"It took me eleven months to be accepted back into the athletic program. When I was accepted, I became the hardest-working member of the gymnastics team."

Gadgets was held by her story; he was held because she was a fascinating woman. She could solder and soldier with the best, on top of coaching the U.S. team. She had placed her life on the line and yet she radiated warmth, a sense of humor, a love of life.

They stood looking at each other for seconds and would have remained that way if they had not been interrupted by a knock at the door. Gadgets was closest to the door. He opened it and was greeted by the grinning face of Petra Dix, the West Coast's famous face on television news.

8

"Yes?" Gadgets inquired.

"Jesus, you're a hard man to track down," Petra Dix said, her voice ringing as strong and clear as a cowbell.

"How did you manage it?" Gadgets asked, not budging from the doorway.

"Hey, come on. What's with the cold treatment? This is Petra Dix. We were rolling around on the ground together three hours ago. Don't pretend like you don't remember."

Lyons and Blancanales looked at each other and grinned. Babette glided over to the door to take a look at the brash-voiced creature who had the back of Gadgets's neck turning red.

"How could I ever forget," he said.

Dix wasn't quite sure how to take the comment. After a pause she said, "I want to thank you for saving my life."

"Anytime."

"I also wanted to tell you that you're harder to fall on than pavement. Come on out here for a moment so I can thank you properly."

"I see you've got a cameraman waiting out there," Gadgets said. "I can't go out there, I'm shy as hell."

Dix laughed. "A man who makes a flying tackle at a lady in a public place can hardly go around calling himself shy. Come on."

Gadgets stayed indoors in the shadow of the doorway, carefully watching the cameraman. The video eye had not yet been trained on him.

Dix let out a huge sigh. Gadgets smiled. From his vantage point, he could understand and clearly see why the local joke about Petra Dix was: "The biggest thing she contributes to the news is cleavage." She made a sign of resignation then turned and spoke to her cameraman.

"Tony, put that damn thing down for a moment. Take a break."

Gadgets was about to step forward into the sunlight when a strong hand pulled him back. Before he could recover his balance, Babette had slipped out past him and was standing at the bottom of the trailer's metal steps. She surveyed the situation carefully. Petra Dix surveyed her.

Gadgets stood in the shadow watching the two women. Both were well built, but there the similarity ended. Babette's hair was cut short and had been brushed so that every hair was in place. Dix's hair was long and had a deliberately unkempt look. Her makeup, overdone for the television lights and cameras, looked wild. To Gadgets, she did not compare with Babette, who wore no makeup at all, preferring the natural look.

Petra wore an expensive, stylish suit. Babette wore jeans, sandals and a T-shirt. One woman was the product of careful packaging; the other was simply herself.

"What about the other cameramen you have in the van?" Babette asked Dix.

"I don't know what you're talking about," Dix replied, her voice controlled, and odd.

"Let's take a look then," Babette suggested.

She started across the small parking lot toward an unmarked blue van. The cameraman Dix had called Tony swung his scanner to his shoulder and started to follow her. Gadgets joined the procession, keeping Tony between himself and the van.

Just before Babette reached the van, the cameraman sprinted to one side to catch her profile. He crowded in closely as the gymnastics coach tugged at the handle on the van's rear doors. They were locked. She turned, the cameraman took a step closer and his camera flew from his hands. They all heard the boom of the heavy rifle that had fired the bullet.

Reactions were swift. Gadgets shoved the cameraman and Dix between the parked cars. "Get down and stay down," he yelled.

Babette scooped up the fallen piece of equipment and rammed it through one of the van's mirrored back windows. The broken window revealed a cameraman whose scanner had been thrust back into his eye.

"What the hell," the hidden cameraman exclaimed, trying to see who was responsible for the deep and dark shiner he was going to have.

Babette was already out of sight. She dodged around the side of the van, away from the sniper. A high-powered bullet, which had burst through one side of the van and out the other, whipped past her. She vaulted over two more cars, then ducked down.

Lyons and Politician had gone to the door to watch the confrontation between the two women. Neither had stepped outside. The crack of a high-powered rifle triggered them into action. There was a scramble for weapons.

Lyons thrust the M-203 at Pol, then pointed to two bandoliers containing clips for the M-16 part of the weapon and grenades to feed the M-79 part. Blancanales slung on two bandoliers and was gone.

Throwing open one of the wooden cases, Lyons grabbed a Champlin, already sighted in with a Kahles ZF69 scope.

Taking a box of the .458 Magnum shells in the other hand, he ran to the end of the trailer and used the rifle butt to take out a small windowpane. He quickly jacked a shell into the breech and knelt, using the scope to search the new building at the south end of the parking lot.

Gadgets was mad as hell — at himself. He was stuck in the open, armed with nothing but a Beretta and subsonic bullets. Compared to the big piece booming from one of the terraces on the new building, the Beretta was only able to dish out love taps.

"When all else fails," he muttered to himself, "attack." He took off in a weaving, choppy pattern, to cover the four hundred feet to the building where the sniper was at work. He knew the first leg of the run would be the most dangerous. As he drew closer to the edge of the building, the sniper would have a tougher shot. Gadgets ran like hell, breaking left or right with each few paces. A bullet dug asphalt two feet from his foot. He subconsciously braced himself for the next bullet.

Blancanales charged out with the M-203 in time to see his partner, hands empty, dashing for the sniper's base. He swerved to follow, searching his bandolier as he went. He found a smoke grenade and shoved it into firing position without slowing his run. Raising the M-203, he fired the grenade about fifty feet ahead of Gadgets. Again swerving hard and fast to make himself an elusive target, he reached for another smoker.

Petra Dix looked in disgust at the cameraman huddled on the floor of the van. The gaping holes in the side panels told her how close the bullet had come to hitting the man, but that did not matter to her. There was news to tape that took priority over everything. She reached inside the van and grabbed a portapak. She plucked the camera that was not damaged from the cameraman's hand and plugged it into the portable recording unit.

Keeping a hand over his sore eye, he looked up at her. "You can't use that," he said.

"Watch me," she replied.

She took off to catch the action.

Lyons found the sniper in his scope. By the direction the rifle was pointed, he guessed the gunner had Blancanales dead in his sights. He didn't wait for an exact shot. With the cross hairs on the assassin's forehead, he squeezed a quick shot. The 300-grain Magnum Super Speed plucked at the gunner's hair. The sniper's shot went wild.

Lyons quickly worked the bolt and with a fresh cartridge waiting to take up the argument, he continued to scan for the sniper. But the assassin had dropped out of sight. Lyons swept the terrace with the scope, determined to hold the sniper back from the edge.