Breaking point - By Tom Clancy & Steve Perry & Steve Pieczenik Page 0,8

days until the Smith was repaired.

“Sergeant Fernandez, bring that little revolver here, I want to take a look at it.”

“God hates a sore loser, John.”

“Let me see it.”

Fernandez came around the barrier, holding the .38 Special snubbie on his palm, cylinder latch up.

Howard looked at the weapon. Stainless steel, two-inch barrel, plain ramp-and-notch sight, nonadjustable. The grips were black plastic, boot-style, cut small so as not to reveal a concealed weapon under a thin jacket. The Chief was basically a smaller version of his revolver, a J-frame to his K-frame, a five-shooter instead of a six-honker. In the hands of an expert, this gun could certainly put the bullets on target, but the short barrel and minimal sights made such a thing difficult on a good day without a lot of practice. Julio shouldn’t be able to do it right out of the box.

“Satisfied?” He started to pull his hand away.

Howard grabbed the revolver and turned it over. When he did, he noticed the little bulge at the top of the other grip panel. At the same time, he felt the small button on the inside of the grip, under his middle finger. “And just what is this?” He pointed the gun downrange and squeezed the grips.

A hundred meters away, a bright red spot appeared all the way out on the back wall.

There was a laser built into the grips.

“You cheating bastard. You set me up.”

Julio laughed. “Gunny showed it to me before you got here. It’s from somebody called Crimson Trace—cool, ain’t it? You adjust it with a tiny little Allen wrench, right there, and up there, and it fits inside a regular holster. Doesn’t add any appreciable mass or weight, and unlike a dot scope, you don’t even have to bring the weapon up to eye level, you can hip-shoot. Gets a couple thousand rounds per set of batteries, and you can carry a spare set in the other grip panel. They make ’em for K-frames, too, so you could get them for the Medusa or the Smith.”

“You work for these people, too, Julio?”

Julio laughed again and pointed at the dancing dot. “Old guys like us, we need some advantages. You can see that sucker a couple hundred meters away in the dark and, according to Gunny, it shows up okay at handgun combat range even in daylight. Wherever the red spot is, that’s where the bullet hits. If it’s foggy or you’re worried about giving away your position, you can use the regular sights, ’cause the laser don’t get in the way. Gunny says they make these for a whole bunch of guns, including my Beretta. I’m gonna get one before Joanna has our kid and we have to start putting away every penny for his college education.”

“God hates a cheater more than he does a sore loser.”

“No second-place winner in a gunfight, John. You know that. What do you think about the Medusa?”

It wouldn’t do to admit to Julio how much he liked it, so he said, “I can force myself to use it until Gunny gets the Smith back on-line.”

Julio gave him a knowing grin. “Ah. I see.”

They’d been serving together too long for Howard to get much past his old friend. He grinned. “Okay, so it’s a great piece, you happy?”

“You working for these people, John? Getting a commission on sales?”

It was Howard’s turn to laugh, and he did.

3

Seattle, Washington

Sitting in his Dodge Caravan, Patrick Morrison rode the ferry from Seattle toward Bainbridge Island. This was the first leg of a journey that would involve driving north after the boat ride, another ferry, then another short stint in the car, to finally arrive back at Port Townsend. The picturesque little town on the little peninsula where the Straits of Juan de Fuca turned south into Puget Sound was only about forty miles away from downtown Seattle as the crow flew, but a two-hour trip by car and boat, if you were lucky enough to make the ferry connections just right.

Morrison owned a house on the hill in Port Townsend, where Shannon, his bride of four months, was doubtless still in bed asleep at this hour. She was twenty-five, gorgeous, a trophy wife half his age. Shannon was his second marriage, the first one having gone bad after almost twenty years. Marian had also been beautiful when he’d met her, and brilliant, which he’d always thought was the bigger attraction. But she’d let herself go, had gotten fat and lazy, and, it turned out, had