Rising Storm

friends.'

'These friends got names?' Luke asked.

Dieter mentioned one; the two dealers glanced at each other and Waylon raised one shoulder in a half shrug.

'So what you want?' Luke asked.

'I want Barrett fifty-caliber sniper rifles or their equivalent. I want Browning heavy machine guns. I want Carl Gustav or LAW or other light anti-armor weapons; plus any military-grade small arms you have on hand, preferably battle-rifle caliber. I'll need them shipped all over the U.S.,' he added.

Waylon tugged down the corners of his mouth and frowned.

'Gonna be expensive,' he cautioned. 'That there is some heavy shit.'

'For top-quality goods, I can live with expensive,' von Rossbach said easily. He pushed himself off the car door and managed to loom over the two men, even though their heights were almost equal. 'Not getting what I'm paying for, that I couldn't live with.' He stared hard at Waylon until the other man broke eye contact, grinning as he looked at his companion.

'With us y'always get what ya pay for.' He flicked a hand at Dieter. 'Ya think our friend'd steer ya to a bum deal?'

Dieter stared at him for a moment, then shook his head. 'I'll want to see some

samples,' he told them. 'So that there are no misunderstandings about what I want.'

Waylon bit his lip and the two men looked at each other for a long moment.

Then Waylon nodded. 'No problem,' he said cheerfully. 'But we don't carry the stuff with us, nat'cherly.' He pulled a map out of his pocket and spread it on the hood of von Rossbach's Ford. 'We got us a little out-of-the-way spot where we do our private business.' He pointed at a spot marked on the map. 'Meet us here tomorrow night at seven o'clock. You got any questions?'

'Can I keep this?' Dieter asked.

'Sure thing,' Waylon said generously. 'I know my way already.' He grinned.

'Till tomorrow,' he said, touching the brim of his hat.

'Yes,' Dieter said. He folded the map and put it in his breast pocket.

'Tomorrow.'

John got in the passenger side of the car and sat watching the two gun dealers as Dieter started up and drove away in a cloud of dust, the plume vanishing into the dry crackling grass and occasional dark green scrub cedar.

'Is it my imagination, or was there something wrong about them?' he asked.

Dieter grimaced. 'Hard to say,' he answered. 'There's often something off about these people. Maybe to them I still smell like cop. Holmes wouldn't steer me wrong,' he added. 'Of that I'm confident.'

John nodded, then looked out into the desert, frowning. Something still didn't

feel right. 'Not deliberately,' he said. 'But Holmes might be wrong. Or something might have spooked those two.'

'My God! 'Luke said.

'Da-amn!' Waylon agreed, having trouble controlling his gleeful laughter. 'That is fuckin' unbelievable! It was really him!'

Luke punched his fist in the air. 'Yes!' The he looked at his friend. 'How are we gonna handle this?'

'First we call that number,' Waylon said, heading toward their table. 'Oh shit!

Hey! Who cleaned off my table?' he shouted.

The waitress turned to stare, her mouth wide open.

'I wrote something important down on a napkin, Maria! Where is it?'

She pursed her lips and pulled the wastebasket from under the counter. 'This it?'

she asked, pulling up a dirty napkin with a number written on it.

'Yeah,' Waylon said, snatching it from her fingertips. 'Whad' ja do, barf on it?'

Luke pulled his lips back from his teeth in disgust. 'Sure looks like it,' he muttered.

'Hey, bring me some coffee,' Waylon shouted as he went back to his table.

'Yeah,' Luke agreed.

Pulling out his cell phone, Waylon dialed the Crimefighters show, started to speak, and then stopped with an exasperated expression.

'Lines are busy,' he said to Luke. Then, 'Yeah. That guy who shot up all them cops, what's the reward for findin' him?' His mouth and eyes opened wide. 'Five hundred thousand dollars?'

Luke punched the air again and again, stamping his feet beneath the table.

Waylon cocked his head, listening. 'Aw, bless your heart, honey. Don't you worry 'bout me! I'm considered pretty dangerous myself.' He listened. 'No, ma'am, I won't tell you where I'm callin' from. But I will tell you that by tomorrow night that sucker's gonna be on his way to jail! I gah-run-tee it!' He disconnected and grinned at Luke. 'Five, hundred, thousand dollars, buddy!

Whoo!'

Luke shook his head in wonder, then slowly sobered. 'Think we should have help?'

Waylon made a face. 'Bringin' somebody else in means less money fer you 'n me,' he pointed out. Then he looked thoughtful. 'Yeah,' he finally said. 'Good idea actually. We'll get Luis, have 'im wait out in the desert; then if anythin' goes wrong we're covered. He's one mean li'l greaser.' He nodded. 'Yeah.' Then he grinned again and high-fived his buddy. 'Yeeee-HAWWW!'

U.S. SECTOR HEADQUARTERS

'Sir.' The young woman turned from her console toward her superior. 'I think I've got something here.'

The man hurried over; surveillance was in what Sector operatives called 'the pit,' below the slanted glass of the office from which operations oversaw HQ.

'Whatcha got?'

' Crimefighters has received an anonymous phone call from New Mexico inquiring about the reward. He told the operator that he'd have the suspect in custody by tomorrow night.'

The supervisor frowned and leaned toward her, looking over her head at the screen. 'What's his location?'

The agent turned to her computer and tapped a few keys.

'Route 85… he's at a diner named the Big Bee,' she said.

'We have an agent nearby?'

She queried the database. 'The nearest is in Los Alamos,' she said. After a few more taps she said, 'He can be there in an hour.'

'Good.' The supervisor nodded once. 'Send him or her now. Even if this guy has left, someone there might know something.'

UTAH

Alissa smiled, looking positively angelic as she dangled her short legs and feet in their little red shoes off the edge of the too-tall chair; her hands flew over the computer keyboard in a blur of machine-accurate movement, and the crackle of the keys sounded like distant machine-gun fire. The moment she'd heard about

this TV program she'd hacked into their computer and phone system. Then she'd thought better of it and checked out the various government agencies and antiterrorist groups. Only the Sector was also listening in.

While Crimefighters had received the call, the Sector had zeroed in on the location of the caller. The tiny I-950 was delighted by her own cleverness.

*Sister!* she sent to Clea.

Clea, who was having a quiet but, she sensed, important conversation with Roger Colvin, barely skipped a beat as she answered her little sister.

*Bad timing, Alissa,* she warned. Aloud she said to Cyberdyne's CEO, 'There are all sorts of ways this material can be used. I've thought of several weapons, for example. They'd require some additional research to bring them to manufacture, but they'd be very useful.'

Alissa paused, reluctant to interfere with her sister's progress. Her success with Cyberdyne was vital. Still,