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cut through a lot of red tape in a hurry.
    Police and FBI units were converging from all over town to establish a perimeter around the site and support them, but so far they had the lead. If they moved fast, there was a chance they could end this thing quickly, capture the instigators of a major terrorist attack and perhaps even recover Demochev alive. How Anya would fit into this equation remained to be seen.
    Their target was, according to Frost’s online forays, Xcell Self-Storage, a commercial storage facility in the Capitol Heights district of the city. Secure, and used only by the occasional delivery truck, it was the kind of place where one could hold a man hostage for a long time without fear of discovery.
    Drake gripped one of the wall-mounted handles as the van rounded a corner at high speed. It was raining hard outside. He could hear the heavy drumming of it on the vehicle’s thin metal roof, and the rhythmic whine of the wipers up front as they fought to keep the windshield clear.
    ‘According to the facility manager, the only lock-up to have been accessed in the past hour is Unit D7,’ the lead operative said, studying the blueprints of the facility that had been transmitted to his PDA direct from Langley. The name tag on his body armour read
O’Rourke
. ‘It’s about the size of a double garage, but according to the plans it’s one big open space so we shouldn’t have trouble locating our target.’
    Assuming he’s still there, Drake didn’t add. Despite their rapid response there was a chance their opponents had switched vehicles again after reaching the facility. It certainly wasn’t the kind of place one would dig in and defend.
    Still, they wouldn’t know for sure until they got there.
    ‘We’ve got a friendly in there so watch your fire,’ O’Rourke added. ‘But be advised, tangos are armed and should be considered extremely dangerous. Try to take them alive if possible, but don’t take any chances. Clear?’
    He was met by a chorus of affirmative remarks. Each of the tactical operatives was geared up for the assault, both mentally and physically. Drake had seen that look enough times on soldiers about to go into battle to recognise it.
    Curious how far they still had to go, he craned his neck to see up front, trying to make out the world beyond the rain-streaked windshield.
    Capitol Heights was a run-down area, with dirty litter-strewn streets and dreary low-rise apartment buildings crowded close to the main drag. Many of the street lights were out, either because they’d been vandalised or because the bulbs had blown and never been replaced. The few shops that he’d seen all had heavy security shutters down, while most apartments had their curtains closed as if the occupants were trying to shut the world out. Drake couldn’t blame them.
    The cars were mostly old Buicks and Chevys; all battered and poorly maintained like everything else around here. There weren’t many people out on the streets given the weather conditions, but a few brave souls trudged doggedly onwards, heads down and shoulders hunched against the rain. They looked as miserable as the buildings around them.
    Christmas hadn’t yet come to Capitol Heights, it seemed.
    Turning his attention back to the tactical team leader, he leaned forward and tapped O’Rourke on the shoulder. ‘So what’s the plan?’
    ‘Simple breach, sir. We go in hard through the front door, use flashbangs to cover our entry, and secure Demochev as fast as possible. With luck we can take them by surprise.’
    ‘What if they make a run for it?’
    O’Rourke shrugged. ‘There’s nowhere for them to go. The entire facility’s surrounded by chain-link fence and security cameras. Only way in or out is through the main gate, and we’ll have that covered.’
    He paused, bracing his large frame, bulked out by body armour, against the wall as the van swerved. As their course stabilised, he reached into a bag by his feet and handed Drake one of