The stairs ended abruptly at a heavy metal door. Stratton paused to catch his breath and listen before easing it open to reveal a spacious flat roof in darkness, crowded with ducts and air-conditioning units. He stepped out into the icy breeze, closed the door quietly and crossed the familiar roof to a spot between two fan housings. The edge of the building was only feet away.
He removed the parts of a professional crossbow from his pack and quickly assembled the weapon, placing a foot in the stirrup and levering back the string that rolled through pulley wheels on the ends of the prods until it was locked by the trigger mechanism. The final component was a sophisticated telescopic sight that he locked into place.
Stratton opened a narrow plastic box to reveal three lethal bolts, their tips viciously barbed, their fletchings painted orange and with long slender green quetzal-bird tail feathers attached to the nocks by a line of gut. These were symbolic rather than a flight aid and an important part of Stratton’s message to his target.
He placed one of the bolts in the bow’s launch groove, inched forward to where he could see the street far below, rested the bow beside him and focused a pair of binoculars on the ornate entrance of a building opposite. Stratton could make out the partial figure of a man standing inside the glass entrance, illuminated by the colourful lights from a Christmas tree. A doorman or a security guard. With the party scheduled to end at midnight, in just over an hour, it was time for the old waiting game. An activity with which Stratton was more than familiar, particularly in the cold and holding a pair of binoculars with a weapon close by.
Stratton watched for more than an hour before the first men sporting dinner jackets walked out into the chilly air and down a flight of steps to the pavement. The flow of guests, all men, was intermittent, their breath turning to vapour as they came outside.
One of them paused at the top of the steps to pull on a coat. He looked familiar. Stratton scrutinised him through the binoculars. It was indeed Sumners, buttoning up his coat and looking back though the glass doors as if waiting for someone.
Stratton put down the binoculars, picked up the crossbow and balanced the stock in his hand. He made sure that the quetzal feather was neatly tucked behind the bolt and brought the tiller tight against his shoulder. He focused the cross-hairs of the scope on Sumners before moving them to the glass doors.
A group of four men came out. In their middle, holding court while fastening the buttons of his own coat, walked the one that Stratton had been waiting for. It was difficult to miss him, unfortunate perhaps for a man in his business - covert operations. He had a full head of thick white hair and he was also burly - not fat, just robust. He stood out in a crowd. Stratton had not seen him for several years but the last time was etched indelibly in his mind. The man had been standing on a cliff and looking down on Stratton hundreds of feet below, a gun in his hand. Their positions were now reversed: a poetic irony.
The target picture was perfect. The man had paused halfway down the steps to press home a point he was making, much to the amusement of the others. Stratton aimed the cross-hairs at the centre of the target’s torso and eased them closer to one of the man’s shoulders. It was important that he should drop him with the first bolt but not kill him. That was difficult to ensure because of the steep angle. He had to avoid the heart, of course, but also the main arteries leading from it or the man might quickly become unconscious.
Stratton exhaled. As his lungs emptied he steadied his grip on the crossbow and took first pressure on the trigger. The weapon jerked as the prods straightened, sending the bolt at four hundred feet per second towards its mark.
It struck the man with the force of a horse’s hoof, hitting him in the chest. The tip must have cut through his spine because his lower limbs folded instantly and he dropped like a dead weight, his heavy frame rolling down a couple of steps before he came to a stop on his back. The other men froze, except for Sumners who