Daemon

agreed with the SAC that driving along the front entrance or rear service road was a bad idea; it was a chokepoint and could be booby-trapped.
    Instead, the truck turned in front of the wall, then backed up; the ridiculous
beep-beep
of the backup warning filled the tense silence.
    It looked like it was going to work out. The tailgate now stood about two feet off the ground as the truck backed up to the terrace wall. It would be easy to unload the scaffolding and tools. But first, they needed to scout ahead. Merritt shouted to the driver, ‘Cut the engine and the lights.’
    Relative silence suddenly prevailed. The sound of crickets returned after a few moments. The only lights visible were the work lamps of the besieging FBI at the estate fence line – about three hundred yards away. Merritt swung down his night vision goggles and powered them up. His men did the same.
    Merritt spoke into his bone mic. ‘Leave the scaffolding. Let’s make sure we have a clear path to the objective.’ Merritt gave a hand signal, and his men fell in line behind him.
    The plan was to circle around to the front of the house and enter through the open front door. They were on the east side of the house right now. So they were looking at a 150-yard
infil
over manicured lawns and gardens. Aerial radar had revealed no hidden pits or other apparent traps on the estate grounds to a depth of ten meters, but the approach to the mansion wasn’t what concerned Merritt. He was worried about entering the house itself – especially considering what happened to the last people to do so. Merritt stepped off the truck tailgate and started moving through the night. He felt and heard his men moving close behind him.
    This wasn’t a hostage crisis. A flash-bang grenade wasn’t going to stun anyone here. Overwhelming firepower wouldn’t intimidate the opponent. This was a new situation.
    Merritt turned and put a hand up to halt his men. ‘Wait here. I’m going to scout ahead. If you lose contact with me, pull back to the estate perimeter. Understood?’
    They exchanged concerned looks. This went against everything they’d trained for. They were a team. Even Waucheuer had no wisecracks.
    ‘That’s an order. Assume a defensive posture and wait here.’ Merritt turned and moved cautiously toward the house.
    Hundreds of yards away at the FBI Command and Control trailer, the SAC, Steven Trear, stood gazing through a FLIR scope at the distant figures of the HRT unit. He could see one moving ahead of the others – moving toward the side of Sobol’s mansion. Trear muttered to himself, ‘What’s he doing?’
    One of the agents from the Command Trailer emerged and called to Trear. ‘Sir, a Special Agent Kirchner on the line for you. Something about Sobol’s purchase records.’
    Trear didn’t look up from the night vision scope. ‘Kirchner’s heading the audit team?’
    ‘I believe so, sir.’
    ‘Tell him I’ll call him back.’
    ‘He says it’s important—’
    Another Command Center agent pushed his head out through the doorway. ‘Sir! I’m picking up noise from the parabolic mics. Noise from inside the house.’
    Everyone stopped and looked at the guy with something resembling terror. Trear started walking toward him. ‘What kind of noise?’
    ‘It sounds like a pump motor, sir.’
    ‘Get those men out of there!’
    *
    About sixty feet ahead of his men, Merritt heard the click andstopped cold. His men did likewise. They’d all heard it, too, and they instinctively spun to face every direction – training their weapons. Against what, they didn’t know.
    Suddenly Merritt’s radio crackled. Someone shouted in an urgent voice over the channel,
‘Echo One, abort immediately! Repeat, abort immediately!’
    Before he could react, Merritt heard a disquieting hiss start to emanate from the ground. Just as suddenly the air around him sprang to life, and he and his men nearly jumped out of their skins.
    Retractable lawn sprinklers popped up and started spraying the lush terrace lawn with cold water. His team burst out laughing as they stood getting soaked by the lawn sprinklers.
    Waucheuer shielded his night vision goggles and shouted the distance to Merritt. ‘Shit, Trip, I just aged ten years!’
    Even Merritt smiled behind his mask this time. ‘You heard ’em. Pull out!’
    Then something changed. Suddenly Merritt was aware of an overpowering odor. His eyes narrowed behind his goggles. The sprinklers were no longer spraying