The Cassandra Complex

The MOD man was already reaching out to snatch up the gun, and the shot that had been fired at him almostmissed—but almost wasn’t good enough. The impact wasn’t sufficiently powerful to bowl Smith over, but it made him lurch and stagger, and his extending hand failed to pick up the weapon.

Lisa hadn’t been able to see the dart flying through the air, but she saw its red fletchings as soon as it lodged in the muscle at the back of Smith’s lower leg. She registered the fact that the missile was nonlethal, but only in passing. The intention at the forefront of her mind was to get out of the way before the black-helmeted figure fired again.

Chan Kwai Keung obviously had the same idea. As soon as the gun had swung away from him, he dived to his left, determined to put the body of the Fiat between himself and the shooter.

Lisa went to her own left. There was a gray Datsun parked on that side of the elevator doors, no more than a couple of meters away, and she dived toward it, ducking down as low as she could to ensure that her whole body would be shielded the moment she was in front of the hood. It was a wise precaution, because a second shot sounded from the direction of the attendant’s booth, far louder than the first. The window of the Datsun’s passenger seat exploded into a host of tiny shards.

“Lights!” howled a distorted voice, twisted as much by anguished urgency as by the device set to disguise it.

That was a real bullet!Lisa thought. If it had hit me,…

Only twelve hours had passed since the time she had been forty years in the police force without ever having had a gun pointed in her direction. Now she had been shot at twice, and although she was fairly certain that the first shooter had aimed to miss, she wasn’t at all sure about this one.

The first time, she had been curiously detached from the whole business, incapable even of participating fully in her own pain, but twelve hours had made a big difference. This time, she was abruptly consumed by a sickening wave of pure terror.

If we don’t have what we need, the first shooter had told her, we’ll be back, and then.…

They didn’t have what they needed. They couldn’t have, because she hadn’t had it. So now they were back, in a mood less generous than before. It was crazy, of course—completely crazy—but that didn’t mean that the danger facing her was any less. Quite the reverse, in fact.

There was a delay of three or four seconds before the parking lot’s strip-lights went out. That left enough time for Lisa to peep over the Datsun’s hood and see Peter Grimmett Smith make a second attempt to grab Gi

He succeeded, but the dart in his leg had discharged its cargo of relaxant poison and the leg was already useless. He couldn’t balance himself to fire, and his body betrayed him as he tried. By the time he had swiveled the weapon to point at the Shooter, his target was on the move, chasing after Chan Kwai Keung. Smith began to topple before he could adjust his aim.

Lisa guessed that Chan must have used the cover provided by the Fiat to roll under one of the vehicles parked on the far side of the area, because the black-helmeted figure couldn’t seem to find him.

Is that a man or a woman?Lisa thought as she ducked down again. The figure wasn’t tall, but it was very solid, with a bodybuilder’s muscles. If it wasa female body, it had to be the body of a Real Woman. Whoever had shot the telephone out of her hand had been every bit as solid, and every bit as aggressive, but if that had been a Real Woman too, it couldn’t possibly have been the one she knew best. Whatever else Arachne West might have said to her, she would never have addressed Lisa as “You stupid bitch.” She had never thought of the woman as a friend, but Arachne had seen things slightly differently.

The overhead lights went out before Lisa gave in to the temptation to sneak another look. With the strip-lights off too, she knew that her sense of sight would be useless for at least three minutes. Although the lot wasn’t entirely dark—there were horizontal ventilation slits set high in the walls, and some daylight filtered through, but her eyes would need time to adapt. She had to presume that the shooter had wanted the lights out because her dark helmet was equipped with some kind of infrared sensor that would make living bodies stand out like beacons.

Lisa knew that if the second shooter had the same equipment, as well as a gun that fired real bullets, she and Chan were in real trouble. She reminded herself that although the shooter in her apartment had made some ugly threats, all the bullets fired had been directed at inanimate targets. When Ed Burdillon had walked in on the Mouseworld bombers, they had only used their heavy artillery to cover him while they knocked him out and then dragged him to safety. So far, these lunatics had tried hard to avoid killing anyone—but they’d never have come back for a second bite at the cherry, especially in broad daylight, if they weren’t desperate. Their carefully laid plan must have gone wrong. They hadn’t found what they wanted at Lisa’s apartment, or on the equipment they’d stolen from Morgan’s house, and Morgan himself presumably hadn’t told them what they wanted to know. They were not as scrupulous today as they had been the night before—and the shot fired at her as she dived for cover behind the Datsun had been far too close for comfort.

Lisa cursed herself for the weakness of her body and spirit alike. She was too old, at sixty-one, for playing cat-and-mouse with killers. Her bones were too fragile, and the shock of fear that had gripped her made her feel utterly helpless.

She scrambled along the body of the Datsun and huddled behind the rear wheel. She guessed that whoever had shot at her must have fired from the attendant’s booth, and would probably have left it as soon as the lights went out, intending to edge along the wall against which the cars were parked. She had noted that the car beyond the Datsun was a Renault with an overgenerous wheelbase, and she rolled beneath it. That placed her in deep shadow, from which she could see nothing—but in which she could not easily be seen, even by someone with a body-heat sensor. Unfortunately, she knew, the advantage would probably be temporary. Whoever was inching along the wall would soon start peering beneath the vehicles, knowing that they provided the only available hiding place.

Lisa shut her eyes and concentrated her attention on listening; if their assailants had boots as smart as their black clothing, they wouldn’t be making a lot of noise, but they couldn’t move silently. She tried to summon up a picture in her mind’s eye of the exact spot in which Peter Grimmett Smith had fallen, and the probable disposition of his limbs. Had she a chance of getting to the gun that had fallen from his hand before the enemy could get a clear shot at her? If so, could she judge the position of either shooter well enough by sound alone to get off a good shot of her own? It might not be necessary to hit anyone—the mere fact that she had a gun and was capable of using it would surely make them cautious, and should make them seek cover.

Her right arm was alight with pain from wrist to elbow. When she had rolled over, she had pressed the cuts between her body and the concrete floor, and the sealant hadn’t been laid on thick enough to provide a protective cushion.

She swore at herself, commanding herself to focus, and to stop complaining.

She decided, having given due consideration to the plan, that if she tried to go for Smith’s gun, she would make an absurdly easy target. The sensible thing to do was to try to put more distance between herself and the elevator door. If the person who was coming after her was moving slowly enough, she might actually be able to reach the exit gate at the far end of the lot. If she could only raise the screen …