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“Was, did.”
Lowenbaum nodded at the screen as Ellissa took her last flight. Then his eyes flattened out at the next strike. And the third.
“Run it again, cut the speed.”
Roarke came back in, two brews hooked in one hand, a third in the other. He paused, watched the screen.
“Okay, enhance the last strike, start a few seconds before, slow it more.”
Eve ordered the enhancement, slowed the speed. Narrowed her eyes when she thought she caught the faintest flash.
“Your shooter’s nest is east of the rink, and that kind of accuracy? He’s got serious training. That’s not luck. East of the rink and above.”
“Above.”
“ME should confirm that, unless I’m full of shit. Thanks,” he added to Roarke, took a beer. “I’m going to be surprised if general park security picks up anything. Even in New York, somebody’s going to notice somebody else climbing up a tree with a weapon, and I’m thinking higher anyway. Run it back, watch again.”
“I thought I saw a flash, a red . . . glimmer.”
“The beam. Sorry,” Roarke added.
“No, you’re right.” Lowenbaum nodded approval as he continued to watch the screen. “A laser strike emits a beam. Hard to catch it, and it’s fast. You get this to the lab, they can clean it up more, bring it up more. But there.”
Eve froze the image. “Yeah, I see it. And yeah, I can just make out an angle. East and above.”
“My guess, even if this fucker climbed the park’s tallest tree, is tactical laser rifle.”
“What’s the range on one of those?”
“That’s going to depend on the weapon, and it’s sure as hell going to depend on the shooter. But if he’s good enough, equipped right? A mile and a half, two. Even more.”
“A weapon like that? Has to be law enforcement or military. You can’t just pick one up at the local 24/7. Black market, maybe, a weapons runner, but that’s going to cost for one that’s not a piece of shit.”
“Twenty large, easy,” Lowenbaum confirmed. “Even a licensed collector’s going to find one hard to come by—through legal means.”
“A complicated process,” Roarke said, “but doable.”
Eve turned to him. “You have one.”
“Actually, three. A Stealth-LZR—”
“You got an LZR?” Lowenbaum’s eyes shone like Christmas morning. “First man-portable laser rifle—pulse action. 2021 to ’23. Heavy, clunky, but a trained operator could strike a dime credit in just inside a mile.”
“They’ve improved considerably since then. I have the Tactical-XT, such as your team would use, and a Peregrine-XLR.”
“Shut up.” Lowenbaum pointed at Roarke. “You’ve got a Peregrine?”
“I do.”
“Those suckers are accurate for five miles, more in the right hands. They just released for military use last year. How did you . . .” Lowenbaum paused, took a sip of beer. “Don’t ask, don’t tell?”
“All legal,” Roarke assured him. “Considerable finagling, but I’ve all the proper paperwork.”
“Man. I’d love to see it.”
“Of course.”
“Really?”
