spokeswoman noticed the figures closing on them in that same instant. "Who are those men?" she asked, clearly startled.
For a split second Smith stood still, hesitating. Were these guys FBI agents sent by Kit Pierson? He had been sure that he was under surveillance earlier that afternoon. But when he had checked for tags before heading to the Longevity Cafe he had come up empty-handed. Had he missed them earlier?
Just then one of the men moving in from the front strayed into a small pool of light. He had a shaved head and wore an Army fatigue jacket. Smith's eyes narrowed at the sight of the silenced pistol the man held out and ready. So much for the FBI, he thought coldly.
They were being surrounded - boxed in on the open ground in the middle of the Plaza. His instincts kicked into gear. They had to break out of this trap before it was too late.
Reacting quickly, Smith grabbed Heather Donovan's arm and tugged her with him to the right, around the curve of the obelisk. At the same time, he drew his own pistol from the shoulder holster concealed by his corduroy jacket. "This way!" he muttered. "Come on!"
"What are you doing?" she protested loudly, too shocked by his sudden action to pull away. "Let go of me!"
"If you want to live, come with me!" Smith snapped, still drawing her away from the open space around the Civil War monument and toward the darkness under the surrounding trees.
One of the two men who had been coming up behind them stopped, aimed quickly, and opened fire. Phut. The silencer on his pistol reduced the sound of the shot to that of a muffled cough. The bullet tore past Smith's head and smacked into the trunk of a tall cottonwood tree not far away. Phut. Another round shattered a low-hanging branch. Splinters and falling leaves rained down on them.
He pushed the Movement spokeswoman to the ground. "Stay down!"
Smith dropped to one knee, swung his SIG-Sauer pistol toward the shooter, and squeezed the trigger. The weapon barked once, a loud crack that echoed back from the buildings surrounding the Plaza.
His shot, fired hurriedly and on the move, missed. But the sound of gunfire drove three of the four attackers he could see to the ground. They went prone and began shooting back at him, firing rapidly.
Heather Donovan screamed piercingly, pressing herself flat against the hard, unyielding earth.
Pistol rounds whined close by, either thudding into the trees on either side or spanging off a nearby park bench in showers of sparks, torn bits of metal, and pulverized white paint. Smith ignored the near misses, concentrating instead on the one gunman who was still moving.
It was the shaven-headed man he had first spotted. Hunched over in a
crouch, the gunman was sidling off to the right, trying to make it back into the shelter of the trees and then come up on his flank.
Jon squeezed off three shots in rapid succession.
The bald man stumbled. His silenced pistol tumbled to the ground. Slowly he fell forward onto his hands and knees. Blood poured out of his mouth. Black in the dim light, it spilled across the brick pavement in a widening pool.
More bullets ripped past Smith as the wounded man's comrades kept shooting. One round punched through the broad felt brim of his brand-new Stetson and tore it right off his head. The hat sailed off into the shadows. They were getting way too close, he thought grimly - starting to zero in on him.
He threw himself prone and fired three more shots with his SIG-Sauer, trying to keep their heads down or at least shake their aim. Then he rolled quickly over to where Heather Donovan lay with her face pressed to the earth. She had stopped screaming, but he could see her shoulders shaking as terrified sobs wracked her whole body.
The three unhurt gunmen had spotted his movement. They were shooting lower now, taking the time to aim. Nine-millimeter pistol rounds tore at the earth all around Jon and the Movement spokeswoman. Others, slightly wider off the mark, sent shattered bits of brick flying.
Smith grimaced. They needed to get out of here, and fast. He put his hand gently on the back of the frightened woman's head. She quivered but stayed down. "We've got to keep moving," he said urgently. "Come on! Crawl, damn it! Head for that big cottonwood tree over there. It's onlv a few yards away."