Crisis Four Read Online Free Page A

was our entry point. Sarah was between us, catching her breath and trying to keep the noise down.
    The other three in the crew were on their knees, nearer the corner. If the door was locked they’d have to blow it. They started to get the prepared charges from their belt kit. I watched as they worked together, slowly unwinding the det cord, which looked like white washing line, only filled with high explosive.
    They stood up with the charge. Everything was nice and slow and controlled. As they started to move, the door burst open.
    Voices were shouting in Arabic from around the corner. The door charge was quickly placed on the ground. I saw hands reach into belt kits. They would have to remove the threat, but quietly.
    The voices got closer and closer and I could hear the sound of flip-flops slapping against feet. Two boys rounded the corner wearing dish-dashes, arm in arm, both smoking and still shouting about something, maybe what Grant Mitchell was up to in the Queen Vic.
    Two of the Regs climbed aboard them, and almost at once I heard a distinctive buzz and crackle. The boys were getting Tazered good style, at the same time as being dragged out of sight towards us. Tazers are cattle prods for humans. As the two electrodes touch a body, you press a button and 100,000 volts zap through the target. They are a great weapon as you can hold the victim at the same time as you fuck them up big time, without getting zapped by the current yourself.
    As the blokes got them down on the floor, I could hear them moaning and groaning under the hands that covered their mouths. They were still being dealt with as Glen put on his NVGs. We did the same.
    Glen looked back at Sarah to check we were ready. Following his cue, we moved towards the corner with Sarah still between us. It was now one of those situations that couldn’t be stopped. We just had to get on with it. The fuck-it factor had taken over.
    We piled in through the door. A Reg secured the entry point and waited for the other two to join him, dragging the two dazed Syrians. The corridor was dark and silent. In a loud whisper Glen said, ‘With me, with me, with me.’ We moved like men possessed down the breeze-block passage, the world through our NVGs looking like a light-green negative film.
    We turned right, and through the windows to our left I could see the outside of the building; on the other side there were plywood internal doors leading, I guessed, to rooms or offices. The smell of cigarettes, cooking, coffee and the sweat of not too much air conditioning was almost overpowering.
    We came to a T-junction. Glen stopped on the left, Sarah right up behind him. I came up level, on the right. I wasn’t too sure which way we were heading. Glen would tell me. I looked over and he was moving his IR torch beam, attached to his weapon, to the right.
    I cleared the corner, moved forward three or four metres and stood my ground, waiting. I knew Glen would be clearing the other way. I saw his weapon’s IR splash against the walls as he turned towards me, then they both passed on my left. Sarah still had her pistol holstered and was keeping close to Glen. The floor was tiled or concrete, it was hard to tell which. All I knew was that there was an echo of footsteps and squeaking rubber as we moved.
    Glen stopped and pointed at a door. He took his weapon out of the shoulder, put his back against the wall to the left and reached for the door handle. I moved to the opposite side, weapon still up in the shoulder, ready to make entry. He nodded; I took off my safety and nodded back. He turned the handle and I moved inside, pushing the door with me.
    I was blinded. The NVGs were totally whited out. It was as if someone had let off a flare in front of my face.
    Glen shouted, ‘The fucking lights are back on!’
    I fell on my knees and ripped off the NVGs, blinking hard as I tried to get back some normal vision. I made out movement in the right-hand corner and rolled to the left, trying