Free Betrayal by Will Jordan

the little portable radio units the assault team wore.
    ‘Take this. It’s already tied into our radio net.’
    The unit was familiar enough to Drake, similar to the ones he’d used as a Shepherd operative during similar assaults. The microphone was attached to a Velcro strap that wrapped around the throat, so that it picked up the actual vibrations in the user’s voice box and allowed them to be heard clearly even when surrounded by loud ambient noise.
    After strapping the unit in place and checking it was switched on, he hit the transmit button. ‘Radio check.’
    O’Rourke nodded. ‘Good, copy.’
    ‘This is it,’ the driver called as they began to slow down. ‘Ten seconds!’
    Sure enough, the drab grey housing of Capitol Hill had given way to drab grey commercial storage units; essentially long brick sheds of varying size, with corrugated-iron roofs and rolling steel-shuttered doors. Access to each locker was controlled by a key-card entry system similar to that used in modern hotels, which cut down the chance of theft and also allowed the storage company to monitor usage, since each card swipe was electronically logged.
    Alerted in advance of their arrival, the lone security guard manning the main gate had made sure the barrier was open, allowing them to drive right through and into the network of storage lock-ups unhindered. Their van was disguised as a regular commercial goods vehicle, hopefully allowing them to park near the lock-up without raising suspicion.
    They would find out soon enough, Drake thought as the van skidded to a halt, the tyres slipping on the slick tarmac.
    O’Rourke turned to the rest of the team. ‘Ready up.’
    Most of the team were armed with the venerable Heckler & Koch MP5; a compact and reliable sub-machine gun that had been in use with SWAT and Special Forces units for more than forty years. It lacked the punch and range of heavier assault rifles, but it was ideal for use in tight spaces.
    Drake also spotted a couple of big Mossberg 590 breaching shotguns, designed to blast open locks and reinforced doors. He’d seen them in action himself on a few occasions and knew the devastating damage they could deal at close range.
    Taking up position at the rear of the compartment, O’Rourke gave a single nod to show that he was ready, unlatched the cargo door and shoved it outwards. Two operatives armed with MP5s went first, taking up position on either side of the van to cover their flanks while the rest of the team deployed.
    O’Rourke was next, with Drake right behind him. Leaping down on to the wet tarmac, he immediately found himself in the midst of the heavy downpour. Doing his best to ignore the freezing rain that was quickly soaking into his clothes, he turned his attention to the storage lockers around them.
    A long row of breeze-block structures stretched out before him, with letters and numbers printed on their doors. As far as he could tell, the storage yard was laid out in a basic grid pattern, with a letter assigned to each section. The number indicated the location within that section.
    With that in mind, lock-up D7 should be just around the corner.
    Turning to O’Rourke, he nodded off to the right. ‘Send two of your men around the other way. I want to box them in.’
    The operative nodded understanding. ‘Telford, Cartwright. Circle around this section. Radio when you’re in position.’
    ‘Copy that.’
    As the two men hurried off to encircle the lock-up, Drake advanced to the next intersection with the Sig gripped tight in numb fingers. The splash of boots in the puddles behind told him the rest of the team were close.
    Backing up against a rough breeze-block wall, he took a breath and waited for a signal from their flanking force.
    ‘I see it,’ a voice reported over the radio a few moments later. ‘Doors are shut. No vehicles, no sign of activity.’
    ‘Copy that,’ Drake replied. ‘Watch the rooftops. We’re moving in now.’
    Drake had been in this