looked up in
of intense silence. Every one of Jezic's people recognized that tone of voice. It was rather famous throughout the entire KNP, in fact. Someone was about to sprout a brand new anal orifice, unless he was very, very lucky.
"Uh, sorry, Team Leader," the hapless focus of his wrath said after a moment. "This is Blue Three. Second story of Main Admin, eastern side. I have movement on the south side of Macek Avenue. Five—no, correction, seven—human heat sources. Over."
"That's better, Blue Three," Jezic growled, more than a little mollified by Blue Three's prompt clarification. Well, that, and the fact that it looked as if their information had been accurate, after all.
"All units," the captain continued, "Team Leader. Stand by to execute. Remember, damn it, we need prisoners, this time, not just bodies! Team Leader, clear."
He eased forward from his own position, fifty meters from his official command post, and flipped his own visor down over his eyes. He would cheerfully have traded two fingers from his left hand for really modern gear, but what he had would have to do. At least it had decent light-gathering capabilities and infrared, which meant he didn't have to go to active sensors to sweep Macek Avenue himself.
There they were! He felt the adrenaline spike and forced himself to inhale deeply. He was astonished to find his hands trembling on his rifle—not in fear, but in anticipation . . . and raw fury. He didn't like that. The KNP's senior SWAT officer was supposed to be a professional. But the last thirty days of Agnes Nordbrandt's murderous campaign had eroded that professionalism more than he cared to admit.
He waited a few heartbeats, until he felt confident he could keep his voice
"Uh, sorry, Team Leader," the hapless focus of his wrath said after a moment. "This is Blue Three. Second story of Main Admin, eastern side. I have movement on the south side of Macek Avenue. Five—no, correction, seven—human heat sources. Over."
"That's better, Blue Three," Jezic growled, more than a little mollified by Blue Three's prompt clarification. Well, that, and the fact that it looked as if their information had been accurate, after all.
"All units," the captain continued, "Team Leader. Stand by to execute. Remember, damn it, we need prisoners, this time, not just bodies! Team Leader, clear."
He eased forward from his own position, fifty meters from his official command post, and flipped his own visor down over his eyes. He would cheerfully have traded two fingers from his left hand for really modern gear, but what he had would have to do. At least it had decent light-gathering capabilities and infrared, which meant he didn't have to go to active sensors to sweep Macek Avenue himself.
There they were! He felt the adrenaline spike and forced himself to inhale deeply. He was astonished to find his hands trembling on his rifle—not in fear, but in anticipation . . . and raw fury. He didn't like that. The KNP's senior SWAT officer was supposed to be a professional. But the last thirty days of Agnes Nordbrandt's murderous campaign had eroded that professionalism more than he cared to admit.
He waited a few heartbeats, until he felt confident he could keep his voice