"Director Ward, the target is in the net."
The voice on the other end of the encrypted line was low and filled with a suppressed excitement. It was Ray Archer, one of the young Turks from the County Council Office who had spent the evening feeding Hugo Shepherd "sauce-flavored" mineral water.
Ambrose Ward sat in the driver’s seat of his sedan, parked in a dark corner of the Garden Hotel’s lot. He watched the glowing windows of the eighth floor, his face illuminated by the faint light of his dashboard. "Good work, Ray. Make sure your people are clear of the floor. I don't want any 'friendly fire' when the Public Order Brigade moves in."
"We’re already downstairs, Director. We made sure the hotel staff saw us leave. As far as the record is concerned, we dropped him off and went home."
"U
