The fat goon in cowboy boots appeared first. He had run less than fifty feet, but was already puffing. Two parabellums tore into the terrorist's chest. He dropped in a pool of death.
Brognola changed position slowly, duck walking and listening as he went. He kept down and zigzagged toward the spot he last saw the gunman who had shot at him. He could hear the scar-faced terrorist scuffing tarmac as he tried to sneak up on the place where the Fed had dropped from sight.
Brognola went flat on his stomach, aimed his weapon and waited. Soon scar face's scuffed shoes came into view two cars down. Brognola put a bullet through each ankle and scrambled away quickly. Two bullets ricocheted off the parking-lot surface inches from his retreating legs. Brognola knew he was not the only one to think about shooting under cars. The whine of the bullets were lost in the screams of the man with two shattered ankles.
Brognola put his head close to the ground. He saw no one, so he took a few quick steps closer to the screaming man. He paused next to a set of tires and looked below the cars again. Proceeding in that way, he reached the wounded terrorist.
"Tell me who sent you or I take out your kneecaps as well," Brognola told the terrorist.
"They'll kill me if I say anything," the man gasped through his panic. He was still in too much shock to feel the pain.
"And you'll never walk again if you don't," Brognola told him in a loud voice.
Two more shots rang out. Both bullets jarred the fallen man's head. He had been shut up forever by one of his own kind.
Brognola leaped from the ground to the hood of the nearest car, and from there to the roof. Each step took him in the direction of the sound of the last shots.
The angle worked to Brognola's advantage. He saw the top of the terrorist's head before the terrorist had straightened enough to line his gun up on the bouncing Fed. The VP 70Z coughed again. A small neat hole appeared in the top of the terror monger's head, and much of the back of the skull disappeared in a fine spray of red.
Brognola looked around. No one had been close enough to pay attention to the shots. Working quickly, he carried the bodies to the battered pickup and tossed them in the back. Luck was with him when he found a tarp in the truck and did not have to search for something to throw over the bodies. He then put the Chrysler back in its parking spot and pulled a suitcase from the trunk.
It did not take much hunting to find the Ford car with the building inspector in the back. The man was just regaining consciousness.
"You okay?" the Fed asked as he helped the man to his feet.
"Groggy as hell. What happened?"
"Did a large man knock you out and steal your car?"
The building inspector nodded. "Yeah. That's right. I remember him now. Wait until I get that son of a bitch."
"I'm afraid someone beat you to it," Brognola told him. He led the city employee to the battered pickup truck and raised the tarpaulin from the dead men's feet.
"His idea wasn't too bright. He got killed trying it."
"Trying what?" the inspector asked.
Brognola showed his Justice Department credentials.
"You'd really be better off not knowing," he told the man. "Shall I arrange for a doctor to look at you? I really think you're fine, but I wouldn't want you to worry."
"I'm fine. Really, I'm fine."
Brognola seized the other man's hand and shook it.
The inspector drove out of the parking lot.
Brognola picked up his suitcase and went inside. He went past his secretary with the knees of his pants scuffed. "Slight accident in the parking lot," he explained. "Nothing serious."
Once again he latched the office door. He peeled off the abraded suit and put on another from the suitcase. He reloaded his weapon and continued to wear it.
Lyons and Devine met in the cross corridor.
"No sign of a small Oriental woman. No sign of any Oriental women for that matter," Deborah reported.
"You check the washrooms?"
"Of course. Can you think of any way of telling if she's usually here and just gone for the day?" Deborah asked.
"We weren't told to go around asking questions. That would be risky," Lyons cautioned her. "Let's just go report to this Brognola sap and get out of here."
"Why don't we just get out of here?"
"Arouse less suspicion this way."
They found their way to the president's office. The secretary looked at them expectantly.
"Mr. Brognola said we were to see him when we finished the inspection," Deborah explained.
"He's expecting you. Go right in," the secretary told them.
"Well, Mr. Ironman, how safe is our building?" Brognola asked.
"Clean. No problems," Lyons reported. "Just keep things shipshape and you won't have any problems from me."
"Good. Then that will make two of us who have no problems. When will you visit next?"
"Oh, we'll probably catch you by surprise someday when you're having tea and don't expect us."
"We'll try not to get too slack, Mr. Ironman."
The three shook hands. Devine and Lyons left.
"You were good," Deborah whispered as they headed for the front door.
"It's all in the way you hold your sneer," Lyons confided as he reached for the door.
The door swung inward to meet his hand. He held the door open while Gadgets, Politician and Ti swarmed in.
Before any of them could react, Lyons snarled. "Watch where the hell you're going."
"Sorry," Ti said.
Lyons grabbed Deborah's arm and stalked out. They went to where they had left the building inspector and his car. Both were gone.
"Damn!" Carl Leggit exclaimed. "He came to and took off. We better get out of here."
1
July 12, 1742 hours, Atlanta, Georgia
Lyons and Deborah had to walk almost a mile before they were able to flag a taxi. The walk was made in heavy silence. Lyons had no doubt that Devine had spotted Ti, but could think of no reasonable way of asking her to forget it.
"Where to?" the cabby asked.
"Peachtree Plaza," Lyons grunted.
The two passengers settled back in stony silence. After a while the quiet began to irritate the driver.
As they passed a construction site, he piped up. "Atlanta must be the most rebuilt city in history. Did you know that no part of our skyline is the same as it was in 1970?"
His question was greeted with more silence.
"The hotel where you're going, that's the tallest building in Atlanta. Even that little park they have inside is eight stories high."
More silence.
"You folks already know the city, huh?"
"What city?" Lyons growled.
The cabby gave up.
Lyons paid off the driver and started to saunter along Cain Street. Deborah walked beside him.
"How come we didn't take the cab all the way to headquarters?" she asked.
"And leave a wide trail for anyone who wants to trace us from Elwood?"
"Why here?" she asked.
Lyons had told the cabby to let them off at Peachtree Plaza because it was close to the bus depot where he planned to catch another taxi to the industrial section where WAR and its terrorist arm, HIT, had their head-quarters. Instead of saying so, he took a poke at Deborah's preoccupation.
"Thought we'd spend the night in the tallest building in the city. Nothing like having an indoor park."
"Okay," Deborah replied. Then she made a break for it.
Lyons could not afford to lose her. First, if she beat him back to HIT headquarters and let them know that Lao Ti was at Elwood, he could do nothing to stop the raid from taking place before Brognola was braced for it. Second, Lyons would not dare to show up in front of Jishin not able to account for Deborah Devine's whereabouts.