sir.”
“And what of the state trooper?”
“He never should have gotten away, of course. It was a fluke, sir.”
“A rather ominous fluke.”
“Not according to present reports. He was picked up in the desert several hours ago in a near catatonic state. I doubt very much he’ll be talking to anyone anytime soon, sir.”
“We will have to make sure that is long enough, won’t we, Major?”
The man in the rear grasped the back of the crushed red velour seat before him. Every detail of the small theater
had an ornate look and feel to it, as if an old-fashioned movie house had simply been shrunk down and placed here. Rich wood paneling with hand-carved pilasters and moldings covered the walls. The ceiling was painted in neo-Pompeian style, with arabesques and ropes of flowers intertwined with gods and goddesses.
“And what of the site itself?” he resumed.
“All reports indicate it’s clean, sir. Not even the slightest trace. The tests carried out were remarkably thorough. I don’t think we have anything to fear on that account.”
“We have that much to be thankful for, I suppose. What about security, containment?”
“We’re monitoring the area closely, sir, but so long as we are able to move the replacements into the town before the highway patrol happens to return, I think we’ll be all right.”
“And how long do you expect that will take, Major?”
“Tomorrow afternoon, sir, at the latest.”
“Very good. Keep me informed.” He seemed finished until something else occurred to him. “Of course, the other events of the day do now allow us to eliminate a problem that has been vexing us for some time. You know of what I speak, Major?”
“I have issued the appropriate orders, sir.”
“By my specifications, I trust.”
“Of course, sir. To the letter.”
“I want her to have a chance to atone. I owe her that much.” The figure rose in the back of the dark theater, silhouetted by the dim ceiling lights. “Very well, then …”
“Sir?”
“Ah yes, Major, there was something else.” He sat down again, reluctantly.
“Something else rather pressing, I’m afraid, sir.”
On signal, the lights in the small, plush theater were snapped all the way off once more. On the eight-bytwelve-foot screen encompassing the center of the front wall, a picture came to life portraying a narrow slice of Lexington Avenue in New York City. A number of pedestrians
were stepping past a tight throng gathered before a fruit stand set up in front of the abandoned Alexander’s department store.
“We confiscated this tape from a bystander who happened to be filming at the time of the attack.”
“An attack that was most poorly executed, leaving the material we sought to acquire potentially in dangerous hands.”
“Erase potentially.”
“Major?”
“I believe we have located the material, sir. I’m going to fast-forward here to the spot in question.”
“Please,” returned the voice from the very back row, sounding disturbed.
The action on the screen returned to normal speed. A woman and three children were smiling and waving at the video camera. Their lips moved, but he couldn’t hear what they were saying. Suddenly a figure crossed in front of the lens, obscuring the family. At the front of the theater, the major froze the tape briefly on the befuddled looks of the family members. Then he rewound it and ran it again in slow motion, freezing the frame when the intruding figure was centered on the screen, visible from only the waist up. Even through the blur, it was clear he was broad and had a beard that looked more the result of a week gone without shaving than careful grooming.
“Sir, this man meets the description of one of the surviving gunmen from inside Bloomingdale’s who eliminated our people. We have now been able to obtain a positive identification based on a computer enhancement of this frame.” The major paused. “The man’s name is Blaine McCracken.”
The figure in
“And what of the state trooper?”
“He never should have gotten away, of course. It was a fluke, sir.”
“A rather ominous fluke.”
“Not according to present reports. He was picked up in the desert several hours ago in a near catatonic state. I doubt very much he’ll be talking to anyone anytime soon, sir.”
“We will have to make sure that is long enough, won’t we, Major?”
The man in the rear grasped the back of the crushed red velour seat before him. Every detail of the small theater
had an ornate look and feel to it, as if an old-fashioned movie house had simply been shrunk down and placed here. Rich wood paneling with hand-carved pilasters and moldings covered the walls. The ceiling was painted in neo-Pompeian style, with arabesques and ropes of flowers intertwined with gods and goddesses.
“And what of the site itself?” he resumed.
“All reports indicate it’s clean, sir. Not even the slightest trace. The tests carried out were remarkably thorough. I don’t think we have anything to fear on that account.”
“We have that much to be thankful for, I suppose. What about security, containment?”
“We’re monitoring the area closely, sir, but so long as we are able to move the replacements into the town before the highway patrol happens to return, I think we’ll be all right.”
“And how long do you expect that will take, Major?”
“Tomorrow afternoon, sir, at the latest.”
“Very good. Keep me informed.” He seemed finished until something else occurred to him. “Of course, the other events of the day do now allow us to eliminate a problem that has been vexing us for some time. You know of what I speak, Major?”
“I have issued the appropriate orders, sir.”
“By my specifications, I trust.”
“Of course, sir. To the letter.”
“I want her to have a chance to atone. I owe her that much.” The figure rose in the back of the dark theater, silhouetted by the dim ceiling lights. “Very well, then …”
“Sir?”
“Ah yes, Major, there was something else.” He sat down again, reluctantly.
“Something else rather pressing, I’m afraid, sir.”
On signal, the lights in the small, plush theater were snapped all the way off once more. On the eight-bytwelve-foot screen encompassing the center of the front wall, a picture came to life portraying a narrow slice of Lexington Avenue in New York City. A number of pedestrians
were stepping past a tight throng gathered before a fruit stand set up in front of the abandoned Alexander’s department store.
“We confiscated this tape from a bystander who happened to be filming at the time of the attack.”
“An attack that was most poorly executed, leaving the material we sought to acquire potentially in dangerous hands.”
“Erase potentially.”
“Major?”
“I believe we have located the material, sir. I’m going to fast-forward here to the spot in question.”
“Please,” returned the voice from the very back row, sounding disturbed.
The action on the screen returned to normal speed. A woman and three children were smiling and waving at the video camera. Their lips moved, but he couldn’t hear what they were saying. Suddenly a figure crossed in front of the lens, obscuring the family. At the front of the theater, the major froze the tape briefly on the befuddled looks of the family members. Then he rewound it and ran it again in slow motion, freezing the frame when the intruding figure was centered on the screen, visible from only the waist up. Even through the blur, it was clear he was broad and had a beard that looked more the result of a week gone without shaving than careful grooming.
“Sir, this man meets the description of one of the surviving gunmen from inside Bloomingdale’s who eliminated our people. We have now been able to obtain a positive identification based on a computer enhancement of this frame.” The major paused. “The man’s name is Blaine McCracken.”
The figure in
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