The two highly trained Navy Seals crouched on either side of the door. Moments earlier, they’d descended by rope from their stealth helicopter, rappelled over the compound wall, and made their silent way up to the third floor. Now they glanced at each other, embarrassed, as a woman’s moans echoed through the upper hallway beyond the door.
“You sure he’s in there?” whispered Joe.
“‘Fuck knows. That’s what the intel said, Frank.”
“God damn it! We can’t just burst in there and shoot him in the head. She hasn’t come yet.”
“Who gives a shit. Fucker blew up the Twin Towers. We’ve been hunting this asshole for ten years! The time is *now*, good buddy.”
Still neither of them moved. The shouts of ecstasy intensified. Beyond the door, a wooden headboard battered a wall. Frank tapped his toe impatiently.
Joe shrugged. “She’s almost there.”
“How would you know?”
“I watch lots of porn.”
“Oh, great! You call that intel? We’re going to be here all night.”
Finally, after a long, ululating wail, the female voice died away.
Bursting into the room, they confronted two naked women clutching sheets to their chests in terror.
“Shit. Wrong house.”