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“Heads up, people,” the lieutenant said into his com. “We’re going in thirty seconds. And we got two feebs riding the caboose. Don’t nobody shoot them by accident.”

The lieutenant pulled a pair of spidersilk vests with ceramic interlock armor and the initials D.C.P.D. stenciled in reflective yellow on the backs. “Put these on. They’ll stop handgun rounds and a lot of rifle bullets. Grab a gas mask and helmet. We’re going in with flash-bangs and puke gas.”

Michaels nodded.

“Fifteen seconds,” the lieutenant said into the com. “Go get into position. Behind Sergeant Thomas over there. And stay behind him.”

Michaels glanced at Toni, and they jumped from the back of the mobile command post and ran.

Woodland Hills, California

Morrison and Ventura were in their seats in the theater when an “usher” walked Wu down the aisle. The section they were in had been roped off, so that they sat in the middle of a block of four rows alone; the other seats in the block were all empty. There were maybe forty people already in their seats, with a few others trickling in.

Wu carried a fold-out laptop computer slung over one shoulder — and a big tub of popcorn.

Ventura smiled at that. Had to give the man credit for style.

Ventura and Morrison both stood, and Wu moved to join them. He slipped under the velvet rope to sit between Ventura and Morrison. While he was talking and concentrating on the scientist, Ventura would be behind him.

Wu held up the tub of popcorn. “Want some? I think it’s got real butter on it. It should be real, it cost four bucks.”

Ventura was tempted to dig around and see if there was a pistol hidden there — he’d have a small one under the popcorn — but both he and Morrison declined the offer.

Ahead of them, the huge screen was still dark. There wouldn’t be any coming attractions or ads run today.

“What time does the movie start?”

“We have a few minutes,” Ventura said.

“Good, good, we can get this business taken care of and enjoy the picture. Same people did this who did Quin-ton’s Revenge, and it’s gotten good reviews.”

He sounded relaxed enough, and that was a good sign. He’d brought in ten people, who were scattered around the theater with their own tubs of popcorn or boxes of candy, so he ought to feel as if he was in control of the situation, or at least be on a par with Ventura. He either couldn’t sense the sights lined up on his skull from the projection booth, or he really was a chilly character not afraid to die.

“Now you know we Chinese like to dawdle and make polite small talk before we discuss business, but this is America and I like to fit in, so what say we get down to it?” He slipped the computer off his shoulder and unrolled the flexible pop-up LCD screen, locked it into place, and then unfolded the keyboard. The computer came on with a small chimed chord, and the screen lit up.

Morrison’s computer was already up and running, on the seat on the other side of him. He picked it up.

“Ah, here we are,” Wu said. “Your bank account number?”

Morrison read off a fifteen-digit series of numbers and letters.

Wu typed it into his computer. He looked up at Morrison and smiled. “And that was for… three hundred million dollars, U.S.?”

“Four hundred million,” Morrison said quickly.

“A small joke, Doctor.” He tapped in the numbers. He said, “It’s a fair-sized transaction, but nothing huge. It’ll take only a few seconds for them to verify the account we’re transferring from, and acknowledge the credit.”

Ventura did a sweep of the room. It seemed as if this might come off 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 subgun 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.

33

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, 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 doglegged 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.