Read Online Stone - 25 - Collateral Damage by Stuart Woods - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Stuart Woods
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flight and the woman took out a bunch of keys, found the correct one, and opened the door.
“I think you’ll like the place,” she said. “It’s spacious, and the light is good.”
Mason flashed a plastic ID at her. “Please sit down and be quiet. I’ll only keep you a few minutes.”
She looked surprised, but she sat down.
Mason pressed a speed dial number on his cell phone as he peeked through one side of the sheer curtains. “We got lucky,” he said. “We’re directly across the street, one floor up. The curtains are drawn in the flat. Is the team in place out back yet? Good. Now bring in the SWAT team van, and block both ends of the street. Call me when everything is in place.” He ended the connection, then turned to the estate agent.
“Is there a rear exit from this house?” he asked.
“Yes, it opens into a mews.”
“Please leave at once by that exit, and walk quickly to the street behind and find a taxi. This is a matter of national security, and you are not to mention it to anyone. Do you understand?”
“I suppose so,” she said.
His telephone rang. “Mason. Right. Go.” He turned to the woman, who had gotten to her feet. “Too late. Please sit down again. This will be over shortly, then you can leave.”
The woman sat down, and Mason watched through the curtains as a white van pulled up downstairs.
—
“Ring your shopkeeper,” Jasmine said to her contact.
He did so and listened. His face changed, and he hung up. “They’re in your street,” he said to Jasmine. “A SWAT team is getting out of a van.”
Jasmine dug a cell phone out of her tote bag and began to dial a number.
The assault squad ran up the steps of the house, six men in black uniforms with helmets, heavy armor vests, face protection, and automatic weapons. The front door was locked; a team member carrying a heavy horizontal sledge swung it at the lock, and the door came open. The six men crowded into the hallway.
“Flat door unlocked,” one man said, trying the knob. The team flooded into the flat, weapons raised, shouting.
Jasmine pressed the last number.
As Mason watched from across the street, the front of the building blew out. He flung himself into the corner behind him as the window blew in, filling the room with glass and debris.
The estate agent began to rise from her seat, then she was struck by something heavy and sat down again. When Mason looked at her, most of her head was gone.
He pressed a speed dial number. “Major explosion at subject house. Many dead or wounded. Full immediate response!”
From down the street he heard the Klaxons of backup vehicles coming.
Holly finished the last of her to-do list and looked at the clock: later than she thought, and she was hungry. She packed her briefcase and shut it, then reached for the phone to call Stone. It rang.
“Holly Barker.”
“It’s Felicity Devonshire,” she said, and she sounded weary and dejected.
“It’s very late there,” Holly said.
“We’ve had a major flap,” Felicity replied. Then she gave Holly a brief account of what had happened.
“I’m sorry,” Holly said. “Casualties?”
“Six of our people are dead, and one collateral.”
“Jesus Christ!”
“Exactly. We’re not sure what went wrong yet. We circulated the photo I sent you to a wide intra-government list, and one of them spotted her. We had people there in twenty minutes, but apparently Jasmine had gone. And she left a very large surprise behind her.”
“Anything at the site that might help?”
“We’re still sifting through the rubble. We had to prop up the building. It’s listing alarmingly and will have to come down. Fortunately, in the early afternoon the other occupants were at work.”
“Why was your spotter there?”
“She and her husband had only recently moved in. They met there at lunch to look at some fabrics together, and it turned into a matinee, or she would have been back at work when Jasmine came home.”
“How on
“I think you’ll like the place,” she said. “It’s spacious, and the light is good.”
Mason flashed a plastic ID at her. “Please sit down and be quiet. I’ll only keep you a few minutes.”
She looked surprised, but she sat down.
Mason pressed a speed dial number on his cell phone as he peeked through one side of the sheer curtains. “We got lucky,” he said. “We’re directly across the street, one floor up. The curtains are drawn in the flat. Is the team in place out back yet? Good. Now bring in the SWAT team van, and block both ends of the street. Call me when everything is in place.” He ended the connection, then turned to the estate agent.
“Is there a rear exit from this house?” he asked.
“Yes, it opens into a mews.”
“Please leave at once by that exit, and walk quickly to the street behind and find a taxi. This is a matter of national security, and you are not to mention it to anyone. Do you understand?”
“I suppose so,” she said.
His telephone rang. “Mason. Right. Go.” He turned to the woman, who had gotten to her feet. “Too late. Please sit down again. This will be over shortly, then you can leave.”
The woman sat down, and Mason watched through the curtains as a white van pulled up downstairs.
—
“Ring your shopkeeper,” Jasmine said to her contact.
He did so and listened. His face changed, and he hung up. “They’re in your street,” he said to Jasmine. “A SWAT team is getting out of a van.”
Jasmine dug a cell phone out of her tote bag and began to dial a number.
The assault squad ran up the steps of the house, six men in black uniforms with helmets, heavy armor vests, face protection, and automatic weapons. The front door was locked; a team member carrying a heavy horizontal sledge swung it at the lock, and the door came open. The six men crowded into the hallway.
“Flat door unlocked,” one man said, trying the knob. The team flooded into the flat, weapons raised, shouting.
Jasmine pressed the last number.
As Mason watched from across the street, the front of the building blew out. He flung himself into the corner behind him as the window blew in, filling the room with glass and debris.
The estate agent began to rise from her seat, then she was struck by something heavy and sat down again. When Mason looked at her, most of her head was gone.
He pressed a speed dial number. “Major explosion at subject house. Many dead or wounded. Full immediate response!”
From down the street he heard the Klaxons of backup vehicles coming.
Holly finished the last of her to-do list and looked at the clock: later than she thought, and she was hungry. She packed her briefcase and shut it, then reached for the phone to call Stone. It rang.
“Holly Barker.”
“It’s Felicity Devonshire,” she said, and she sounded weary and dejected.
“It’s very late there,” Holly said.
“We’ve had a major flap,” Felicity replied. Then she gave Holly a brief account of what had happened.
“I’m sorry,” Holly said. “Casualties?”
“Six of our people are dead, and one collateral.”
“Jesus Christ!”
“Exactly. We’re not sure what went wrong yet. We circulated the photo I sent you to a wide intra-government list, and one of them spotted her. We had people there in twenty minutes, but apparently Jasmine had gone. And she left a very large surprise behind her.”
“Anything at the site that might help?”
“We’re still sifting through the rubble. We had to prop up the building. It’s listing alarmingly and will have to come down. Fortunately, in the early afternoon the other occupants were at work.”
“Why was your spotter there?”
“She and her husband had only recently moved in. They met there at lunch to look at some fabrics together, and it turned into a matinee, or she would have been back at work when Jasmine came home.”
“How on
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