Last Light Read Online Free Page A

streets with a fishing-rod case or the world's longest flowerbox. But fuck it, I'd despised him when he was running the support cell, and now it was worse.
    I looked through the window at the distant black and white figures moving around the killing ground, and wondered if the Brit who'd first played about with a telescopic sight on a musket in the seventeenth century ever realized what drama he was bringing to the world.
    I checked out the area with my binos, using just one eye so I didn't miss One or Three signing in. The binos were tripodded because twelve-times magnification at this distance was so strong that the slightest judder would make it seem like I was watching The Blair Witch Project.
    Things had moved on. The staff were still being hassled by the grey-suited catering bully. As guests came through the grand arched door on to the terrace, they'd now be greeted by trestle tables covered by brilliant white tablecloths.
    Silver trays of fluted glasses waited to be filled as corks were pulled from bottles of champagne.
    Things would be kicking off soon, and all I had was one sniper. Not good; not good at all.
    I refocused the binos on the arched doorway, then went back to watching the lights, willing them to spark up. There was nothing else I could do.
    I tried and failed to reassure myself that the co-ordination plan for the shoot was so beautifully simple, it would work with only one sniper.
    The snipers had the same binos as mine and would also have them focused on the door. They'd want to ID the Yes Man the moment he walked into the killing area, and they'd use binos first because they give a field of view of about ten metres, which would make it easier to follow him through the crowd until he made the target ID. Once that was done, they would switch to their weapon's optic sight, and I would concentrate on the lights.
    The method I was going to use to control the snipers and tell them when to fire had been inspired by a wildlife documentary I'd seen on TV. Four Indian game wardens, working as a team in total silence, had managed to stalk and fire sedative darts into an albino tiger from very close range.
    Whenever any of the snipers had a sight picture of the target and felt confident about taking the shot, they'd hit their press el and keep it pressed. The corresponding bulb in front of me would stay lit for as long as they could take the shot. If they lost their sight picture, they released their press el and the bulb would go out until they acquired it again.
    Once I'd made the decision when to fire, I'd push my send press el three times in a one-second rhythm.
    The first press would tell the firer or firers to stop breathing so their body movement didn't affect the aim.
    The second would tell them to take up the first pressure on the trigger, so as not to jerk the weapon when they fired.
    As I hit the press el the second time, I'd also trigger the detonation. The third time, the snipers would fire as the device exploded on the roof of the hotel. If all three were up and the target was sitting, that would be perfect but it rarely happens that way.
    The device would not only disguise the sonic cracks, but create a diversion on the north side of the river while we extracted. I just wished the MoD building wasn't closed for the weekend: I'd have loved to see their faces as the blast took out a few of their windows. Never mind, with luck it would make the Life Guards' horses on Whitehall throw off their mounts.
    None of the snipers would know if the others had the target. The first time they'd know the option was going ahead was when they heard the three tones in their ear. If they didn't have a sight picture themselves, they wouldn't take a shot.
    After the explosion, whether they'd fired a round or not, they would all exit from their positions, stripping off their outer layer of coveralls and leaving the area casually and professionally with the protective clothing in their bag.
    The rest of the kit, and the