Did he see them? Could he hear the little fuel cell motor?
Ventura could hear the man, because Ventura was wearing bat ears--tiny
electronic plugs that functioned both as a hearing aid for normal
sounds and suppressors for sudden loud noises.
Ventura pulled the flash grenade from his pocket, thumbed the safety
ring out and flipped the cover up, then pressed the timer button. He
had five seconds, and he wanted it to go off in the air. One ... two
... three ... four--throw, the overhand lob, up and outward ... Ventura
closed his eyes against the bright flash he knew was coming. It
wouldn't make much noise.
He could see the photonic blast through his closed eyelids anyway. It
faded, and he opened his eyes at the same time he heard the kidnapper's
startled yell. If the man was wearing spook eyes that would close the
automatic shutters for a heartbeat. If he wasn't, his night vision was
going to be gone.
Ventura drew his pistol and goosed the little scooter.
The kidnapper fired three shots, but from the angle of the flashes, he
was shooting way behind them. Probably no spook eyes then.
Ventura indexed the flashes and shot back, two rounds.
His own earplugs cut out the harsh noise within a hundredth of a
second, suppressing the hurtful decibel level.
He heard the man scream, and heard him hit the ground.
One down.
He circled the scooter away and back toward the fence, along the path
he'd decided upon earlier. He did a tactical reload, changed
magazines, dropping the one missing a round into his pocket. Something
bothered him, something was wrong, and it took a few seconds before he
figured out what it was:
Why had the kidnapper shot at them? Two men on a scooter, more than
twenty meters away, in the dark? It was a very risky shot; Ventura was
an expert with his pistol and he wouldn't have chanced it. Even if the
shooter knew which man was which, how could he take the risk of hitting
Morrison? He'd have to know that if he killed the scientist, the game
was over, and his ass would be fried. Could the Chinese have hired
somebody that foolish? Somebody who would panic at a bright light and
accidentally cook the golden goose?
It was one more inconsistency that didn't add up. But he'd have to
work it out later--there were still three of them running around, and
the one who had gotten into range had surprised him. You didn't want
to tilt the playing field too far in your enemy's favor. Ventura did
not have a death wish.
'You shot him,' Morrison said.
'Yes, I did.'
'Is he ... dead, do you think?'
Ventura shrugged.
'Who cares? He knew the job was dangerous when he took it. If he
didn't, then he's an idiot.
Or he was an idiot. And he shot at us first, remember?
We were just defending ourselves.'
Morrison didn't say anything.
