"I'm not sure I like it," Armont grumbled, slamming a clip into his automatic. "If you ask me, there's been too damned much impromptu strategy on this op already."
"On the other hand, Michael has a point," Hans interjected with Germanic logic. "If we can separate Ramirez from the hostages, it could prevent a lot of danger to the friendlies. My only worry is that if it doesn't work, then we've blown the element of surprise. All of a sudden we've got a firefight on our hands."
"We've got a firefight anyway," Marcel observed, "no matter what happens. So why not?"
"I agree it's a gamble," Vance paused. "But the alternative could be a genuine disaster." He took an MP5 from the bag of hardware they had brought and checked the clip. "Does anybody strenuously object?"
"I do," Cally finally spoke up, her anger at him seeming to soften. "We'll probably have to come and pick up the pieces. But you're right about Isaac. Knowing him, he's liable to just walk into a line of fire, out of sheer absentminded-ness."
"All right." Vance looked around. "While the fog is still in, I want to go up." He was pointing. Why wait for a vote? Nobody seemed to be strongly against it. "I'll come in from up there"—he pointed—"by the base of what's left of the gantry, and try to draw him out. If nothing else, it'll be diversion. If it doesn't work, you can still go in."
"All right, you win," Armont said. His eyes betrayed his lingering misgivings. "But you're making yourself a target, so don't try any heroics. If Ramirez does show his face, let us take it from there. This isn't your game."
Willem Voorst nodded and pulled out an extra vest, already festooned with grenades. He handed it to Vance, who slipped it on and secured it, wincing silently from the pain in his rib cage.
"Just be bloody careful," Reggie Hall said. That and nothing more. British understatement.
Calypso Andros had no such reserve. Her hair plastered across her face, she reached up and impulsively kissed him on a swollen cheek. Then she whispered good luck.