He turned to the team and said, “Status?”
From outside on the balcony, Veep said, “I’m complete. Ropes are set.”
Putting on a climbing harness, Knuckles said, “Blood?”
He rolled the target onto his back and said, “He’s ready. Veep, give me a hand.”
Veep came inside and Knuckles said, “I’m going over. Let me get down and clear the area, then start to lower him.”
Knuckles exited onto the balcony and peered over the ledge, seeing the earth only thirty feet below. He double-clipped a kernmantle climbing rope into the carabiner at his waist, crawled onto the concrete ledge, rotated around and leaned out until his body was at a ninety degree angle. He pushed off and let the rope run, cinching down just before he hit bottom, the rope snapping tight right above the ground. He released again and landed lightly on his feet. He ran the rope out until he had enough slack, disconnected, and took a knee, listening and searching with his eyes.
He was behind a row of shrubs and could see the small pond to his front, the outer edges traced by a walking path illuminated by ground lights. On the north end, between two small trees, was a park bench facing the pond, the center of the water bubbling from a small fountain.
Knuckles waited thirty seconds more, hearing and seeing no threat. He whispered, “Bring him over.”
He heard a scraping above him and saw the target lying on the ledge, his arm flopping over the side, Veep at his shoulders and Brett at his knees. Brett pushed out until his legs were over the ledge and Veep lowered him with Brett holding the belay rope. Veep took up a position at his head, making sure it didn’t bash against the concrete pillars of the ledge while Brett fed out slack. The body jerked down six inches at a time.
The body cleared the ledge and was hanging in open space when Knuckles heard movement. He hissed, “Halt, halt, halt,” and scanned for the noise.
Across the pond he saw a couple walking down the path, giggling and rubbing shoulders. He cursed under his breath, thinking,Who the hell takes a walk this late?
They sat on the park bench, and within seconds were embracing eachother, kissing loud enough to be heard at his position. Knuckles felt like a voyeur. He clicked on the net and whispered, “Hold what you got. Two lovebirds across the lake.”
Veep said, “We need to move them along.”
“How? You want me to jump in the water waving my arms?”
“I don’t know, but that tranquilizer is going to wear off in about twenty minutes.”
Shit. “Just hold what you have for a second. They aren’t going to screw each other on a park bench, and they’re getting hot enough that that’s the outcome. They must be staying here and their bed will be calling.”
No sooner had he said it than the woman slid off the seat onto her knees and began working the man’s belt.Jesus Christ, are you kidding me?
Through his earpiece he heard, “Better hope that man is quick on the draw.”
The couple continued their tryst, Knuckles checking his watch every thirty seconds, feeling the time drip away. He heard the man grunt and glanced at the bench, as the man buckled his pants, stood, and then sauntered off, hand in hand with the woman.
He clicked on the net, saying, “All clear, lower him down.”
He heard what he thought was the slide of the rope and glanced up, shocked to see their target moving around like a spider hanging from a thread.
He hissed, “He’s up. He’s awake! Drop him!”
The man reached into his waistband and pulled something out, then dropped a foot before stopping. Knuckles said, “Drop him, now!” and the man raised his hand, sawing at the rope. It split and he fell, hitting the ground on his feet and rolling forward.
Knuckles scrambled towards him, diving on his body and wrapping the target’s neck in his arms. He rotated to the man’s back in an attempt to choke him out, his right arm circling his neck, the left pushing the head forward. He missed sinking the hold, the man squirming around like a python, his right arm flailing. The target’s hand brushed his ear and he felt a bite like a bee sting. He flinched down and saw a small push dagger pokingout from between the second and third finger of the target’s right hand, the blade held in a clenched fist.
The arm swung wildly again, flitting by his head. Knuckles pressed his skull forward, pushing the target’s head down and cinching his forearm and bicep tight against the target’s carotid arteries. The knife whipped closer, and the man broke the hold, sliding his left hand into a small gap between Knuckles’ arm and the target’s neck.
The man managed to rotate a half turn, giving him the leverage to stab down with force instead of flailing blindly, and Knuckles realized the danger.
He hissed, “Don’t, don’t! Stop!”
The knife whipped by the back of his head, grazing his shoulder, and Knuckles stopped trying to render him unconscious. He rotated as well, now using his forearm as a fulcrum against the target’s throat. He planted his feet in the dirt and drove his body weight forward, snapping the man’s neck with an audiblepop.
The arms went limp immediately. Knuckles dropped the body, rolling to the right. Brett hit the ground next to him, followed by Veep. Brett turned to the target and Knuckles said, “Don’t bother. He’s gone.”
Bret said, “What the fuck happened?”
