by Gene P. Abel
25
Sniper
Agent Harris could see no one in the crowd who might be responsible, other than the obvious targets, all of which were accounted for. Then she remembered the modern weaponry she’d seen in evidence on some of their opponents and cast her gaze upward. Following a quick survey of one rooftop after another, she saw a glint of sunlight reflecting off metal that brought her attention to a long gun barrel poking out from the edge of the rooftop of the building directly across from city hall—the same building, as it turned out, they had originally been hiding beneath while originally surveying the site.
Another muffled shot rang out as Agent Hessman was pulling his opponent to his feet. Before he could get a question out, though, the back of the Japanese man’s head exploded, dropping him to the ground. Agent Hessman ran for cover, which turned out to be behind a parked Model T with a couple of policemen standing in front of it.
“Where the heck did that shot come from?” one of the policemen was saying as Agent Hessman dove in behind him.
“Does it matter?” Agent Hessman remarked. “There’s still a shooter out there.”
Agent Harris glanced discreetly around, then when she was sure that no one was looking, particularly her teammates, she pulled something out from beneath her dress, something roughly gun shaped. Not the one she had taken from the Japanese victim back at Steeplechase, but another. Then from her velvet belt she produced a length of barrel, which she quickly screwed onto the end of the normal one on the gun. In seconds she was holding a pistol very much not of the year 1919, one with sleek modern curves and a scope.
She brought the pistol up in both hands, aiming for the top of the roof with the glint of reflected light, and peered through the barrel. Beneath the noise of confusion now about City Hall Square, her shot rang out, flipping the rifle out of the hands of whoever was holding it.
Immediately she ran for the side of the building. “Got to be one around here somewhere,” she muttered to herself. “Ah!” Spotting a fire escape, she headed straight for it, leaping up to pull the extension ladder down, and started into a mad dash up the metal stairs. One flight after another, taking some of the steps two at a time, she came out onto the uppermost landing next to a window on the upper floor. She still had a climb to the roof above that, though.
Sheathing her gun into her sash, she wasted no time and grabbed on to some brickwork on the side of the window and started climbing. She grabbed on to a couple of precarious handholds and braced a foot against the inside edge of the window, followed by the other foot against the other side. Inch by inch she scooted herself up, hands reaching for the next available handhold.
Then the window shade snapped up and a curious face glanced out. A woman inside saw the midsection and legs of what appeared to be a young black woman passing up her window. The woman screamed, and Agent Harris immediately grabbed tight on to whatever protrusion was available. “If you don’t mind, I’m in a rather delicate situation!”
The woman screamed again, quickly brought down the shutters, and could now be heard babbling to someone else about some “jungle lady climbing the side of the building.”
“I hate this century. Well, at least she didn’t open the window.”
Sue’s feet were just reaching the top of the window, one hand barely making it to the edge of the roof overhang. Her other hand flailed out and found purchase, and with a deep intake of breath, she pushed off with both feet as her arms lifted. That’s when the shutters snapped up again and the window opened, this time with an angry-looking man emerging to shout at her. “Just what are you doing up there scaring my wife like that, you black demon!”
“Chin-ups,” was all she had the breath to reply.
Her feet flailed but found something else to continue pushing against; then by degrees she raised herself above the roof until she was able to bend forward at the waist, then kick a leg up and over. A few seconds later she was on her back, panting for a moment before she heard shoes running along gravel.
She was on her feet in an instant, gun already aimed. The approaching man had short blond hair, was well built, and had a freshly bandaged hand. He bolted across the roof. She pulled off a shot just as he swerved to the side, falling into a tuck and roll, then was up to his feet in a single smooth motion.
“No, can’t kill him; Lou will want to question him.”
She started running after him, sheathing her gun once again so she could devote both arms to pumping herself into greater speed. Across the roof he ran, not even slowing for the edge he was quickly approaching. From her angle she couldn’t see much of his face but could easily tell that he was European, not Japanese.
He hit the edge of the roof and made the long jump across to the roof of the neighboring building, landing in another tuck and roll, then got to his feet once again. In that moment, Agent Harris got a better look at his face. She didn’t slow down either, but increased her speed and also leaped, clearing the gap almost as well as the other. She made it back up to her feet just as skillfully, but by that time the man was already nearly across this second roof. She had to think quickly. At this rate, she could pace him but not catch up to him. So, taking out her gun, she leveled it and took aim.
“A wounded foot’s as good as an arm, and we can still question him,” she muttered as she peered through the scope.
The man leaped again and she fired. His legs snapped wide into a midair split, allowing the bullet to pass cleanly beneath him before he came down to land in a brief handstand and roll on the next roof over. Now with an entire building between them, he was still running.
“Damn! Missed.”
She could only watch as he ran out of sight, doing her best to burn what she had seen of his face into her memory. “Definitely one of the Germans. But why was he shooting at his own people?”
After a last look, she sheathed her gun, turned away, and assessed her surroundings.
“Lou’s gonna want to hear every detail of this. But first I need to find a way down from here.”
26
Professor Prisoner
Professor Stein struggled as the men dragged him to his feet before one of the plainclothesmen, a man with the look of authority in his eyes.
“Well, what do we have here?”
“Some sort of anarchist, would be my guess,” one uniformed officer replied. “He was running up the steps, screaming about the congressman.”
“No, you don’t understand,” the professor replied. “I was trying to save Congressman Lodge from getting shot. There’s a shooter out there.”
“And an anarchist right here,” the plainclothesman said. “Okay, get him over to a holding cell until—”
“Let me pass! Reporter coming through.”
A determined-looking woman with long black hair beneath a large floppy white hat came barging through the line of cops, flashing her press pass as only a few women of this era seemed capable of doing.
“Miss, I’m afraid you’ll have to—”
“Claire Hill, freelance reporter,” she said as she brushed briskly past a pair of policemen. “And I saw the real shooter running off that way.” She pointed off across the square, then, before anyone could say anything, continued, “I didn’t get a good look at him, since I was interviewing this gentleman here at the time.”
“The anarchist?” the plainclothesman asked.
“I am not an anarchist!”
One of the cops holding him gave Professor Stein a sharp rap on the back to quiet him while the plainclothesman continued talking with Claire.
“I’m afraid he’s right,” Claire told them. “I’m working on a story covering the history of City Hall and decided to interview one of the bystanders for his perspective on the matter when I saw another man pull a gun.”
“So it wasn’t the anarchist here?”
“For the last time, I
am not—”
To one cop’s glare, Professor Stein dropped into silence.
“It was someone else,” Claire told them. “Tall, blond hair, I think. Muttered something under his breath that sounded German. Anyway, when the gentleman here saw him pull off his shot, I guess he saw the direction the man was aiming, because he immediately broke away to warn the congressman. That is Congressman Lodge up there, correct? Because any details for this story would be great. Well, the shooter looked like he was about to try for another shot, but when he saw this man bravely run out shouting for the congressman to duck, he turned tail and ran. I must say, diving into the way of possible gunfire like that was one of the bravest things I’ve seen anyone do since the war. Don’t you think so, Officer . . . or is it Agent, since you seem to be lacking a uniform?”
Her words assaulted him like a torrent. He responded in a confusion of quickly spoken phrases, the flash of a press pass, and energetic mannerisms a dozen police might’ve been unable to handle. For a moment the man stood there confused, then shook himself back to alertness.
“Miss—”
“Hill. Claire Hill, freelance reporter. And you are . . . ?”
“Agent Becket. So, this anarchist here—”
“He is not an anarchist, Agent Becket,” she replied in protest, “but rather a true patriot. He was willing to throw himself in front of Congressman Lodge without thought for his own safety. That in itself is a story I think worthy of all the major papers. Though I wonder what sort of reaction a headline might get if it read, ‘Hero Falsely Jailed as Anarchist.’ Now that was Becket with one t? Because when this story hits, I just want to make sure that I get the details right.”
The man sighed and waved the officers holding the professor away. “Let the man go.”
“Thank you, Agent Becket,” Professor Stein managed to say.
“Miss Hill,” Agent Becket continued, “Which way did you say the shooter went?”
“That way,” she said, making sure to point in the same direction as before.
“Get four men and see what you can find in that direction,” Agent Becket told one of the policemen. “Then get some more up with—”
Another shot rang out, but this from no building. From somewhere in the crowd, someone else was trying to shoot at the dignitaries on the landing. Another person responded by firing in the general direction of the first shooter.
“Everyone down!” Agent Becket yelled.
“Sir,” one of the officers called back as he pulled his gun, “I recognize some of those guys out there. Gang calling themselves the Fifth Street Brawlers.”
“Is that who’s behind this?” Agent Becket clarified. “Round them all up!”
As Professor Stein was limping away from the circle of cops, he glanced out to see snippets of what was going on. The bulk of the passersby had cleared away, leaving just the combatants and a mix of policemen and plainclothes officers. One gang member was making a run at one of the Japanese team members, who replied with a karate kick to his gut, while another pair was trying to get past some of the cops. Meanwhile, Agent Hessman found himself back to back with a local policeman behind the car they were both hiding behind, trying to duck the shots of a Japanese man from one direction and a German shooter from the other. Captain Beck and Dr. Weiss were simultaneously trying to find cover on the far side of the square, while another Japanese man found himself in a pitched battle against a pair of gang members on one side and a pair of cops on the other.
Claire grabbed hold of the professor’s hand and used the confusion to lead him away to the side before breaking away from her reporter’s face to one of far more concern. “Ben, are you all right? I saw them beat you.”
“Only a couple of times. It’s not like they did a Rodney King on me.”
“A what?”
“Oh,” he said, realizing his slip, “uh, I’m fine. Hurts a little but fine otherwise. Thanks for helping me out there.”
“Well, I had to after you were crazy enough to go diving through a line of cops like you had a bomb or something. What did you think you were going to do, shield him with your body or something?”
“If I had to,” he said after a moment’s thought, “yes.”
The response caught Claire short. She looked at him in surprise for a moment, then shook her head. “You keep surprising me, Ben. You’ve never been in a war, yet you would do something like that.”
“It’s . . . very important,” he replied.
“Well, did it ever occur to you that there are fifty cops between the shooter and everyone at the top of the steps, every one of whom would have dived in front of that bullet? You could have gotten killed.”
“It wouldn’t have mattered,” he replied. “I’ve got no one to miss me.”
“You’re wrong on that one, my friend,” she half muttered.
“Though I do see your point,” he continued. “Next time I’ll just shout.”
“You do that. Now let’s find a place out of the way. It’s a war zone out here.”
“I wouldn’t know,” he shrugged. “Never been in one—as has been pointed out to me at least once before.”
“That doesn’t make you any less of a man. I can see that now.”
She caught his eye with a direct gaze and a warm smile, then pulled him away from the steps and off to some safer cover.
27
Three-Way
A group of three Germans held position at the corner of the building opposite city hall; a couple of the bowler-wearing gang members waited at the other side of that same building, as well as a team east across the square inside a small deli. Farther up the eastern side, one of the Japanese team had commandeered a taxi to hide within, taking the occasional shot while trying to start the engine.
Agent Hessman was at the western end of the square, and south of him, the German was shooting with a not-quite-period pistol, while another Japanese man hid behind a corner of the city hall building. He was alternating shots with Hessman and the German behind him, then in another direction as some cops tried running across from the steps to get to him.
The police had formed a nearly solid line around the steps, with a ring of plainclothesmen on the top landing before the dignitaries, who seemed to be having some trouble getting inside the safety of the building. Agent Hessman could hear shots ringing out within the building behind them, leaving the dignitaries pinned.
Looks like that gang got inside city hall in advance, he realized.
The dignitaries had spread themselves across the landing to avoid being a single easy target. Toward the left-hand side was the first dignitary they had seen exit from the line of cars, with the Japanese contingent roughly center, and Congressman Lodge along with a few other men and his own private security off to the far right. Everyone with a gun was taking a shot at someone, while the dignitaries crouched low to keep out of harm’s way.
From what Agent Hessman could see, the Japanese team was alternating shooting at both the Germans and the Japanese delegation, while the Germans seemed to be concentrating on Congressman Lodge, as well as the Japanese team. He could see Captain Beck and Dr. Weiss behind their cover, and saw Claire and Professor Stein heading for cover behind a large marble pillar behind the base of the steps.
“What about that derringer of yours?” Dr. Weiss asked the captain.
“Out of ammo,” the captain replied. “When I stuck it into that guy’s back, I was bluffing. Not to mention I dropped it somewhere. Besides, it doesn’t have the range for this sort of gunfight. Strictly a holdout weapon. That’s why I only brought two shots with me. What about yourself?”
“We weren’t supposed to bring any weapons with us. This was supposed to be a covert mission so we don’t muck up the timeline.”
“Well,” the captain began, “as long as no one from the past gets killed, we’re still okay.”
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At the next gunshot, one of the policemen in the front ring fell dead. Dr. Weiss shot the captain a hard glare.
“It looked like he was shot by one of the gang members, so that should still be okay, right?”
From behind the car, the policeman with Agent Hessman was leveling his pistol at the Japanese man against the city hall wall.
“Just one good shot,” the officer said as he took aim. “That’s all I—”
A shot splintered the air, but it did not come from the officer in question. It came instead from the German behind them, and the officer now dropped dead. With shooters on either side of the car now, Agent Hessman was left with few choices.
“Bonsai!” The cry was accompanied by the roar of a car engine as the taxi came charging across the square directly for the steps. A Japanese man drove it with one hand, while with his other he took shots at the Germans and gang members, then at the line of cops between him and his target. His goal was easy enough to determine, as he made a straight line to the Japanese delegation at the center of the landing, where several of his team were shielding General Tojo with their bodies.
Professor Stein saw the car coming and realized their opportunity. Grabbing Claire’s hand, he pulled her into a run along the western length of the building, just in time to hear a storm of gunfire erupting behind him. Twenty police and a dozen plainclothesmen opened fire on the taxi and its driver as he was drawing a bead with his own gun on Tojo. The car was riddled with nearly as many holes as the man within it was, and the vehicle spun off and crashed to the side of the steps.
“That was insane,” Claire remarked as they scurried away.
“He probably vastly underestimated how much armor your average car can provide—currently.”
He glanced back to see the limp, dying form of the taxi’s driver weakly reaching into his shirt to activate something and begin his process of imploding into a point of light before his last breath. That glance, though, nearly cost him dearly.
