations of the dishes had changed dramatically.
I wanted to make one last check for Tom through the gap in the boards.
Maybe I'd be in luck; there's a first time for everything.
Angling my head, I peered through, but couldn't see any movement.
Stepping over the satellite-dish cables, I made my way to the far corner, then turned and counted three paces toward the front of the target. I crouched down at that point and placed the charges and reel of det cord onto the snow. The computer room was on the other side of this wall. It was going to be gloves on, gloves off for the next twenty minutes as I positioned the charges.
Undoing the tow rope that kept the charges together, I placed one of the foam squares against the bricks, the base of the Toblerones facing the target, so the det tail dangled in front of me. Then, ramming the end of one of the wooden pallet slats into the snow at an angle, I used it to keep the Styrofoam square in position against the wall.
When I checked the charge with the aid of the flashlight, I discovered a tiny break where aPE joint had come apart. This didn't mean to say the PE wouldn't initiate, since the gap was less than a sixteenth of an inch, but why take that chance?
Manipulating a small lump of PE between my gloved hands until it was pliable, I broke off a piece and plugged the space. After a final check, I killed the flashlight and moved over to the nearest dish. I lifted one of its ice-hard sandbags and placed it halfway along the wall, using it to weigh down the free end of the main line. I then began the process of laying out its forty-three arm's lengths back toward the charge. The weight of the sandbag enabled me to pull the cord gently to ensure there weren't any kinks or twists, so the shock wave had a free run to the det tails.
Once I reached the propped-up charge it was gloves-off time again.
Peeling one of the strips of tape from my forearm, I began to bind the det tail to the main line, taping the two sections together as tightly as possible. I did it strictly by the book, binding the main line one foot down the det tail in case some of the explosive had fallen from the exposed end. The binding was four inches, to guarantee enough contact between the two for the shock wave to transfer across from the main line to the det tail. Then, of course, it would journey on down to the charge.
As I peeled off another strip of tape it dawned on me that whenever I was working on dems, I always used feet and inches rather that meters and kilos. That was the way I'd been taught, one of the main reasons being that it made life a lot easier when working with Americans, who weren't too keen on the metric system.
There was a sudden burst of loud music from an upstairs window around the back, stopping as abruptly as it had started. I instinctively ducked, and through the rear windows I could hear various voices shouting. At least another three different voices could be heard shouting back and laughing.
It brought me back to real life. The act of tactically placing charges always seems to detach you from reality. Maybe it's because there's so much concentration involved, because there are no second chances.
That's why you normally make sure that whoever is doing the technical stuff can just get on with it and concentrate. It wasn't a luxury I had tonight.
I swiped another sandbag from the base of the dish and placed it on top of the main line, on the dish side of the det tail. I didn't want to pull on it and disrupt the charge I'd already set up as I picked up the second charge. I began to unreel the main line over the satellite cable toward the gap between the two buildings.
Someone was fucking with the volume as Aerosmith's theme song 'Armageddon' got louder and then suddenly died above me, prompting more shouts from the computer room. Just as I reached the next corner, the heavy Eastern European voices above bellowed out yet again and the music blared out at full volume.
I knelt between the two buildings and rigged up the second charge on the other side of the target house so that it was exactly facing the first. Once it was propped and checked, I began taping its det tail to the main line. The music hit full blast again for two seconds, then subsided. There were more shouts from downstairs. The boys in the computer room were getting ever so slightly pissed. I reckoned there was a minimum of five people in the building.
I gave the charge a final check; it was looking good. Demolitions can appear to be a dark art, but actually all you need to understand is how explosives work and then learn the hundreds of rules for using them.
I'd broken many of them today, but what the hell, I hadn't had a lot of choice.
I went over to the generator cable hole and gently pulled out the det cord that ran into the fuel tank, taping it to the main line in the same way as I'd done with the other two.
Aerosmith were still doing their best to annoy the computer room. It was a good game, and I hoped it would keep the boys occupied for a moment or two longer. I thought about Tom and hoped he wasn't standing too close to either of the walls.
Gloves back on, I pulled the main line for the last few arm's lengths toward the front of the building. Now I just had to attach the electric detonator, which was already fixed to the firing cable, then unreel the cable round the corner and get down below the MTV window before the shit, and everything else in the building, hit the fan.
I was a bit worried about the amount of extraneous electricity flying about and its possible effect on the firing cable. Once I'd untwisted the two leads that were to go on the battery, they'd be potential antennae, just like the dels in the Narva flat. The manuals would say I was either supposed to be half a mile away when the shit went up or very well protected. I didn't think hiding round the corner with a few clay bricks as cover was quite what they had in mind.
The main line stopped about six or seven paces short of the corner of the target. Great, at least the firing cable would be long enough for me to be well under the window.
As I gently pulled at the press studs holding the zip flap of my jacket to extract the firing cable, the volume of the music changed again. It was escaping outside. Then I heard the noise of the grill swinging open and the front door slamming shut.
There was no time to think, just do. Biting off my gloves, I jammed my hand into my jacket pocket for the Makharov, right thumb taking off the safety as I moved toward the corner, taking deep breaths.
I couldn't hear him them yet, but whichever it was, I had to take the fight to them.
Three more paces until the corner.
There was flashlight ahead. I stopped, pushing my thumb down on the safety catch to ensure it was off.
One more second and a body appeared, heading toward me. He was looking down at where his flashlight beam hit the snow. It glinted off his weapon barrel.
I couldn't give him time to think. I jumped onto him, wrapping my left arm around his neck and pushing the Makharov into his stomach, digging it into him hard. My legs wrapped around his waist, and as we fell together I pulled the trigger, hoping that our two bodies sandwiching the weapon would suppress its report. No chance. The job had just gone noisy.
Jumping to my feet, I sprinted round to the front of the house, focusing solely on the next corner, heading for the other end of the main line, leaving a screaming Russian writhing in the snow.
I racked back the weapon's top slide to eject whatever was in there and feed in another round, just in case we'd been so close that it had been prevented from sliding back correctly when I'd fired and hadn't reloaded.
I had the same feeling in my stomach as I used to have as a kid, running scared. As I neared the main entrance, I scrambled frantically with my left hand for the firing cable and det in my inside pocket.
The door opened, MTV still blasting, and a body, too small to be Tom, emerged. The grill was already open.
'Gory? Gory?'
I raised my weapon and fired on the move. I couldn't miss.
There was a scream and one round hit the grill with a high pitched metallic ricochet.
