Whatever the case, the damn thing didn’t work.
At this point, they didn’t have many options. The other device was set to go off in less than twenty minutes, and when it did, they didn’t want to be anywhere near the complex.
The clock was ticking and the pressure was building.
They couldn’t afford any more delays.
Spotting the sniper was nothing more than a lucky break. Jones was in the construction elevator in building three, studying the layout of the complex. While he spoke to Payne, he saw a flash of movement in building one. The Hotel Tower would eventually be twice as tall as the others; however, right now it was just a partial shell, a third of its eventual height.
Jones slowed the elevator for a better look and confirmed his initial sighting. There was a man with a rifle positioned near the northeastern corner. He was gathering his things, getting ready to leave. Maybe to find a better spot. More likely to evacuate the site. Whichever the case, Jones knew this was his best chance to stop him.
Payne had mentioned a walkway between two and six, and Jones knew the same thing existed between one and three. In fact, all of the buildings were interconnected with a series of bridges and corridors. Two connected with four and six. Three connected with five and seven. And one connected with two and three.
Seven buildings, but no need to walk through the lobby to move between towers.
At least that’s how it would be when the complex was done. Right now, the only thing connecting one and three was a series of long steel beams separated by the width of a car. No floor. No ceiling. No windows. Just a lot of open air and five hundred feet to fall if he took a misstep or a strong gust of wind decided to knock him off. If so, he would land in the central plaza, creating a much bigger mess than the two soldiers who were killed by the sniper.
Screw it, he thought. This guy is mine.
Jones exited the elevator and walked to the edge of the steel frame. In his mind, the key to staying calm was getting things over with before he had a chance to get nervous, so he pulled his thobe above his knees—not wanting to trip— took a deep breath, and stepped onto the narrow beam. It felt solid underneath his feet, like walking on a curb.
Step after careful step, he moved at a steady speed. Never looking down. Always focusing on a point five feet in front of him. Make it there, then move to the next. Nothing but small segments. Never large. It was the best way to avoid being overwhelmed.
The entire trip took thirty seconds. By the end, his heart was pounding and his left hand was quivering from all the adrenaline. He flexed the hand a few times, took a deep breath, then continued forward. Refusing to look back at what he had conquered.
More concerned with the perils that waited around the corner.
Payne crept along the outer wall of the mechanical penthouse. Voices could be heard within. Shouting of some kind. He couldn’t make out the words—the wind was whistling, and someone was giving him an update on building seven— but it was definitely an argument.
Something to be taken advantage of.
With gun in hand, he opened the metal hatch and slipped inside. Angry words were being exchanged. Two men shouting about their responsibilities. One man said they must finish the job; the other disagreed. The detonator was broken and couldn’t be fixed in the next fifteen minutes. They didn’t have the tools or the extra parts.
It was music to Payne’s ears.
He crouched on the stairs, listening to what was being said, hoping to get as much intel as he could. Neither of the voices belonged to Schmidt—that was too much to hope for—but this was half his squad. Two of the men responsible for the violence in the cave. The murders in the village. The plot to blow up Mecca.
He’d listen for as long as possible before he made his move.
And when he did, they’d pay for their transgressions.
48
When Jones arrived in the northeastern corner, the sniper was no longer there. He had packed his things and abandoned his position less than a minute before.
Unfortunately, that was the problem with snipers. They were slippery bastards.
Jones cursed under his breath and scanned the area for exit points. At this height, elevators were the main option. As far as he could tell, one had been built on each side of l he Hotel Tower. The front shaft was clearly visible from I he plaza, something the shooter would want to avoid. His goal would be to eliminate exposure time. Less exposure meant fewer witnesses.
The other three were all hidden from the main street, the closest being on the eastern face of the tower. It was partially concealed by building two and less than thirty seconds away. Jones took a chance and sprinted as fast as he could, darting through the equipment and supplies that cluttered the massive space. The squeaking of cables greeted his arrival as the platform dipped below floor level. With no time to waste, Jones squeezed through the bars of the metal tube and jumped into the open shaft, plummeting several feet before landing on top of the elevator.