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They heard the thudding of steps on concrete, coming closer, echoing off the buildings of this street.
“Okay, so they’re not that stupid,” said Cole. “Sorry.”
“It’s on the sidewalk,” said Rube.
The door behind them opened. A terrified Chinese woman looked at them.
Rube didn’t hesitate. He shoved the door open wider, picked up the woman, and carried her farther inside as she shouted in Chinese. Cole followed and slammed the door behind them. They were inside a narrow Chinese restaurant.
“Does this place have a back door?” Rube demanded.
The woman only continued screeching in Chinese. A terrified old Chinese man came through a curtain, carrying a shotgun. Rube, who still had hold of the woman, dragged her down as Cole also hit the floor. The shotgun went off, blasting right where they—and the Chinese woman—had been standing.
“This guy is crazy,” said Rube.
“He also just called that walking tank.” Cole was up and running around and over the tables. The Chinese man tried to aim the shotgun at him. Just before he fired, Cole leapt high and the shot passed under and between his legs. Then Cole was on the guy and came up with the gun. Rube was already running after him, dragging the woman.
An explosion blew the door open. They dragged the Chinese couple deeper into the restaurant.
“How much ordnance does that thing carry?” asked Rube.
“I don’t want to find out just now,” said Cole. “I want to find out later, in a nice safe lab.”
“Is there a back door?” Rube asked the Chinese man, who wasn’t screaming like the woman was. But the Chinese man only pointed to the safe and said, “No money, no money!”
Cole shouted at the woman in Cantonese. He had guessed right. She was from China proper, or at least Hong Kong—not Taiwan. “Back door?”
She pointed.
“Big gun coming!” he shouted in what could only be terrible Cantonese. He had only been two months into the language course when he got the assignment to work with Rube. “Get upstairs! Hold still! Don’t talk! Shut up!”
That had to be enough. They had to get out. And he thought he saw them out of the corner of his eye, fleeing up the stairs to a higher story.
The mechanical outside was firing a virtual sheet of bullets through the windows. They went through the kitchen wall like it was paper. Which it probably was. Cole and Rube were already at the back door. Which had a crash bar and a big red ALARM WILL SOUND sign on it.
“Gee, we might wake up the neighbors,” said Rube. Then he pushed on it.
The door opened. The alarm went off. They went out on their bellies as bullets continued to slap against the door and the bricks of the back wall of the kitchen.
Then the door closed behind them. The shooting continued but at least now they could hear themselves think.
They were not in an alley. New York City didn’t believe in alleys. That’s why they had to put their garbage right out on the street. Like a weird kind of window display—come, look what we throw away from this store. Don’t we have attractive garbage? Don’t we use an incredibly cheap grade of plastic bag?
“There’s no way out of here,” said Rube.
“Yet,” said Cole. He was already trying doors. Rube checked around the other way. They met in the middle of the opposite side of the courtyard. All were locked.
“These people are so paranoid,” said Cole. He headed for the lowest window. It was barred, of course, but there were loose bricks in the courtyard from somebody’s unfinished remodeling job. Cole started slamming a brick into the bars. They weren’t all that strong. They could probably be pried out of the wall. Rube had found a two-by-four and was prying on the other side.
A shotgun blast tore through the window. Fortunately, it missed both Cole and Reuben.
“I thought privately owned guns were illegal in this city!” shouted Cole.
“They had one hell of a shotgun salesman come through here, I guess.”
Cole shouted into the window. “The city is being attacked. We’re United States Army! Look at our uniforms!”
A woman’s face appeared in the shattered window. They both stood out from the wall, showing ID and letting her look at their uniforms.
