Blancanales charged out with the M-203 in time to see his partner, hands empty, dashing for the sniper's base. He swerved to follow, searching his bandolier as he went. He found a smoke grenade and shoved it into firing position without slowing his run. Raising the M-203, he fired the grenade about fifty feet ahead of Gadgets. Again swerving hard and fast to make himself an elusive target, he reached for another smoker.
Petra Dix looked in disgust at the cameraman huddled on the floor of the van. The gaping holes in the side panels told her how close the bullet had come to hitting the man, but that did not matter to her. There was news to tape that took priority over everything. She reached inside the van and grabbed a portapak. She plucked the camera that was not damaged from the cameraman's hand and plugged it into the portable recording unit.
Keeping a hand over his sore eye, he looked up at her. "You can't use that," he said.
"Watch me," she replied.
She took off to catch the action.
Lyons found the sniper in his scope. By the direction the rifle was pointed, he guessed the gunner had Blancanales dead in his sights. He didn't wait for an exact shot. With the cross hairs on the assassin's forehead, he squeezed a quick shot. The 300-grain Magnum Super Speed plucked at the gunner's hair. The sniper's shot went wild.
Lyons quickly worked the bolt and with a fresh cartridge waiting to take up the argument, he continued to scan for the sniper. But the assassin had dropped out of sight. Lyons swept the terrace with the scope, determined to hold the sniper back from the edge.
When Gadgets saw the first ball of smoke, he veered so that the thick fog would be between himself and the sniper. Another "whump" sounded and smoke geysered up from the second grenade that Pol had launched. Gadgets swerved as if he planned on running behind this screen also. At the last second, he veered again, plunging into the smoke. The logical thing to do was make another sudden turn and emerge in an unexpected direction. But when you're being chased by bullets, you get into the mind of the enemy and outsmart them. He plunged straight ahead, taking the shortest possible route to the sniper's position.
Again the rifles ripped. The bullets were missing the mark and Gadgets was getting closer to his goal. On the dead run he realized there was more than one gunner. He was in a cross fire. Already he was at an awkward angle for the sniper and his backup posted on the new building. However, the gunner on the men's gymnasium had a clear field and was snapping a line of hot lead at Gadgets.
Lyons had one eye to the scope and the other open, giving himself a wider field of vision. He saw the muzzle-flash when the automatic rifle opened up. He swung the scope across. He was set to squeeze off his shot when his prey ducked to change clips. He swore and waited impatiently for the head to reappear. While he waited, Babette dashed into the trailer. As quickly as she came, she left.
When Babette had seen Petra Dix take off to get her news shots, she had decided it was as good a time as any to arm herself. She had made a mad sprint for the trailer, diving inside. No fire had been directed at her — Blancanales and Schwarz were taking the heat. Babette grabbed an Ingram, checking to make sure she had a full clip of regular ammunition. She also picked up two squealers fitted with strong magnets. Then she took off after Petra Dix.
She quickly caught up with the news reporter, who was in poor shape and was not used to running with twenty-five pounds of equipment. She halted the puffing reporter by reaching out, placing one hand on each side of the portapak's take-up chamber, and stopping.
"What the hell," Dix exclaimed.
"You're going to get yourself killed," Babette said.
"That's none of your goddamn business. I've got a story to cover."
Babette shrugged and let her go. She then started a weaving run, following Gadgets into the sniper's nest.
Pol saw the gunner on the roof of the men's gymnasium. He sent a burst of tumblers in that direction. The .223-caliber bullets came close enough to upend the rifleman. Pol veered, keeping the combo gun pointed toward the roof as he closed in.
The stairs were a killer, but Gadgets was not about to risk the elevator. It was too easy for the bastards to have someone waiting to hose the cage as soon as the doors started to open. He knew he was up against top-notch pros.
The Able Team fighter's breath was coming hard, choppy. His calves, knees, thighs, were protesting the upstairs sprint. But he burst onto the large roof area without waiting to catch his breath. Every second was crucial. Every second could tell the difference between living and dying.
There was no one in sight. An old Stoner M63A1 lay near the edge of the roof. Beside it lay a couple of banana clips. Gadgets looked around, wary of a trap. There was nowhere for an ambusher to hide except inside one of the sealed windows.
Gadgets slowly walked backward, trying to watch all of the windows. The glass reflected sky. He could not see in. None of the windows had been broken. He reached the M63A1 and picked it up, keeping his eyes peeled on the building. The weapon was still warm.
Slipping the Beretta back into leather, he ejected the clip from the Stoner. It was empty. One of the other clips was also empty. The other was full.
It had been a skillful retreat. If Gadgets had found nothing on the roof, he would have rushed to overtake the gunman. With the weapon planted there, he had wasted valuable time sniffing for a trap. He slapped home the full clip and went to find the sniper's former position. He already had a damn good idea what he'd find there. He stared at the abandoned military model of the Remington 700, equipped with telescopic sight. He swore. The gunners had escaped. Alive.
Gadgets, sparked by a sound, turned quickly, and saw Babette covering him with an Ingram.
"Got away," he said in disgust. "The bastards got away. Thanks for the backup."
She nodded, but said nothing. Together they caught the elevator.
Gadgets and Babette walked out of the building. They were immediately confronted by the whirring camera toted by Petra Dix. Gadgets made a move to swing one of the weapons into the camera, but was stopped by Babette. He glared at her. She winked back.
Blancanales emerged from the men's gymnasium and Lyons from the trailer. The group converged in the parking-lot strip, not far from the van where the television cameraman was timidly peeking out.
"No one on the roof when I got there," Politician said, "but I found this." He held up a Stoner.
"Welcome to the club," Gadgets said. "I got the same."
"Hold the gun higher," Dix demanded.
The entire group turned toward the pushy reporter. Anger was apparent on their faces.
Lyons reacted with the anger he felt. He brought the Champlin up sharply. The rifle barrel knocked the lens from the camera. Dix dropped the camera.
"You son of a bitch," she screamed at Lyons.
Lyons ignored her screechy protests. His blue eyes fastened on her brown eyes. No tenderness passed between them.
"You were at the airport," Lyons fired, "and someone tried to shoot us. Now you show up here and we're shot at again. I want to know why."
Dix appeared more indignant than frightened. Gadgets saw her sneak a look at the portapak on her shoulder. Although the camera was smashed, everything she had recorded would still be on the tape in the heavy pack. Gadgets then noticed why Babette had stopped him from smashing the unit before, and he grinned.
"I have no idea who's trying to kill you," Dix retorted.
"No one said you did," Lyons said. "I'm just trying to put it in your pretty head that you're bad news. Bad luck. So why don't you pedal your ass out of here and stay away from now on."