He stopped to assess the situation. President Erslan would be within the Office, no doubt accompanied by a force from the Presidential Guard. Large oak doors were the obvious way in.
His health was adequate, given the advanced stage of the mission. The only significant damage was a bullet through his right thigh. The leg was missing a chunk, somewhere under the blood-soaked rag of his trousers. But he was still mobile. He had learned to ignore the pain, and let adrenaline drive him on. Injuries did not count against his ranking, only the end result.
He took a deep breath to clear his mind.
‘Zak!’ came a voice.
The call struck him with fear. Not that he was afraid of any horror the game could throw at him.
‘Zak, are you there?’
It wasn’t a team-mate. The voice was distant and echoed. It was his mum calling.
‘Oh god!’ he cried. ‘Not now.’
‘Don’t tell me she’s only just realised,’ said Van.
‘I’ve locked the bedroom door. That should keep her at bay for a while,’ said Zak. ‘But she must be communicating through the Mind Mat.’
Zak had been expecting this for the last six weeks. But what timing!
Better get this done as quick as possible, thought Zak. He launched his attack, throwing two grenades at the oak doors. The explosions ripped off the doors and the surrounding masonry, filling the air with smoke and dust. He dived through the resultant hole and rolled onto the floor.
On this mission, Zak carried an automatic rifle. His tactic with it was straightforward, but required great skill. Each three round burst of gunfire was directed in a trajectory to hit three targets. It was an approach pioneered by his hero, Abel White. Zak had practised it to the point where it was now being carried out by his subconscious. A dotted line of enemy heads would flash in his mind, and he would guide the three bullets along it.
