with no problems. His team was on alert.
If anything that looked like a gun, or a canister of gas, or any kind
of weapon, made an appearance in the still-well-lit theater, things
would happen fast. Nobody was going to be yelling 'Drop it!' or
'Don't move!' At the first sign of aggression, his people were to cook
the Chinese--all of them--no hesitation, no questions. Any screwups,
and Wu's people were all history. It was a harsh response, but the
only way to go here. One guy blasting away indiscriminately with a
small sub gun or even a pistol could do a lot of damage--and it wasn't
going to happen.
'There you are, Dr. Morrison. You should see it on your machine.'
Morrison tapped keys.
'Yes. It's in and verified.' He typed in another sequence.
'The account number and password are both changed.'
'Then you have it. We can deposit but we can't take it back. You're a
rich man. Now it's your turn.'
Morrison nodded. He still looked like a man sitting in an electric
chair, waiting for the current to flow.
'Here is the address for our people,' Wu said. He held the computer up
so Morrison could see the screen.
'You send them the data, they say they can have it tested in less than
two hours. They work, we watch the movie, everybody goes home
happy.'
Wu turned to look at Ventura.
'You know, Luther, if it had been left up to me, I expect I would have
tried for a--how shall we say?--cheaper offer.'
Ventura gave him a small smile.
'Such an offer couldn't have been ... acceptable, Chilly.'
'You don't think so?'
'I know so.'
Wu's smile matched Ventura's own.
'It would have been very interesting to see whose opinion was right,
wouldn't it?'
'Yes.'
The two of them held gazes for another moment.
Wu said, 'Well. Another time.' He looked away, back at Morrison.
'Doctor, if you would?'
Ventura was victorious. His smile broadened.
Morrison nodded and started to type in the electronic address.
'Gun!' somebody screamed---and sure enough, guns started to go off.
Wednesday, June 15th Washington, D.C.
Toni was right behind Alex. The gas mask had big, wide lenses that
left her peripheral vision clear, but there was an annoying clicking
sound every time she inhaled. And she was breathing pretty fast, too.
She forgot about her breathing and the noise fast enough when the first
of the six-man team ahead of them crashed through the door into the
back room of the surplus store. Bright flashes of actinic light
strobed her, but the mask's polarizers kicked in and blocked the glare
within a hundredth of a second or so. She should have worn earplugs,
