Rising Storm

wasn't a student gone bonkers. Those tended to use live ammo. They also tended to attract a lot of official and media attention, something he had no desire to be around.

Speculatively he thumped against the side of the roof shack. It was only a thin, narrow sheet of corrugated steel, made simply to keep the weather out of the stairwell. It should be a simple matter to bend a piece back and slip down the stairs unseen.

He pulled a multitool out of his back pocket and set to work. With considerable effort he managed to dislodge one of the bolts holding the sheet to its frame; then getting his fingers under the edge, he pulled up. With a hiss he let go and looked with dismay at the cuts on his fingers. The damn thing was tack-welded as well as bolted.

I should have expected it, he thought bitterly, sucking on a bleeding finger.

These things have to be student-proof.

Well, he might as well make his move now. Dieter swung around the door and threw himself through the opening. He felt something hit his heel just before he tucked in to control his fall down the steps, rolling to his feet when he came to the landing. Looking down, He found a clutch of feathers sprouting from the heel of his running shoe. He also felt the beginning of a nice set of bruises where the risers had smacked into his back. That was endurable, and the thick muscle had protected his back.

He plucked the dart out with a curse and flung it away, then rolled his aching shoulders and trotted down the stairs.

I'm getting too old for this, he grumbled mentally.

He hit the stairwell door on the ground floor and moved quickly toward the maintenance doors, his eyes moving constantly. He saw no evidence of agents closing on the building. What he did see was a big, sandy-haired jock.

'Hey!' he said.

The boy looked up from his book, his mouth partly open.

'How would you like to make a few bucks?' Dieter asked him.

The kid looked at him for a minute. 'How many bucks and what do I have to do to earn it?'

'I want you to put on this jacket and these glasses,' von Rossbach said, taking them off. 'Then I want you to walk out to the parking lot and come back.'

'Oh, yeah?' the kid said. 'How come? And you forgot to mention how much.'

'Fifty bucks.' Von Rossbach flung the jacket over his arm and pulled his wallet out of his back pocket.

The kid looked at him from under his eyebrows. 'And the why?'

'I think this guy I owe some money to is following me. I just want to check.'

'Hey'—the kid raised his hands—'I don't want no trouble. Noooo, no, no, no.'

'Aw, c'mon. There won't be any trouble. He'll know you're not me in a couple of minutes. Which is why I'd like you to run out. You can walk back, though.'

Dieter took out two twenties and a ten. The kid still shook his head, so Dieter added a couple more twenties. The kid looked at him sideways and made a keep-it-coming gesture. Dieter pulled out another pair of twenties.

'I did mention that I owed this guy money?' he said.

The kid grinned, grabbed the money and the jacket. 'Hey, man, I'm cheap at twice the price,' he said, slipping on Dieter's sunglasses.

Von Rossbach took the boy's sunglasses and whipped a blue bandanna out of his back pocket.

'Hey!' the kid said. 'Gimme back my glasses.'

'Those are RayBans,' Dieter said, indicating the pair the boy was wearing.

The kid looked at him tor a moment, then lowered the sunglasses. 'Kewl,' he said. Then he hoisted his backpack.

'I'll watch that for you,' Dieter said hastily.

With a shrug and a slight tightening of his lips the boy acquiesced. ' 'Kay,' he grunted. 'I'll be right back.'

'Just run,' Dieter said. 'Don't look around; just take off, okay?'

The kid shook his head. 'Sure, whatever.'

As von Rossbach watched him go he tied the bandanna over his hair, put on the kid's funky sunglasses, and picked up the backpack. He watched the boy hit the door and go down the steps at a run. He was taking a shortcut across the lawn when he went down, skidding almost to the base of an oleander. Dieter didn't wait to see any more; he turned and jogged to the building's other door and walked calmly toward the building where the shooter was lodged. Once inside, he ditched the backpack and raced up the stairs to the roof. He had only moments to get behind his target.

Is the Sector getting sloppy, or am I just lucky? he thought as he raced up the stairwell, dodging the occasional student on the lower levels.

Normal procedure would be to have at least two more shooters on the stairwells as backup, in case of just this sort of counterattack. Von Rossbach found nothing

but deserted stairs as he cautiously peered around corners on the last two floors.

The exit door was closed, but as he expected, the tongue of the lock was held down with a piece of transparent tape. It opened silently, and he stepped out on the rooftop, running forward lightly with his weight on the balls of his feet.

The shooter with the dart rifle was dressed in nondescript black sweats—campus fashions were convenient for covert ops people—and lying with the bipod-mounted weapon beside him, looking through a small pair of binoculars down onto the lawn. The attache case the gun had rested in was open, revealing shaped slots to hold the weapon when it was broken down into its components.

He heard Dieter's feet when the Austrian was still five yards away; one of the disadvantages of two hundred and sixty pounds of solid muscle. The sniper was tall but slender, lithe and very quick. He came up off the tar and gravel in a spectacular twirling handstand that sent one booted foot slashing out toward the face of the man running toward him.

Dieter blocked it with crossed wrists, grabbed the man by the ankle, and turned, whipping him through the air like a giant flail. A single incredulous squawk was cut off by a massive thumping sound as the sniper's head hit the rooftop and rebounded. The Austrian dropped the limp, unconscious body, grinning. There were advantages to his build; one of them was that people always assumed he'd be slow.

He peered over the low parapet of the rooftop; two men leaned over the prostrate student. They turned him over and looked at each other, then looked up at the roof where Dieter lay. They couldn't see any details from where they stood because the sun was behind him. All they'd see was his head and some of his

shoulders. He held his hands up in a go-figure gesture and slid out of sight.

Then, crouching low, he moved over to the far side of the building, which overlooked the office of his old friend and teacher, Dr. Paul Wang. Wang was a scientist and engineer who for years had been training upper-level Sector agents in electronic equipment and high-tech gadgetry. Sometimes it took all they had just to stay even with the other side.

Dieter had helped the good doctor with a little problem involving his son and afterward the two men had become friends. Which is why von Rossbach had come here; to meet with a trusted companion he thought could be of help. And while he was certain that Wang could indeed help, he was now equally certain that the professor was not his friend.

Clear the board, he thought. Move on.

Across the street the steps and lawns were empty of life except for a pair of male students leaning against a wall talking. They were perhaps a little old looking for students, despite their books and casual clothes. Still, there were grad students around and Ph.D. candidates in plenty to explain the discrepancy in their ages.

Von Rossbach would still have recognized them as Sector agents, even without the telltale gestures made toward their earpieces that brought them both to higher alert, whatever their disguise. He'd worked with them for several months less than five years ago.

They must think I'm a complete loon, Dieter thought. Why else would they send people he was bound to recognize after him? With a sigh von Rossbach eased himself away from the building's edge