discretion was indeed the better part of valor. He smiled nervously
and started to head for the door.
'Whoa, hold up there, Mr. Net Force Agent.'
Jay looked at Fiscus and saw that the man held a big, dark metal
pistol.
'You aren't supposed to have that in the District. It's illegal.'
'Do tell. Take your hands away from your belt and put them where I can
see them.' He waved the pistol.
Jay had another sudden flash. The only reason Fiscus had told him any
of this stuff about the man he'd come looking for was because he didn't
expect Jay to be able to act on it--or tell anybody else.
He had seen a lot of vids.
Jay suddenly had a vacuum in his belly that must rival deepest space.
This was not VR. He couldn't just ax a : command and drop back into
his office. That gun was real.
He was turned slightly so Fiscus couldn't see his right hip. He
double-triple-pressed the panic button on his virgil--one-two-three,
one-two-three--then slowly moved his hands away from his body.
'Take it easy,' Jay said.
'Let's be reasonable here.'
'That's real good, Mr. Agent. Now, let's mosey on into the back room,
and have ourselves a little talk, hey?'
Woodland Hills, California
Morrison leaned against the counter in the bathroom, staring at himself
in the mirror. His face had a psychedelic cast to it--it was as if he
was seeing a stranger.
He washed his hands, bent, and rinsed out his mouth.
He had the little gun in his sport coat pocket, but the small weight of
it bumping against his right hip was not comforting.
He was scared, frightened to the point where all he wanted to do was to
take off at full speed and run until he couldn't keep going. He wanted
to find a place to hide when he got there and sleep until all this
somehow went away.
He looked at the frightened man in the mirror again.
Running and hiding wouldn't do any good now. It was too late. In a
few minutes, an agent for the Chinese would arrive--already some of his
people were probably lined up outside the theater waiting to get
in--and Morrison was going to have to sit and negotiate a deal with the
man who called himself Chilly Wu.
Morrison stood there for what seemed like a long time,
staring into the mirror, but not really seeing himself any longer.
Ventura came around the corner behind him, and Morrison jumped.
'Wu just pulled up. You ready?'
'I--Yes, as ready as I can be.'
'Don't worry. My man in the projection booth has an Anschutz Biathlon
rifle that will be lined up on the back of Wu's head the second he
takes his seat. The shooter -can hit a quarter ten for ten at that
distance. Every one of Wu's people will have somebody watching him. We
have this covered.'
Despite just washing out his mouth, it was dry again.
