Fatalis

As an access to the vital San Diego Freeway, Wilshire Boulevard was a busy thoroughfare around the clock, and when Ha

According to Ha

Ha

"Jim, where are you? I tried you before but couldn't get you!"

"That must have been when I was in the sewer tu

"At the museum. What did you find up there?"

"The saber-tooths are on the move," Grand said. "They'll probably reach the tar pits in a matter of minutes."

Ha

"The lieutenant is talking to the police chief now. You've got to get out of there."

Just then Ha

"Gearhart just got here," she said. "Probably with some of his old buddies. Looks like they're bringing barrels somewhere."

"That's probably tar," Grand said. "Ha

"I'll be okay, Jim. I'll call back as soon as I know something."

Ha

Gearhart's back was to Ha

"Go back with the rest of the press," Gearhart said.

"Jim just told me the cats are on the way."

"We know. We got a report from Lieutenant Mindar. Now get out-" Gearhart suddenly looked across the street. "Shit."

Other reporters had noticed the truck and were starting to wander over.

Gearhart rapped hard on the back of the cab. "Let's get moving!" he shouted. "We'll take this to W-17."

Ha

"Whoa, stop!" Gearhart yelled to the driver.

Ha

"Get off!" Gearhart yelled at her.

"W-17!" Ha

"I said get off-"

She jerked a thumb behind her. "I'm sure one of those reporters will be able to find out where that is. Take me with you or I'll tell them."

Gearhart looked past Ha

The officers who were holding Ha

Gearhart bent back over the map as the truck crossed Wilshire and headed south. He was pointing to a small square on the grid. "W-17 intersects the underground stream that starts up in the Hills. It looks like the only secure spot we can tap into."

His companion, a captain, pointed to the map. "We've got these other tributaries-"

"I know," Grand said. "If we don't stop all the cats at W-17, they'll probably continue along the main stream and come out here," he pointed to a square seven blocks away, "at a construction site at the corner of Western and Olympic."

"They can do a lot of damage doubling back from there to the tar pits," the captain pointed out.

"Exactly. So we lure the cats into the garage and pin them down. It should be a skeet shoot."

Captain Mclver nodded. "I'm with you."

"Good," Gearhart said. He turned and glared at Ha

"You know I do." She pulled her microcassette recorder from a back pocket.

"No moneybags to hide behind, no safe and comfortable press conferences where you can push people around."

"That's not me and you damn well know it," Ha

"I don't know it."

"I'd rather be in the field covering a story," she told him.

"Fine." Gearhart came closer to her.

"I didn't come to Los Angeles for glory or to win allies. I came here to finish what I started. To protect people. I don't want any bleeding-heart bullshit from you. I didn't come here to carry out Jim Grand's agenda. There's no time to get tranquilizer darts. The cats are to me what I am to them: prey. Got that?"

"In quotes," she replied.

Gearhart backed away and Ha

Still, for now, she'd let him have this his way.

The truck turned down the long, gently sloping ramp into the yellow-lit darkness. The driver stopped to give the night watchman the emergency order that would allow them to do what had to be done. The guard was instructed to let no one else down without first checking with Captain Mclver, and not to bother checking if they were reporters.

Only as they continued down, toward level P3, and one of the officers opened the first of the four equipment chests did Ha

She wondered if that would be enough.