Breaking point - By Tom Clancy & Steve Perry & Steve Pieczenik Page 0,90

hot summer street.

“—got all day,” Fiscus was saying. “And Rudy ain’t even broke a sweat. I seen him work the heavy bag for ten, fifteen minutes, four, five hundred punches. You ain’t a bag full of batting, son. How long you figure you’ll last?”

Jay’s blurry vision was enough to let him see that gap-toothed smile, and he knew that Fiscus and his two apes could and might beat him to death. “Okay,” he said. “Okay, I’ll tell you.”

“Sheeit,” Rudy said.

“See, I told you he was just getting warmed up. Don’t worry, Rudy, you can throw a couple more if Mr. Net Force Agent gets too sluggish. Okay, let me hear it.”

Jay took a raspy breath. The guy didn’t know, so it didn’t matter what he said. Jay could create scenario, and writing the description and background and dialog was part of that. He could spin it, and how would this guy know different?

“Okay. We came across a computer break-in, in New York. A stock trading company, and—”

“Rudy.”

The punch took Jay under the armpit on the right side, a left, hooking move, and he felt, and thought he heard, one of his ribs crack under the impact.

“Uuuhhh! Ow, ow, what did you do that for?! I’m telling you!”

“Nah, you ain’t. You’re lying. I might look stupid, but I didn’t fall off the turnip truck yesterday, kid. Every lie buys you another slam. Try again. ”

Jay felt a great wave of despair wash over him. He was going to die. He knew it. No matter what he told them, in the end, they were going to kill him.

Washington, D.C.

“That’s it, that surplus store,” the cop said.

In the big tactical van, Michaels nodded. According to the protocols for Net Force distress calls established with the police, the local cops had arrived Code 2—fast, but without sirens. They set up a perimeter and the local version of SWAT or SERT or whatever was ready to go in, but Michaels had gotten there before they hit the building, and he wanted to go along.

The police lieutenant in charge of the scene looked at Michaels’s taser and shook his head. “Not a good idea, Commander. We know who this guy is that runs the store. We’re pretty sure he’s got enough illegal hardware in there to equip a third-world army, and he’s usually not alone. Your little zapper won’t cut it.”

“I’ll stay behind the team. That’s my man in there.”

“I’m going, too,” Toni said. She held her own taser.

“What is this, a goddamn parade? Where’s the marching band and the baton twirlers?”

“I can make some calls, Lieutenant, and get the heavy hitters into it if I have to. My boss can call yours. You want me to do that?”

“Shit. No. Put masks and vests on and stay in the back and the hell out of the way, you understand? If you get killed, don’t bitch about it to me.”

“All right.”

He looked at Toni. This was not the time to tell her to stay behind, he could see that, but it was the first thing he wanted to say. Maybe she was right. Maybe she couldn’t work for him. Maybe he was too protective. He did not want her in there.

“Heads up, people,” the lieutenant said into his com. “We’re going in thirty seconds. And we got two feebs riding the caboose. Don’t nobody shoot them by accident.”

The lieutenant pulled a pair of spidersilk vests with ceramic interlock armor and the initials D.C.P.D. stenciled in reflective yellow on the backs. “Put these on. They’ll stop handgun rounds and a lot of rifle bullets. Grab a gas mask and helmet. We’re going in with flash-bangs and puke gas.”

Michaels nodded.

“Fifteen seconds,” the lieutenant said into the com. “Go get into position. Behind Sergeant Thomas over there. And stay behind him.”

Michaels glanced at Toni, and they jumped from the back of the mobile command post and ran.

Woodland Hills, California

Morrison and Ventura were in their seats in the theater when an “usher” walked Wu down the aisle. The section they were in had been roped off, so that they sat in the middle of a block of four rows alone; the other seats in the block were all empty. There were maybe forty people already in their seats, with a few others trickling in.

Wu carried a fold-out laptop computer slung over one shoulder—and a big tub of popcorn.

Ventura smiled at that. Had to give the man credit for style.

Ventura and Morrison both stood, and Wu moved to join them. He slipped