challenge; not that Leyton was complaining.
Once inside he moved forward along a deserted corridor, lights dimmed to the point of mimicking the greyness outside. The passageway soon turned right, taking him past a series of elevators, none of them in use at this hour. A little further and the floor opened up into a mezzanine-style gallery, with a modest flight of steps leading down to a small lobby area and the front door. Set a little back from the top of the stairs was a broad horseshoe-shaped desk, behind which sat the guard, his profile to Leyton. The man was leaning back in his chair. By the look of him, he didn't have a care in the world. In fact, had he been any more relaxed he would have been asleep.
The uniform was charcoal-grey. Now there was a surprise.
Twin banks of monitor screens bracketed the desk and inane music chuntered from a speaker somewhere beneath it, which made the eyegee's task all the easier. Holstering the gun and drawing a serrated combat knife, he slipped behind the seated figure, steadied himself, and then struck.
In one coordinated movement, he reached forward to cup the guard's chin in his left hand, covering the man's mouth in the process while pulling the head back against his own chest. At the same time, his right hand drew the knife's blade swiftly across the exposed throat, applying sufficient pressure to sever every major blood vessel.
The unfortunate guard had enough time to stiffen in shock at the sudden assault and then twitch once as he died, but that was all. Leyton eased the body out of the seat and onto the floor. One good thing about standing behind a man when you cut his throat is that the blood sprays forward and not over you. The bad news from Leyton's perspective was that in this instance a considerable amount had spattered over the control panel, and he was going to have to use that shortly.
Not before taking care of the second guard, however.
Even though his visor showed the current whereabouts of the wandering red dot, he instinctively checked the bank of security monitors in any case. On one he noted the control centre. Three figures sitting at desks, intent on their own screens. Three, when the visor reported four in the room, so that might indicate another guard, perhaps stationed by the door.
Worth noting, but not his primary concern just then. He turned his attention to one of the other screens, which showed a grey-suited figure strolling down a semi-darkened corridor.
One floor up. Leyton headed for the fire exit and its stairway, ignoring the more convenient elevators.
He came out into an empty passageway ahead of the guard's route, chose a convenient bit of wall to stand against and waited, allowing the shimmer suit to do its thing. Moments later the oblivious guard sauntered past and Leyton stepped forward, reaching out to grasp the man's jaw from behind and repeating the performance of earlier. Then it was back to the monitor room, where he deactivated the alarm, ignoring the blood that now marred the control panel, and opened the door to allow Sergeant Black and the rest of the party to enter.
He watched as one man stayed to cover the front door while another peeled away to cover the building's side entrance. Black, the two techs and the two remaining troopers hurried up the stairs to meet him.
Again foregoing the elevators, Leyton led them to the fire stairs, ascending swiftly but silently and cursing under his breath at the amount of noise from behind him - the scuffing of shoes and slap of feet on uncarpeted concrete stairway sounding all the louder in the enclosed confines of the stairwell. The gun evidently recognised the cursing as not being directed at it and stayed mercifully quiet.
Then, unexpectedly, one of the red dots on the floor above moved their way.
Leyton held out a restraining hand, emphasising the gesture with a hissed "Wait!" He was relieved at how quickly the sound and movement behind him ceased. They were spread out along a
Once inside he moved forward along a deserted corridor, lights dimmed to the point of mimicking the greyness outside. The passageway soon turned right, taking him past a series of elevators, none of them in use at this hour. A little further and the floor opened up into a mezzanine-style gallery, with a modest flight of steps leading down to a small lobby area and the front door. Set a little back from the top of the stairs was a broad horseshoe-shaped desk, behind which sat the guard, his profile to Leyton. The man was leaning back in his chair. By the look of him, he didn't have a care in the world. In fact, had he been any more relaxed he would have been asleep.
The uniform was charcoal-grey. Now there was a surprise.
Twin banks of monitor screens bracketed the desk and inane music chuntered from a speaker somewhere beneath it, which made the eyegee's task all the easier. Holstering the gun and drawing a serrated combat knife, he slipped behind the seated figure, steadied himself, and then struck.
In one coordinated movement, he reached forward to cup the guard's chin in his left hand, covering the man's mouth in the process while pulling the head back against his own chest. At the same time, his right hand drew the knife's blade swiftly across the exposed throat, applying sufficient pressure to sever every major blood vessel.
The unfortunate guard had enough time to stiffen in shock at the sudden assault and then twitch once as he died, but that was all. Leyton eased the body out of the seat and onto the floor. One good thing about standing behind a man when you cut his throat is that the blood sprays forward and not over you. The bad news from Leyton's perspective was that in this instance a considerable amount had spattered over the control panel, and he was going to have to use that shortly.
Not before taking care of the second guard, however.
Even though his visor showed the current whereabouts of the wandering red dot, he instinctively checked the bank of security monitors in any case. On one he noted the control centre. Three figures sitting at desks, intent on their own screens. Three, when the visor reported four in the room, so that might indicate another guard, perhaps stationed by the door.
Worth noting, but not his primary concern just then. He turned his attention to one of the other screens, which showed a grey-suited figure strolling down a semi-darkened corridor.
One floor up. Leyton headed for the fire exit and its stairway, ignoring the more convenient elevators.
He came out into an empty passageway ahead of the guard's route, chose a convenient bit of wall to stand against and waited, allowing the shimmer suit to do its thing. Moments later the oblivious guard sauntered past and Leyton stepped forward, reaching out to grasp the man's jaw from behind and repeating the performance of earlier. Then it was back to the monitor room, where he deactivated the alarm, ignoring the blood that now marred the control panel, and opened the door to allow Sergeant Black and the rest of the party to enter.
He watched as one man stayed to cover the front door while another peeled away to cover the building's side entrance. Black, the two techs and the two remaining troopers hurried up the stairs to meet him.
Again foregoing the elevators, Leyton led them to the fire stairs, ascending swiftly but silently and cursing under his breath at the amount of noise from behind him - the scuffing of shoes and slap of feet on uncarpeted concrete stairway sounding all the louder in the enclosed confines of the stairwell. The gun evidently recognised the cursing as not being directed at it and stayed mercifully quiet.
Then, unexpectedly, one of the red dots on the floor above moved their way.
Leyton held out a restraining hand, emphasising the gesture with a hissed "Wait!" He was relieved at how quickly the sound and movement behind him ceased. They were spread out along a
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