"Don't look so concerned, everything checked out okay."
Russ stared at Hansen. "You swept the building?"
Hansen was annoyed, but tried to stay calm. "Of course. Nothing out of the ordinary. No bombs, surveillance devices - aside from ours that is - or unidentified workmen around the place." Hansen smiled and added, "And all the neighbors are the same ones who've been living there for at least the past five years."
"You checked them?"
Hansen's timbre belied his anger, "Yes. We did a door-to-door about fifteen minutes before Goldman arrived at the building and we put it in lock-down. Everything is as it should be. If the OSI has such a low level of confidence in us, why are we here?"
"Look, Hansen, I know you've had your differences with Oscar over the years, but--"
"--Are you implying that I would do less than my best because it's Goldman?" Hansen's nostrils flared in anger, "When this is over, I'll have your hide for this you little greenhorn."
Russ remained calm. "So long as Oscar's okay, you're welcome to it."
The young agent stepped away from Hansen, and moved to the other side of the surveillance van. He glanced at the electronic panels, watching the television monitors transmitting from the cameras set up throughout Oscar's building, and in his apartment. All was quiet; but Russ knew it wouldn't last.
A window on the top floor of Oscar's building slowly opened. One after the other, four unseen men dressed in black, expertly scaled up to the roof and stealthily slipped over the side of it. The four NSB agents stationed in each corner of the roof never saw them coming.
Oscar took his jacket off, tossing it in a nearby chair. He loosened his tie as he poured himself a glass of scotch, and unholstered his snub-nosed Colt as he walked into the sunken living room. Wearily, he plopped in a comfortable chair, setting the .38 in his lap. He took a long sip from the scotch, and tried to force himself to relax. A moment later, he let his head fall back to the cushion of the chair, closing his eyes. His mind quickly turned to Jaime: he hoped Rudy had remembered to stop by his office on his way out as he had promised. The thought of something happening to Jaime terrified him. He opened his eyes and took another sip of scotch, welcoming the warmth of the liquid as it rolled down his throat and into his belly.
The unassuming knock on his front door made him start.
He set the glass down on the table in front of him, and picked up the Colt from his lap. Oscar gripped the gun hard, pressing the cold steel into the palm of his hand. He walked cautiously to his front door, holding the .38 in a firing position.
His timbre was stern, "Yes?"
He recognized the small, high-pitched voice immediately. "Mr. Goldman? Mr. Goldman, it's your neighbor, Horace Niedelmeyer...."
Oscar let out a long sigh of air, set the Colt down on the small side table by the door, and shook his head: it was just what he didn't need, Horace Niedelmeyer. But Goldman couldn't keep the slight smile from his lips. At least once a week for the past five years, since his wife's passing, the 87-year old had some minor household issue he needed Oscar's help to resolve. The old man was lonely, and that was certainly a feeling Oscar could understand. Goldman opened the door, and there stood the diminutive elderly man, in his rumpled sweater, and thick, black-framed glasses that Oscar was sure he'd been wearing since 1955.
Goldman tried to keep the tension from his voice, "Mr. Niedelmeyer.....what seems to be the trouble this evening?"
The old man grinned, his thickly-accented speech a little heavier than usual, "I vas vondering if you could shpare a moment to help me vis mine television."
"What seems to be the problem?"
"It's olt, mine boy, like me, andt I think it needs zome minor adjustments, the picture's gone all shcrewy-upsy. I know you're busy, you always are, but if you vould help me, I vould be most grateful, andt you know there's always a cup of tea andt a varm piece of schnecken for you vhen you're finished."
Goldman smiled at the old man, "All right, Mr. Niedelmeyer, but I'll have to take a raincheck on the tea and schnecken, I have a lot of work that I must finish tonight."
The old man's eyes lit up at the mention of Oscar's work, and he tugged on Goldman's sleeve to follow him. "Are you shtill huntink bad men for de government? You'd think after all the years you've been at it, you'd have caught von by now...."
Goldman had to stifle his laughter as he followed Niedelmeyer into the apartment next door. If nothing else, the old man always provided much-needed comic relief in Oscar's life. Goldman glanced at his watch; he would have to stick to the five minute rule tonight. He didn't want to take a chance that the old man would be caught in any kind of crossfire.
Russ had to stifle the laugh that rumbled in his throat as he watched the monitor over Hansen's shoulder.
"Unbelievable," Hansen commented, "the Director of the OSI's hobby is repairing television sets for little old neighbors who have nothing better to do."
"Have a heart, Hansen, the guy's almost 90, and he's been living next door to Oscar for about 20 years."
Hansen glared at Russ, but chose not to respond. That would come later, and he would make this young upstart of Goldman's pay. For now, he needed to stay sharp and keep a tight rein on the operation.
Kneeling in the dark alley by the back entrance to Goldman's building, Agent Nathan Franks whispered into his walkie-talkie.
"All members of Operation Prime Time report in."
He waited while each agent quietly responded that he was in place and ready.
As the litany of reponses carried across the communication device, the last of the four men in black on the roof, dispatched his NSB counterpart, watching the man silently slide to unconsciousness at his feet.
He picked up the dropped walkie-talkie and responded, "R4 all clear and standing by."
Agent Franks signaled to Hansen, "Stepsister one to Stepmother; the pumpkins are in place, ready to whisk Cinderella off to the promised land."
Hansen's voice delivered quietly through the walkie-talkie, "Read you, Stepsister one. It's all up to Prince Charming now. Stepmother out."
Franks slipped the walkie-talkie into his pocket and silently waited, unaware of the danger on the rooftop.
A few buildings away from Goldman's Jaime used her bionics to leap upward from balcony to balcony. Within minutes she was on the roof of the building down the street. Crouching low, she quickly worked her way across the roof, and scanning the street below for any watchful agents, she jumped across the alleyway to the next building. Ten minutes after leaving Rudy in the car, Jaime landed on the roof of Oscar's building, and right into the hands of the Shia Hizballah.