From their examination of the building plans, plus some more up-to-date input from Winslow, Alter had a pretty good idea of the current floorplan. The newly secured lobby area stretched across the front of the building, with the two corridors linking together towards the rear to form a U-shape. The rooms on the outside of the U were small, private meeting chambers with a row of supply rooms at the rear which contained the back stairs. The windowless centre had been split into two larger rooms. The first, which opened up onto the lobby through a pair of ornate double doors, was the casino. The second was a larger private room for parties and the like. Four rooms on each flank, three to the rear with one already secured, and two in the centre with multiple points of entry. A minimum of twelve doors to be pushed through, all of which were closed save for the one the two drunk youths had left ajar during their retreat. Conditions acceptable. The two teams would work towards each other to completely clear one flank, leaving teams of Houseguards to cover any blind spots that could be used by devious patrons for any Scooby-Doo level room-swapping sneakiness. Then they’d sweep through the centre simultaneously before polishing off the opposite flank and heading for the top floor. According to Winslow, none of the doors in the first floor could be locked, so they wouldn’t have to worry about hard-breaching and all the warning that gives. Both teams had a half dozen flashbangs between them should they face prepared opposition. They also held similar amounts of smoke grenades but were without any means to see through the cloud beyond Boats’ coveted thermal scope and its rapidly draining battery. Using one would be a second-to-last resort before hosing the room down with highly aggressive lead raindrops.

Gently, gingerly, Alter leant on the doorframe of the first room and softly put his ear to the door as the rest of the team readied themselves around him. Unlocked it may be but that didn’t mean it would divulge its secrets easily; the wood yielded no sounds. He looked across the doorway to Boats who nodded and crept his questing fingers onto the door handle. After a series of mirrored nods to confirm all were ready, Alter held up three fingers. Then two. One. His free hand flashed back to his foregrip as the door was flung open. As one, Alter and Boats surged into the room, fingers on triggers and muzzles sweeping all four corners of the newly revealed space. There was no shout of alarm nor clatter of hastily knocked over furniture. As the two men paused on either side of the doorway with Pavejack moving to block the exit, the room remained perfectly still. A pair of candles mounted on wall brackets on either side of the room cast dim light across the space. A pair of lavish sofas faced each other across a low table in the centre of the room, flanked by a pair of armchairs similar to what had been seen downstairs. The terms ‘pristine’ and ‘unused’ sprung to mind, the table was devoid of bottles or glasses, the cushions on the sofas were straight and exact. The air seemed unnaturally clear of the thick scents that clogged the rest of the building. Alter and Boats continued their steady progress along the walls, keeping their weapons trained on the few hiding places the room offered. No one, and with a quick duck down to check the underneath of the furniture Alter was happy to call it empty.

“Clear.” He called softly and turned for the door, thumbing his radio. “Team One has no contact in the first room, moving on.”

“Team Two here, two suspects in hand. Staff, unarmed and cooperative. We’re handing them off now before moving to the next room.” Riptide reported over the radio.

One by one they exited the space, quietly closing the door behind them. The next door was the opened one, causing warm firelight to spill into the corridor. They would be exposed on the approach to anyone hugging the corridor-side wall, a fact that was only compounded by the small door to one of the central chambers that sat opposite. There was no question as to whether the room was occupied or not, a frequent, low droning sound was punctuated by intermittent muttering.

“Odd time for a snooze.” Boats whispered as they peered inside.

The interior matched the previous chamber almost one-to-one. The difference lay in the carnage. One of the armchairs appeared to be making a bid for freedom, the other lay toppled on its side. The table was both a mess with glassware and awash with spilled drink. Cushions littered the floor like toadstools on a forgotten forest floor. Sticking out from the sofa facing away from the door was a pair of boots, complete with an attached set of hairy legs. The snoring continued unabated as the team prowled into the room, revealing a portly middle-aged man sound asleep clutching a two-thirds finished bottle of liquor. The clothes suggested ‘wealthy merchant’, likely harmless, but thoroughness was the word of the day. Having confirmed Sleeping Boozey as the sole occupant, Walross waved a pair of guards to come and haul the man to safety and, likely, a boat-load of paracetamol. Three rooms down, steady work made for steady progress. Once again, they resumed careful progress down the corridor.

“Drop it! Drop it right now!” The men winced as Whim’s shrill, snarling voice pierced the air from around the corner. His outburst was immediately followed by a pair of gunshots. “Fucking Dumbass! You, don’t fucking move! Stay on the goddamned floor!”

“Team One, hold position, cover your angles.” Alter quickly ordered, sinking one knee into the plush carpet. If anything was going to set these hold-outs into motion, it was that kind of outburst. The three other men settled into similar positions as quieter, less violent noises continued to emerge.

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“Well, they’re getting all the action.” Pavejack complained.

“Good for them.” Walross responded bluntly, his poignant words enough to silence any further comment.

“Team Two here. One armed hostile down, two further contacts disarmed and cooperating.” Even through the disruptive medium of the radio, they could tell how hard Riptide’s jaw was clenched. “And will continue to do so, if they want to remain unharmed.” He continued, his words clearly meant for their new captives.

Pavejack appeared to pick up on something as they waited, cocking his head to one side with eyes closed. A moment later he held out a hand, mimed a speaking mouth and pointed towards the centre wall. That was inconvenient but expected, they’d need to keep an extra gun trained on the possible angles of attack. Presently, sounds of a scuffle filled the air as the other team marched their captives towards the stairs.

“Get your hands off me, you slushpisser! Wait till Sixblade hears off this. Hey, you got family, huh? You got children back home? Nice and tucked up in bed? He’ll snatch them for this, you hear me? Carve them up into tiny pieces and hang them for all to see in Rosehip Square!” An unknown voice shouted from the same direction.

Alter frowned, someone had found their nerve a little too late in the day. ‘Sixblade’ was a new name, one certainly worth remembering for later. Given the severity of the promised retaliation, he doubted this individual was associated with the Known House, but perhaps the shouting man had been bigging them up in the hopes of intimidating them into letting him go. A moment later Team Two, having now cleared all the rooms along the back wall, appeared around the corner. All looked healthy and alert, with Whim sporting a number of red spots across his face and uniform. Riptide quickly crossed the distance between them and leaned in to whisper.

“Eloquent guy, eh? All things considered this is going pretty well. I’m guessing you want to hit these two rooms simultaneously.” He asked.

“Correct. We’ve heard hushed voices in the party room, I need you to keep an additional pair of eyes on your rear when you breach.” Alter responded.

Riptide nodded and made his way back to his team. The last pair of doors were situated much closer together, tucked into the corner as if in secret conspiracy. Reunited, the squad took up defensive positions, with Pavejack and Walross covering one direction complimented by Boozehound and Whim facing the other. There was only enough space for a dividing wall between the doors, making stacking up on either side impossible for both teams at once. A couple of quick positional adjustments later and they were ready. As one the doors opened and the teams poured in.

The room was occupied, the men had prepared for their arrival. Alter stumbled as he encountered the shin-high table that had been placed before the door, hurriedly climbing on top of it as Boats pushed in from behind. His high ground didn’t last long as a blur of movement racing towards him caused Alter to instinctually hurl himself deeper into the room in order to avoid the oncoming weapon. Two men stood ready, leaping up from their impromptu barricade. A young, well-muscled man swung a wide bladed sword through the empty air where Alter’s midriff had just vacated. He felt something in his shoulder wrench uncomfortably as he made impact with the floor. Desperately, he rolled to face his attacker, struggling to raise his rifle from an awkward prone position.

“Stand down or get put down!” Boats roared as he brought his own weapon to bear.

However, his entry-buddy was unable to make good on his threat as the second man swung a similar sword, causing him to duck down and shift his attention. With highly limited movement options, the Scotsman charged forwards, driving his body into the second attacker in an attempt to barge him to the floor. The wrestling pair sank downwards behind one of the sofas, disappearing from view. Alter was lucky, his diving plunge had fortuitously placed an armchair between him and his attacker, his luck was then doubled by the fact that the man seemed unsure as to whether to continue his assault or aid his friend. This indecision bought valuable seconds, for both Walross to appear in the doorway with rifle primed and for Alter to have a moment of realisation. He knew this man; he was one of the agitators.

“We need this one alive!” He shouted but it was too late. Walross had already squeezed the trigger, causing the man to pirouette and collapse as thin red spurts of blood lashed across the floor.

With an angry snarl Alter pushed himself to his feet and dashed towards where Boats and the other man struggled. His buddy had managed his momentum well and had gained the upper hand. He had the youth pinned between his legs and was busy raining blows into both sides of his skull.

“Enough, Four. He’s out cold.” Alter grabbed the Marksman’s shoulder and forced him away.

Looking down, Alter found that he recognised this man as well. Another agitator, this situation wasn’t a complete wash. Movement at the door drew his attention as Riptide and Vangroover pushed past Walross.

“You all good?” His lieutenant asked hurriedly, concern plastered across his face.

Alter rubbed his impacted shoulder testily, his mouth tightening in response to its pained protests. “I’ll live.” He tried to raise his rifle before shaking his head, he was able to aim but he was too cumbersome. “I’m combat effective but I won’t have the swing speed for first entry, corridor duty for me from this point on.”

Riptide nodded and the squad began to leave the room. Alter found himself shaking his head, bloody hell they were barely a quarter of the way done.