“This is a military installation. I’m the officer in charge, Colonel Jonat. I’m ordering you people to disperse. You may not come in.”
“We’re not armed, Colonel, as you can see. There are about a thousand people here and nobody is even carrying a pocketknife. Now open this gate.”
“It’s not locked, Tom,” the man beside him said, pointing.
Where in hell is that sergeant?
“Open the gate or we’ll open it. I’ll not ask you again.”
“What do you want here? Talk to me.”
The spokesman stood aside. “Open the gate,” he said to the people beside him. They laid willing hands on the gate and pushed.
Jonat jumped back out of the way. He backed up ten feet or so and soldiers with their rifles ready surrounded him. “Halt, goddammit, or we’ll open fire!”
The crowd came through the gate and stopped two feet in front of the colonel. He could see more and more people gathering in the street. A thousand? He believed it.
“We want your prisoners.”
“You aren’t going to get them. Now get the hell off government property or—”
“Or what? You would shoot unarmed civilians who are just standing here? What are you, some kind of Nazi?”
Jonat tried to reason with the man. He raised his voice so that more people could hear. “Listen, folks. I don’t know why you came, but I can’t release these prisoners. They’ve shot at soldiers, killed some, looted, burned, sold drugs — you name it. I know Washington has been through hell the last few days, but these people will have to answer for what they’ve done. They will get a fair hearing and federal judges will treat them fairly. Please, go on home and let’s get this city back to normal. Your sons and husbands will be treated fairly. I promise!”
“We want these people now.”
“Out! Get out. Or I’ll order these men to shoot you where you stand.”
The crowd moved as one. They came forward, crowding, pressing. One woman walked up so close to the soldier beside Jonat that the muzzle of his M-16 was against her breast.
“Go ahead, Colonel,” she said. “Tell him to shoot. He can’t miss. I’ll hold still.”
She was a black woman, about thirty or so, with a strong, proud face. Orrin Jonat stared at her, but she was staring at the soldier who held the rifle. He was black too. He stared back, his jaw slack, his hand on the trigger of his weapon. “Could you do it?” she asked softly. “Could you murder me? Could you spend the rest of your life seeing my face and knowing that you killed me when I offer you no harm?”
The soldier picked the muzzle up, pointing the rifle safely at the sky, and took a step backward.
“Move back, Colonel. Move back.” The spokesman also spoke softly, but with a hard edge to his voice.
Involuntarily the colonel retreated a step. As he did so the whole crowd moved silently forward. “Order your men to stand back, Colonel. You don’t want to be the Reinhard Heydrich of Washington. Order them back.”
“We know who these people are. We’ll find them and arrest them again. They will answer for their acts. As you will.”
“As God is my judge, I know you speak the truth, Colonel. Now stand back.”
To his credit, Orrin Jonat knew when he was beaten. He spoke loudly: “Hold your fire, men. No shooting. Now back up.”
The spokesman led the way through the door. He paused inside and looked at the bodies arranged in rows on the floor as people swarmed in behind him. Then he looked at the prisoners shackled to the wall. He motioned to his companions and they started forward.
Toad Tarkington was making a list of the dead from the information on their dogtags when the civilians came through the door, and now he positioned himself between the obvious leader and the prisoners. “Stop right there,” he shouted. “Not another fucking step, buddy.”
“Get out of the way.” The man spoke calmly but with an air of authority.
The crowd surged past the man who faced Toad. Men, women, old people, they just kept coming.
Toad reached inside his coat and drew a pistol. He pointed it at the man in front of him and cocked the hammer.
“I can’t shoot everybody, Jack, but I can sure as hell shoot you. Now stop these people or I blow your head clean off.”
Out of the corner of his eye he saw something coming. He pulled the trigger just as the lights went out.
Jake Grafton stood in the third-level concourse listening. He was in total darkness, a spot so black he couldn’t even see his hands. He closed his eyes and concentrated on what he could hear.
Some background noise from over toward the armory, but in here, nothing. Quiet as King Tut’s tomb.
He opened his eyes and felt his way along the wall. Ahead he could see the glow where a ramp along the exterior wall came up. He paused. He would be an excellent target when he entered that faint glow. If there were anyone around.
He took a deep breath to steady himself, then moved forward.
Up a level. He would climb up a level.
Five minutes had passed since that second shot had spanged into the seat beside him as he scurried up the stairs for the safety of the tunnel. Too long. He should have moved more than the hundred yards he had come.
He should have set up an ambush. As long as this guy doesn’t know where I am, Jake told himself, I’ve got the advantage.
But there was the ramp. Should he go for it or stay here?
His mouth was dry. He licked his lips and wiped the sweat from his forehead. Okay. To do it or not? The entrance to the ramp was only fifteen yards or so away.
He went for it as fast as he could. He rounded the corner and halted with his back against the wall, breathing hard. Then he heard it. A faint laugh.
Someone laughing!
“This is really too easy. You’re not using your head, mister.”
Jake ran up the ramp. As hard and fast as he could go. He came out on the top level and trotted along the concourse. After about a minute had passed he found a real dark spot and came to a halt. He stood there gripping the rifle tightly with both hands and listening.
Ambush. He needed to find a spot. Needed to sit and let this psycho come to him. Needed to wait if it took all night. But where?
He kept going. Fifty yards further along he came to another place where two ramps came up from below. There seemed to be more light than usual. Aha, the armory was down there and the emergency lights in the parking area were reflecting up here. Jake looked around. If he went along this corridor to the north, he could look back this way. If and when, bang.
His mind made up, he went down the corridor seventy-five feet or so and lay down against the exterior concourse wall, facing back toward the ramp area.
Of course his back was vulnerable, but if the sniper came that way, he would hear him coming. Maybe. The main thing was to stay put and stay quiet.
Who was this sniper, anyway? Could he be Charon? Naw, Charon was an assassin, out to shoot the big trophy cats. He wouldn’t waste a bullet on a mouse.
Toad Tarkington was spinning. He was sitting in a cockpit of a violently spinning aiplane and the Gs were pushing him forward out of the seat. The altimeter was unwinding at a sickening rate. He couldn’t raise his arms or move. His eyes were redding out and he could feel the pain of the blood pooling in his head. Spinning viciously, violently, dying …
He opened his eyes. He was looking into the face of Jack Yocke.
Yocke pried open an eyelid and looked with interest. “You’re going to be okay, I think. Your head’s as hard as a brick. If I were you I wouldn’t try to sit up yet though.”
“What happened?”
“Well, a man hit you on the head with an ax handle. And you shot a man, fellow named Tom Shannon.”