| From: | Paul J. Adam Shadowtk@********.demon.co.uk |
|---|---|
| Subject: | Where Were We? |
| Date: | Sat, 13 Feb 1999 14:07:02 +0000 |
>>>>>[Vinny, I know you're smart enough to put two and two together and
make 'lots', so I thought you should see and keep this for me.
+++++begin video
The back of the van, accelerating away from the Mistral Hotel and
Casino, with a dozen SWAT troopers and a veritable fortune aboard. Easy
changes magazines with quick, economical movements, Mani beside her
feeding shells into the breech of his shotgun
"How much did we get, Mani?" asks one of the black-clad raiders as he
picks a heavy black holdall off the floor.
"All of it. Did you expect less of me?" The big Sufi's surprise is still
obvious, as he names a sum. Enough to buy a Pacific island paradise or
three, even after laundering it. Easy whistles softly to herself: others
react in similar vein.
"Toto, we ain't gonna be po' n' hungry no mo'" Serpent says as he slings
the holdall, pulls it around to ride across his back where it's easily
reached but doesn't foul his Alpha. "Harley, sitrep? Radio's quiet."
"Not too good, boss. Think they made us and they jumped freqs. Drone's
got roadblocks starting, both ends of the Strip, they'll be solid before
we can make it."
"And there's no other way out?" It sounds like a rhetorical question.
"It's the Strip, dude, it's a bottleneck." Harley sounds apologetic.
"Has been since '24."
"Okay, Plan B then." Serpent crouches on the floor, others doing
likewise. He doesn't seem too concerned.
"'Six cars already and more coming." Harley warns. "I count twenty,
thirty cops in the road."
"Any SWAT?"
"Nope. No heavy weapons. Still gonna be a party, though. Thirty seconds,
dudes..."
Serpent glances around, sees everyone in position, flexes his gloved
hand around a control box. Easy pulls her HK227 tighter into her
shoulder: beside her, Mani tightens the sling on his shotgun.
"Masks, scopes, and good luck, guys." Serpent says softly.
The van seems suddenly to be driving through a hailstorm, or a
landslide: thumping and clanging impacts echoing over its skin in a
boilershop clangour, almost drowning the thunder of gunfire outside. It
lurches to the side, recovers somewhat, but is slowing quickly, the
hammering racket of impacts hardly letting up before Serpent presses the
first button.
A quickfire succession of thumps overhead, a series of thunderclaps
outside, and the gunfire almost stops.
The second button blows the explosive bolts that hold the van's armoured
body together, and its panels fall away to reveal choking, swirling
smoke, Easy already vaulting out of the van's rear and firing short
bursts into the white clouds. Sporadic return fire, cries, screams, all
drowned under the thunder of eight or ten automatic weapons firing.
Advancing fast, submachinegun sweeping for targets the camera can't see
(and firing four more bursts), she reaches the edge of the smoke a
split-second before she reaches the roadblock (only seven police
cruisers parked higgledy-piggledy across the street, uniformed police
sprawled behind them or huddling for cover). A Vegas PD officer who'd
been holding back traffic gets off a pistol shot before someone guns her
down: Easy takes a moment to change magazines, scanning for targets -
Bullets smack into the car Easy's using for cover and she ducks
slightly, fires two bursts in return (still into the smoke, using the
ultrasound scope on her H&K) then is vaulting over it and running, one
fast glance back showing Mani keeping pace before she's in among the
logjam of cars where the police had only a minute or two ago begun
blocking traffic.
"Police! Stay in your cars!" she shouts, and the startled and scared
motorists do. There's been gunfire, smoke, screams, now a SWAT trooper's
telling them to stay put, nobody's questioning and everyone's obeying as
she and Mani run between the stalled vehicles, the sound of more gunfire
behind them as other members of the team pick their own directions to
scatter: either this is chaos, or a careful plan.
Two hundred metres in fifteen seconds, until they reach the end of the
queue of traffic: more cars slowing, puzzled by the unexpected tailback,
drivers gawping in surprise as two heavily-armed LVPD SWAT troopers
emerge from behind a tractor-trailer rig at a run.
Easy is pushing onwards to where the road's clear enough to turn a
commandeered vehicle and get away, when wailing sirens herald the
arrival of another police cruiser, its occupants obviously eager to join
the party. Easy ducks behind a Bulldog van before the cruiser comes into
view: as it skids to a halt and the doors open.
The two officers leap out and are heading for the trunk (where,
presumably, their heavier armour and weapons are stored) when Easy
shoots one, then the other: the first never knew what hit her, the
second had time to look around before being hit three times in the
chest.
Mani is already halfway to the police car: Easy throws herself into the
driver's seat and slams the door, gunning the engine.
"The security systems are not active." Mani says, as Easy swings the
Chrysler-Nissan through a three-point turn. "We have several minutes, at
least, before we are immobilised."
"All we need." The police cruiser crashes through the gap in the central
divider, the Day-Glo plastic bollards that close it splintering and
flying in orange shards, and they have clear road ahead. "I think we
made it."
Mani nods, and keys his radio. "Katar, breaking contact." Two clicks are
the only reply.
The traffic thickens away from the roadblocks, but parts like water for
the speeding police cruiser, whose siren and flaring strobes seem to
command much respect. "One minute." Mani cautions: obviously the pair
have definite ideas about how long it's wise to ride in a stolen police
car.
"We're okay, we're okay." Easy slows and drops a gear to take a corner,
heading further from the garish neon of the Strip and into a residential
district: the traffic light enough that she kills the siren. "Not far to
go."
"Good. Ninety seconds." The huge Sufi twists in his seat, to get the
sling of his shotgun over his head, begins unsnapping his combat
harness. "Are the LVPD sufficiently confused?"
"I'd guess so. We're screwed if they aren't." The cruiser slows, stops,
in the corner of a small car park outside a mini-mall: Easy climbs out,
not bothering to lock the door, and walks to a rusty blue van wearing a
wheelclamp and a parking ticket. Oddly enough, Easy has the key to the
clamp, on the same ring as the keys for the van, and she tosses the
yellow clamp into the back before getting in herself.
Mani, this time, takes the driving seat, passing his shotgun and combat
harness back to Easy: now he's merely a big man in a black shirt to a
casual observer, while Easy is rapidly shedding her own raid fatigues
and weapons in the back of the van as Mani drives at a sedate pace.
The camera, dropped on the floor where it's attached to the harness,
catches tantalising glimpses of the slim Elf undressing, before the
frustration of realising that the smooth alabaster whiteness under her
clothing is actually form-fitting armour; over which Easy pulls Armante
jeans and a long-sleeved T-shirt. The belt laced through the jeans'
waistband already carries a holstered pistol and spare magazines, and
she shifts the weapon behind her hip before covering it with an oversize
Arran sweater that conceals it superbly.
"Done!" she calls, unclipping the camera from the harness: the view goes
black.
+++++end video
From there it was easy. One more switch of vehicles and then we just
cruised out, slow and easy, to the rendezvous, and barring accidents or
disasters we'll be back in Seattle by tomorrow morning.
No more money problems for a while, Vincenzo...]<<<<<
-- Easy <14:06:42/02-13-60>
