Chapter 19
W
hen the kid in the guard uniform started to raise the shopping bag, the alarm bells already going off in Jake Connelly's head set up a real clamor. The way Ray Napoli stiffened and reached for his sidearm told Jake that the mall's head of security was experiencing the same sensation.
Neither of them reacted fast enough, however, and with blank corridor walls on both sides of them, they had nowhere to go.
The noise was loudâa swift, deadly chatter as muzzle flame shredded the bottom of the shopping bag.
Napoli had taken a quick step to his right as he tried to draw his weapon. That was the only thing that saved Jake's life. The kid swung the gun he was firing from left to right, stitching a line of bullets from one side of the corridor to the other. The slugs thudded into Napoli's chest and drove him back against Jake. Napoli's body shielded the former cop from the unexpected onslaught of lead.
Jake clawed under his jacket for the .357 holstered at his waist. He had been under fire before and knew not to panic. The impact of Napoli falling against him threw him off balance, though, and the gun stubbornly refused to come clear.
Jake's feet slipped. He realized the floor was slick from the blood pouring out of the wounds in Napoli's chest and midsection. With his free hand, he grabbed instinctively at the other man's jacket. That just succeeded in getting him dragged down, too, when Napoli fell.
Only a handful of heartbeats had passed since the kid opened fire, but already the mall was full of screaming because of the sound of a gun going off. Jake heard it as if from a great distance. His ears rang like somebody was pounding on a giant drum right next to them.
Napoli was lying on top of him now, pinning Jake's gun arm so he couldn't use the .357 even if he could have gotten the weapon out of its holster.
The shooting stopped. The kid stalked forward along the corridor toward the chaos erupting out in the mall.
Jake stopped trying to get his gun out. Instead, acting purely on instinct, he stayed as still as possible, holding his breath so that not even his chest moved. If he had any chance, it lay in making the killer think that he was dead, too. With so much blood, it would be difficult to tell for certain.
The shooter fired another short burst into Napoli's body as he strode past. Jake felt the corpse shudder as the bullets struck it, but the slugs didn't go all the way through.
Jake knew without having to check that Napoli was dead. Nobody could absorb that much lead and live more than a second or two.
He expected the kid to slow down and make sure of both of them, but as he passed them he broke into a run. The adrenaline had to be pumping so hard in him that he might not be thinking straight. Jake stayed where he was until the kid had gone by, then he shoved hard against Napoli's weight.
The security chief was a big guy. Jake had to grunt and strain to roll him to the side. Jake rolled, too, through the pool of blood that had already gathered, and finally succeeded in getting the short-barreled revolver out of the holster. He lifted the gun, hoping to get a shot off . . .
His head came up just in time for him to see the shooter vanish around a corner at the end of the corridor.
* * *
Mahmoud wasn't supposed to start up the escalator until he saw that Habib was in position, but the shots changed everything, Habib knew. They had discussed the possibility of something going wrong and what to do if it did. Mahmoud was supposed to act on his own initiative if he could tell that everything wasn't going according to the plan.
So when Habib emerged into the mall after gunning down the two Americans and looked toward the bank of escalators at the center of the building, he wasn't surprised to see Mahmoud fighting his way up the middle of the three escalators that rose to the upper level.
Mahmoud grabbed the clothes of the people above him and slung them back and to the side, sending them tumbling over onto the flanking escalators. Screaming, yelling, and shrieks of agony as the escalators caught hold of flesh and chewed it like giant mechanized jaws filled the air. Mahmoud ignored all of it as he lunged higher on the moving steps.
When he neared the halfway point, he stopped and turned so he could look back toward the spot where Habib stood. Just for an instant, their eyes met across that distance, and then Mahmoud's hand moved sharply to his chest.
He disappeared in a blinding burst of flame. The explosion shook the floor under Habib's feet. He staggered.
When he caught himself, he saw that Mahmoud was gone. So were the escalators, except for small, twisted remnants at the top and bottom. Dozens of Americans had been blown to bits in the blast, as well. The righteous smoke of holy destruction rolled through the mall.
Habib's heart leaped joyfully at the sight. With an incoherent yell, he pivoted around and pressed the Steyr's trigger, exulting as the weapon leaped and pounded in his hands.
* * *
The sudden chaos, accompanied by screams and shots, was like being back in Iraq. Tobey twisted toward the chatter of an automatic weapon and at the same time reached into his jacket to close his hand around the solid grip of the 9mm Shield.
The action was purely a reflexive one. His muscles knew what to do.
His brain was shouting
Ashley! Where's Ashley?
He hoped she was at the far end of the mall, far away from whatever madman was doing this.
Then the huge blast rocked the very earth itself and almost knocked Tobey off his feet. He staggered and threw out his good arm to catch his balance. He knew an explosion that big, in a place this crowded, must have claimed dozens of lives, but there was nothing he could do for them now.
Instead he grabbed the arm of the closest man, who happened to be the tall, skinny guy who looked like a professor. Tobey practically threw him toward the sporting goods store and yelled, “Get in there! Find some cover!”
The guy stumbled right into the kid wearing the hoodie. They nearly fell down but held each other up.
“Go! Go!” Tobey shouted at them. He waved his arm to emphasize the words.
Suddenly he remembered the old man in the wheelchair and looked around to see what had become of him.
The priest was already heading for what he must have hoped was safety, pushing the wheelchair at a run in front of him. The old man looked like he was trying to yell but couldn't find the breath.
More shots hammered in a full-auto staccato.
The worst part, though, was that they were coming from different directions.
Tobey could figure out what that meant. This was a coordinated attack involving multiple shooters. That, along with the explosion, said one thing to him.
Terrorists.
Again he thought about Ashley, but there was nothing he could do for her. He had no idea where she was, and searching for her in the madhouse that the mall had become in a matter of seconds would be useless. He would look for her later if he got a chance.
If he wasn't dead.
He wasn't going to just stand around and let the sons of bitches kill him. He raised the Shield, flicking off the safety with his thumb as he did so. Somebody was shooting about thirty yards away, fire licking from the muzzle of his weapon as he sprayed bullets into the screaming crowd.
Tobey caught only glimpses of the madman through gaps in the terrified throng of people, but he might have been able to draw a bead on the shooter anyway if he hadn't hesitated when he realized the guy was wearing a security guard's uniform. That confused Tobey for a second, so he kept his finger out of the trigger guard.
The next moment, somebody tackled him from behind.
* * *
This couldn't be happening, Calvin thought as the violence and pandemonium spread around him.
Not after he had promised his mother that this job was going to be safe.
But all hell was definitely breaking loose in the American Way Mall.
He had just emerged from the sporting goods store, so far unsuccessful in his effort to locate Dave Dixon, when he heard the shots. That was bad enough, but then everybody started yelling and pushing and running, so it was impossible to tell what was going on.
Calvin looked back toward the center of the mall. He spotted somebody in a guard's uniform standing near the entrance to one of the service corridors. Calvin's first thought was to start toward the guy and link up with him so they could work together to put a stop to the trouble.
That was when he noticed the funny-looking gun in the other guard's hands. That didn't look right at all.
But for all Calvin knew, some of the guards were armed with automatic weapons. This man could need his help.
Before anything else could happen, a huge explosion rocked the mall. Smoke roiled out from the center of the building. Calvin couldn't see much, but he knew a blast that big must have killed a lot of people. The thought made him sick to his stomach.
He forced that reaction to the back of his mind and started again toward where he had noticed the other guard. He couldn't see the man anymore but knew he was probably still over there. In this mob, nobody could go very far in a hurry.
Calvin had taken one step in that direction when he saw a big man in a denim jacket pull out a smaller pistol and raise it, using a two-handed grip that made him look like he knew what he was doing.
To Calvin's horror, he realized the man was trying to aim at the other security guard.
Calvin didn't stop to think. If he had, he might have considered the fact that the guy was considerably taller and heavier than he was.
However, during football practice Calvin had tackled guys who were bigger than he was. He hadn't always brought them down, but sometimes he had. Anyway, this gun-wielding man was facing away from him, so Calvin could take him by surprise.
Calvin lowered his head, darted through an opening in the panicked crowd, built up some steam, and rammed his shoulder into the guy's back.
The impact knocked the man forward, off his feet. He went down hard with Calvin on top of him. Calvin had hoped the tackle would jolt the gun out of the man's hand, but the guy hung on to it.
Scrambling for an advantage, Calvin tried to slide an arm around the man's neck so he could get a chokehold on him. Before he could manage to do that, the man's right elbow came shooting back and slammed into his jaw. The blow made Calvin roll to the side.
That hurt worse than any hit he had ever taken in practice or a game, but he tried to shake it off. He pawed at the man's muscular arm, which felt as big around as the trunk of a small tree.
The man rolled toward Calvin, clamped his free hand around the smaller man's neck, and pinned him to the floor.
“Stop that!” he snapped. “What the hell are you doing, kid?”
Calvin couldn't answer. He was having enough trouble just breathing with that big hand squeezing his neck.
The man seemed to understand that. He went on, “If you think I'm one of the bastards doing this, you're wrong. I think the mall's under attack by terrorists. Do I look like a terrorist to you?”
Actually, he didn't. He had a pleasantly homely face, ears that stuck out a little, and close-cropped dark hair. He looked about as American as anybody could be.
Of course, Americans could still be terrorists, Calvin supposed, but something about this man told him that wasn't the case.
When the guy eased up on his grip, Calvin said, “I . . . I'm sorry. You've got a gun . . . I thoughtâ”
“That's okay.” The man rose to his feet in a single smooth surge of muscles. He reached down, and when Calvin automatically grasped his hand, he pulled him upright with little or no effort. “Understandable mistake.”
“You . . . you were aiming at another guard.”
Both of them were shouting to be heard over the bedlam going on around them, but the big man exuded a sort of calm that made Calvin relax a little, too. He said, “I don't think he's a real guard. He's got some kind of machine pistol and is shooting people.”
“My God!”
“Yeah.” The man looked back and forth. “Sounds like multiple shooters. We need to get somewhere there'll be some cover.” He gave Calvin a push back toward the sporting goods store. “Get in there and try to get everybody calmed down. Tell them to find cover and stay low. Anybody who knows how to use a gun better arm themselves, too, including you. Plenty of weapons and ammo in there.” He paused. “I'm Tobey Lanning, by the way.”
“Calvin Marshall.” Calvin started to turn toward the sporting goods store. Tobey had the sort of presence that made people tend to do what he told them, and it wasn't just his size, either.
But Calvin paused and asked, “What are you going to do?”
“See if I can find out what's going on here,” Tobey said grimly.