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As
they approached the chopper, Price got out and opened both side doors
for loading.
He'd
already stashed his pistol in the map pocket of the left side co-pilot's
door. He gave the pilot a look.
"Just
act normally. The situation is under control."
"If
you say so, Englishman."
Price
was wearing a blue shirt with wings pinned on above the breast pocket
and an name tag that announced his name as "Tony." A wireless
earpiece gave him the radio link to the rest of the team, along with a
microphone chip inside his collar.
"Sixty
meters away. Not a very attractive woman, is she?" he asked his
teammates.
"Armed
subject at the door with three hostages," Weber called. "No,
two armed subjects with three hostages. Hostage blonde is with this one.
Old man and middle-age woman all dressed as servants."
"I
see two more armed subjects and three hostages inside the back
door," Johnston reported.
"That's
all the hostages," Noonan said. "Total of six subjects
then."
"How
are they armed, Rifle One?" Price asked.
"Submachine
guns."
"Okay,"
Chavez said holding his own binoculars.
"Riflemen,
take aim on subject Dorkman."
"On
target," Weber managed to say first.
Johnston
swiveled to take aim a fraction of a second later and then he froze
still.
The
human eyes is especially sensitive to movement at night. When Johnston
moved clockwise to adjust the aim of his rifle, Petra Dorkman thought
she must have seen something. It stopped her in her tracks. She stared
right at Johnston.
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