I have decided to stick with my Zombie Killer, despite its blunderbuss-like drawbacks, mainly because I don’t dare set it down. If I should somehow become separated from an issued weapon . . . I don’t even wanna think about it.

I plant my soles and brace myself.

The ESU action unspools through my headset. Both ears fill with staccato military-style chatter. Three stacks of four men each will assault the compound. Two will go over walls (in fact they’re in the act right now) while the third, using one of the ESU trucks as a ram, will break through the chained front gate. They’ll do this in reverse, using the vehicle’s reinforced rear bumper as the battering instrument. This third stack, the one that would normally be in the truck, will already be dismounted; they’ll rush through the gate as soon as the breach has been accomplished, then assault the front entry of the residence complex on foot.

Our post, Manning’s and mine, is immediately behind the preschool. The complex is actually four sub-buildings—double-wide trailers linked together like a train. A play yard separates the preschool from the residence complex and social club that the ESU teams are assaulting. In other words, Manning and I are, I’m telling myself, almost certainly safely out of the line of action. There’s no reason to believe that a fugitive would flee across the play yard and into the preschool, let alone out the rear egress.

We’re chill.

We’re safe.

I’m telling myself this and running down my wish list.

I wish I had night-vision gear.

I wish I could hear through my headset.

I wish I had trained, at least a little, on shotguns.

I wish I wasn’t alone.

I wish our ESU guys would get this fucking thing over with.

I’m starting to think about Gleason.

Maybe he’s right. Maybe this Russian mob is the force behind the LV killings.

What am I saying? Of course Gleason is right. Why would a known assassin, Yoo-hoo Petracek, be in a victim’s hallway, i.e., Nathan Davis’s, in his apartment, with a freaking key, for Christ’s sake, if not to case, to prep, to recon?

Of course Yoo-hoo killed Davis.

Did I seriously believe any other scenario?

The devil?

To bring about the Apocalypse?

I feel my brow flushing. It’s 105° but it feels like 120. I’m streaming sweat, just from embarrassment. Note to self: when this raid is over, make sure Manning knows I’m onboard 100 percent with Gleason’s FSB/Bratva scenario.

Suddenly: a dull boom.

TEAM LEADER #1’S VOICE

(through headset)

POLICE! NYPD!

ASSISTANT LEADER’S VOICE

(through headset)

Breach front entry! Breach front entry!