“Damn,” Bruce muttered, turning his sprint into a full dash. If those two got into a food court at lunchtime, he’d have the devil’s own time separating them from all the chaff.
He rounded the corner just in time to see his two quarries shove their way through double glass doors. Any temptation to shoot got swallowed up by the dozens of people hurrying toward their lunches who quickly blocked his view of the two.
Bruce ran, Marines on his heels.
He busted through one of the double doors. It only took him a moment to glance around, to take in a dozen different fast-food restaurants spaced along opposite walls. They faced a vast, noisy expanse of tables, filled with hundreds, maybe thousands of people eating.
He saw no one in green overalls running, walking, or even standing.
“Put that gun away,” came in a demanding voice.
Sergeant Bruce glanced to his left, spotted a man in khaki pants, a brown shirt, a gold badge, and a huge belly walking toward him. He had a holstered weapon on his belt but made no move to draw it.
The Marine went back to searching the crowd as he said, “A bomb just injured Princess Kristine Longknife. I chased two people of interest into this area. They were both in green overalls. Did you see them? I want to talk to them.”
“Put that gun away. You can’t walk around brandishing that thing in here. Where do you think you are, some cow town?”
Bruce ignored the noise as three Marines ran up to him. “There’s a door over on the far side of this place. Block it. Don’t let anyone in or out.”
A woman corporal took off at a gallop with two lanky privates at her side, all holding their pistols out at high port.
“They can’t do that,” the cop whined.
“You got a boss?” Bruce asked, then turned to four more Marines. “You two, block this entrance. No one in or out. You other two, walk through this place. Keep your weapons in plain view. Most folks here will be surprised by them. Look for the two that aren’t. Use deadly force if you have to on them. Please don’t shoot innocent bystanders.”
“You better not, or I’ll have your ass in my jail,” the cop added.
“You see the problem.”
“Yes, Sergeant,” the sniper said, resting his long rifle on his hip and heading into the crowd. The woman Marine, pistol up, headed toward the restrooms.
“Sergeant Bruce, tell me you’ve got the bastards that did this,” Captain Montoya said over the net.
“I pursued them into a large food court, sir. I’m presently searching for two needles in a very large haystack.”
“Can you get any local help?”
“Local cop is jiggling my elbow, sir. Wants me and mine to surrender our weapons. Seems this ain’t cowboy country.”
“I’ll try to raise some serious local support. If he causes you too much trouble, shoot him. In the knee if you can, but I want those bomb throwers.”
Clearly, the captain was not serious, but the cop didn’t know that. Bruce gave the guy a cheerful look. He beat a hasty retreat, now using his own commlink. The reply he got brought a sea change to his face.
“There’s two more cops on their way. One will back up the people you got on the other doors. I’ll secure these doors.”
That was followed by a series of complaints by people not allowed in to eat, or out to return to their shopping or their jobs.
So, lots of folks were going to have a bad day. The memory of what the princess looked like said she was having the worst day the sergeant had ever seen her have . . . and he’d been there for some bad ones.
The woman Marine exited the ladies’ room, waving a green pair of coveralls.
“Check out the men’s room,” Sergeant Bruce shouted.
“She can’t do that,” the cop said.
The Marine did. A moment later she was waving a second pair of greens.
Damn, this truly was a lousy day.
“Captain, in restrooms, the assailants ditched the green coveralls they were wearing when they threw the bombs. We have no idea what they may look like now. I’ll check with the locals to see if they have any security cameras that might have caught them while still in coveralls or as they left the restrooms. Without some camera shots, we’ve lost them.”
At the question about security cameras, the cop’s expression took on the look of someone who’d just been asked if he could fly across the room . . . naked.
31
Captain Jack Montoya was a firm believer that few problems could not be solved by the proper application of the correct amount of high explosives. Being on the receiving end of just such a solution was rare for him.
He didn’t like it. Not at all.
He especially didn’t like the feeling of helplessness churning in his gut. At this moment, Kris needed a doctor a lot more than she needed a security chief. Especially one who had failed at his duty.
That Kris had outdone herself today making his job impossible was no excuse for failing it. Not for Jack.
A doctor came out of the crowd near simultaneously with a nurse arriving with supplies from upstairs. She and an assistant carried a backboard and more medical gear.
The doc shook his head at the two bodies compressed together by the explosions from above, and said, “We’ve got to separate them.”
He, the nurse, and the medic wrestled Kris facedown onto the backboard and started an examination just as Bobby DuVale began to moan and come awake.
The nurse left Kris to the doc and medic and began checking out the young man.
The doc was still looking Kris over when the nurse asked for help rolling the man over. “He’ll do better on his back,” she told them. He’s more shocky than anything else. May have a concussion.”
Jack stood guard at Kris’s feet with the sniper at her head. A crowd began to gather, but one look at the rifle at the ready, and no one seemed to feel the need to get overly close.
Jack divided his attention between the look on the doc’s face and the crowd. His pistol was back at high port.
Twice he started to level it at someone who made a move he didn’t like. Twice the person grew wide eyes, showed him open hands, and quickly backed into the crowd.
So Jack could still scare people.
If only the look on the doc’s face didn’t scare him worse.
A siren announced the arrival of the ambulance. Jack stood aside as two emergency technicians joined the circle.
Kris was finally lifted onto a basket stretcher, intubated, and given an intravenous drip. They did everything that Jack had been briefed to expect when someone with his kind of job blew it.
In the middle of this he was distracted by his commlink.
“Captain, in restrooms, the assailants ditched the green coveralls they were wearing when they threw the bombs. We have no idea what they may look like now. I’ll check with the locals to see if they have any security cameras that might have caught them while still in coveralls or as they left the restrooms. Without some camera shots, we’ve lost them.”
“Sal, are there security cameras in this area?”
“I don’t think there is a security camera anywhere on Texarkana, sir. I am in touch with what passes for the local security net. A police captain is en route to Sergeant Bruce’s location. Other officials are following, as well as the only K-9 team in Denver. They are doing their best.”
“Thank you. Monitor and report anything concerning Kris to me,” Jack said, then turned his attention back to the young woman who was his job. No, Kris was far more than that. She was his life.
And just now, they wanted to move her to the ambulance.
“Are you coming with her, soldier?” the doctor asked.