Daemon

too expensive. It was supposed to be huge. Just before its time, that’s all, and—’
    ‘These things were shipped to Sobol’s estate.’ Kirchner looked even more concerned.
    ‘What’s wrong, Mike?’
    ‘Call the SAC at the Sobol estate. I want to make sure he knows about this.’
    Agent Roy ‘Tripwire’ Merritt took a deep breath, gathering inthe last of the night air, redolent with moist earth. A sliver of moon hung just above the horizon, silhouetting the tree-dotted hills. He scanned the terrain without night vision gear, taking joy in this simple pleasure. It reminded him of the Basque region of Spain by moonlight – or South Africa’s Transvaal. He’d seen a lot of the world by night, and usually from behind third-generation night vision goggles.
    The predawn air was crisp and cool on Merritt’s face as he stood in the payload area of an army ten-ton truck. Its powerful diesel engine labored in low gear as it climbed through a bull-dozered breech in the estate wall. The canvas top had been removed, leaving it open to the night sky.
    Merritt slung an HK MP-5/10 over his shoulder, then looked back toward his FBI Hostage Rescue Team. Six of the best-trained operators in the bureau sat on either side of the cargo bay, swaying in unison as the truck lurched over mounds of dirt and rock. These were
his
men, and they were intimidating as hell. Clad in black Nomex flight suits, body armor with ceramic trauma plates, Pro-Tec helmets, night vision goggles, and bulletproof face masks, they made Darth Vader look like a Wal-Mart greeter. But of all the missions they had carried out together – from Karachi to the wilds of Montana – Merritt had never had more misgivings than on this one. During the mission briefing he kept thinking that this was a job for the bomb disposal teams or the demining experts. It kept coming back to urgency. Six officers were dead, nine more injured. No one had any answers and time was apparently of the essence. Still …
    Merritt looked down at the metal and wood scaffolding materials lying on the floor space between the benches. Four toolboxes lay there as well. His highly trained rapid response team was going to bridge a pit in a hostile environment. He wondered what sort of fuck-up happened upstairs to make this come about.
    Merritt glanced over at the mansion three hundred yardsaway. No lights had appeared in it since last evening. Radio communications had been back up for the last hour, ever since the ultrawideband transmissions from the house died.
    Merritt spoke normally, knowing his headset mic would pick it up. ‘Echo One to TOC. We’re at yellow. Request compromise authority and permission to move to green.’
    ‘Copy, Echo One. I have your team at yellow. You have compromise authority and permission to move to green.’
    ‘Copy that, TOC.’ Merritt gave his men the thumbs-up signal. They returned it.
    Waucheuer, the breaching specialist, flipped up his face mask and grinned. ‘Hey, Trip, why do we need guns? Sobol’s already dead.’
    ‘Cut the chatter, Wack. Dead or not, Sobol managed to kill some good people here. Stay alert.’
    Waucheuer shrugged, then nodded sharply, causing his face mask to flip back down.
    Merritt stood and looked over the cab of the truck as it advanced slowly across the wide lawn of the estate. They were coming up on the burnt-out hulk of the automated Hummer now.
    The other men stood to lean against the railing as the Hummer came up on the right-hand side. The truck slowed, then stopped about twenty feet from the wreckage. Two county SWAT team members were in the truck cab. The passenger kicked on a side-mounted searchlight, focusing it on the still smoldering remains. The Hummer was definitely nonoperational. The wheels were just blackened hubs, and the interior was gutted.
    ‘Those marines ever hear of a little thing called evidence?’
    Merritt could practically hear Waucheuer grinning behind his mask. Merritt ignored him. He spoke into his headset. ‘Echo One to TOC. The Hummer is nonoperational. Proceeding to green. Out.’ Merritt pounded the cab roof twice. The truck lurched forward toward the mansion some one hundred yards away.
    The truck searchlight swung toward the house. A three-foot-high terrace wall surrounded the mansion at a distance of about two hundred feet. The terrace leveled out the hilltop for the lawns around the pool and patio. The wall prevented the truck from driving all the way to the house, but Merritt