It was only a matter of time before the people of America came around, and Gunderson would be there, leading the charge.
Luther and Nemo climbed out of the vault carrying duffel bags full of cash.
Gunderson looked over at them. “How we doing, boys?”
“We’re clear,” Luther said.
“Excellent. Baby?”
At the back of the room, Sara looked up from a patchwork of Semtex-or plastic boom-boom, as she liked to call it-part of a shipment Gunderson had had smuggled in from Prague. “All set, sweetie.”
He clapped his hands together. “All right then, let’s put some wheels on this wagon and ride.” He gestured to Luther, who immediately dropped his duffel bag, brought out his cell phone and touched the screen, switching it to video mode.
The only thing the traditional media offered Gunderson was exposure-which, of course, was his real reason for being here. But the traditional media was controlled by gutless corporate stooges. Expecting them to broadcast his true message was like expecting the late, lamented Mother Teresa to take a dump on the steps of the Vatican.
Gunderson knew full well that Fox and the nightly news would reduce him to a six-second sound bite courtesy of ATF lackeys like Jack Donovan. So he took matters into his own hands by pirating various high-traffic Internet sites to spread the word.
That’s where the video cam came in.
Gunderson smoothed his hair back, adjusted his ponytail, then waited for Luther to take a good pan shot of the damage they’d done. As the camera turned on him, he addressed the hostages.
“All right, listen up,” he said. “This little garden party has been brought to you courtesy of the Socialist Amerikan Reconstruction Army. We’re ordinary folk, just like yourselves, striking a blow against a New World Order that uses mind control and propaganda to beat its citizens into submission and turn us into slaves. It’s all about freedom, folks, and we’re taking it back. If any of you want to join us, check out our Web site at S-A-R-A dot com.”
He looked directly into the camera. “Get ready, America. The revolution is now.”
He scraped a finger across his neck, gesturing for Luther to stop rolling. Unhooking a two-way radio from his belt, he flicked it on. “Big Daddy to Tina. You out there?”
A voice crackled in response. “Roger, Big Daddy. Already in position.”
“Thirty seconds and counting,” Gunderson said, then returned his attention to the hostages. “Everybody on your feet.”
The hostages, still facedown on the floor, glanced at each other as if the command had been too much for their minuscule brains to comprehend. Fucking morons.
“Come on, come on,” Gunderson snapped. “Hop to it.”
One by one they started to rise, still looking at each other, fear in their eyes. Some of the women broke into tears.
When they were all on their feet, he said, “Okay. I’m gonna start counting. When I get to three, I want you to run your asses straight into the street. The last one out those doors gets a bullet to the back of the brain. Understand?”
Wide stares. More tears.
“I’ll take that as a yes. Here we go: one… two…”
Before he could finish, a beefy boy in a three-piece suit cut loose and beelined it for the doors. The room filled with shouts and screams as the rest of the hostages scrambled after him.
Gunderson watched the stampede in slow motion and smiled. “Three.”
The bank doors flew open without warning. A fat man in a three-piece suit stumbled out, fell to his hands and knees, and was nearly trampled by a dozen or more hostages as they clawed their way past the bottleneck and spilled into the street. It was as if someone had fired a starter pistol in the middle of a herd of buffalo. Not exactly the orderly hostage release Donovan had envisioned.
As he watched them pile out, their faces tight with panic, all at once he realized what this was.
Gunderson’s angle.
“Sonofabitch,” he muttered, turning to his men. Sledgehammer or no sledgehammer, Gunderson was going out the back. “He’s using them for cover. Get in there-now!”
Donovan vaulted the hood of a patrol car and bolted. Yanking his government-issue Glock from its holster, he plowed through the exiting crowd and fought his way toward the entrance.
Something hissed past his head-something from inside the bank-and hit the ground nearby, smoke billowing. A smoke bomb, courtesy of Gunderson’s well-stocked arsenal. Judging by the explosion they’d heard earlier, that arsenal included a significant amount of C-4 or possibly Semtex. Donovan had to get inside that bank before Gunderson could put it to further use.
But just as he reached the doors, another explosion rocked the building, its message rumbling in the pit of his stomach.
He was too late.
The deed was already done.
5
The cop named Randy was staring at her tits, asking her, “Who the hell is Big Daddy?” when the second explosion blew a hole the size of a freight wagon through the rear wall of the bank building. Chunks of cement flew everywhere, taking a couple of blue boys with them.
“Holy shit,” the cop said, and as he spun toward the building, Tina put a bullet in his ear.
How’s that for an exclusive?
She had the van in gear before his body hit the pavement. Behind her, in the well of the van, her partner, Gabriel, popped a grenade into the breech of an M203 launcher, then rolled open the side door and fired.
The charge pounded the gas tank of the nearest patrol car, sending up a mushroom cloud of fire and smoke and debris.
“Hold on!” Tina shouted.
Punching the accelerator, she slammed through a wooden barrier and blew past the flaming patrol car.
Cops were running everywhere, dazed, weapons drawn, looking to each other for direction and getting none. Tina heard Gabe pop another charge into the breech and fire.
A second patrol car exploded, noxious smoke and fumes billowing, giving them cover from any potential sharpshooters stationed above. Tina held her breath, feeling the heat of the flames as she roared past the patrol cars and angled the van toward the ragged hole in the building.
The chatter of Colt Commando fire came from inside the bank. Out on the street, one cop went down in a burst of blood, followed by another and another, as Alex and crew stepped out into the open, bulging duffel bags in hand.
Woo-hoo, Tina thought. We are gold.
“Come on! Come on!” Alex shouted, gesturing with his weapon. He kept looking over his shoulder into the bank. Someone or something was coming and they didn’t have a moment to spare.
Tina swung around next to them, screeched to a halt. As Luther and Nemo tossed in their duffel bags, Alex helped Sara climb inside. “Easy, baby. Get up front and strap yourself in.”
Luther and Nemo jumped in after her. Alex was about to follow when Tina heard a shout from inside the building.
“Freeze, Gunderson!”
Tina swiveled her head. A guy in a navy blue flak jacket stood in a haze of smoke inside the bank, his weapon pointed directly at Alex’s back.
The Fed. Jackass Donovan.
