‘But Mommy, that man has a gun.’
All the woman and her friend heard was the word gun. They were about to scream when three men dressed in black seemed to materialize out of the shrubbery, clamped a hand over their mouths, and dragged them to the side of the house.
‘Please, be silent! We are with Security Services.’ The man produced his identification and the women and child were immediately silenced and relieved. ‘Come with me.’ The other two men, dressed in black, both armed with automatic rifles and wearing flack-jackets, moved off. In the distance there was a subdued burst of static from a radio.
They were half a block away when they heard the sound of gunfire.
Lorne was too afraid for his family to feel anger. He expected that would come later, but he wasn’t sure. All he knew was that Security had come for him, had brought him swiftly to this safe house and now guarded it.
‘Any word?’ he asked the young woman who brought him coffee in a Styrofoam cup.
‘None yet,’ she replied, avoiding looking him in the eye, which served only to further exacerbate his anxiety. Noticing his reaction caused her to at last make eye contact, prompting her to say candidly, though indirectly, ‘I hope you know this matter goes far beyond anything we were anticipating. Subtle professionalism we were prepared for . . . outright terrorism we were not.’