she realized, because the noise was loud inside the building. A misty
cloud of green gray vapor boiled up with the explosions and lapped
against the walls with the racket.
She heard a triplet of quick, smaller explosions--pap!
pap-pap!--gunshots, she was sure--and Alex dog legged to the left. She
followed him. Somebody yelled something she couldn't make out, and
somebody retched so loudly it sounded as if he was turning his guts
inside out.
Alex looked back at her.
'You okay?'
'Yes, I'm fine.'
Then it was all over.
The mist, which felt greasy on her bare skin, started to clear, and the
police team spread out enough so Toni could see four men who weren't
cops. Three of them were on their hands and knees, vomiting. One was
on his back, blood oozing from holes in his side and one leg. He had
his head sideways and he was throwing up, too.
One of the men on his knees enjoying the purging benefits of emetic gas
was Jay Gridley.
'Thank God,' Toni said into the mask. The sound was muffled, but she
saw Alex nod.
'Yeah,' he said.
Woodland Hills, California
Wu was quick. He dropped from his seat onto the sticky floor and
tossed the tub of popcorn into Ventura's face as he fell.
Ventura was able to hear the rifle shot from the projection booth, was
aware even as he pulled his own gun that the flat crack of the
small-bore long ann was distinct from the duller, louder handgun
sounds-Wu came up with a gun--it must have been underneath the popcorn
tub--and jammed it at Ventura. He fired twice-Quick and good, too The
bullets hit Ventura square in the chest, but the titanium trauma plate
in the pocket of the blended Kevlar/ spider silk vest under his shirt
stopped the rounds, even though they felt like sledgehammers against
his sternum-Ventura cleared his own weapon and brought it
around-Morrison was up and running, screaming wordlessly-Wu cursed and
got off another round, higher this time, right on the edge of the
trauma plate-More gunshots blasted in the theater-One-handed, Ventura
fired-one, two, three!--letting the recoil raise the muzzle each time,
so the shots walked up Wu's body, in case he was also wearing a vest,
so the hits were chest-throat-head-'Stop, stop, stop--!' Morrison
screamed.
Ventura looked up from Wu, saw that Morrison had his own little .22
revolver out and pointed in front of himself as he reached the
aisle-One of Ventura's best shooters--the ex-SEAL, Blackwell-moved to
grab Morrison, to pull him down and out of the line of fire--good,
good!--but Morrison was panicked, and he thrust his weapon out at the
man-'Morrison, no!' Ventura screamed.
'Don't--!'
Too late. Morrison pulled the trigger. Blackwell, coming to save the
scientist, was five feet away, and even Morrison couldn't miss every
