terrorists single-handed.
Harry Callahan drank the rest of his beer single-handed. He crushed the can in his hand, threw it across the room and into the kitchen garbage can without hitting the sides, and then sat down at the head of his bed.
Downstairs, Suni Michelle only got to scream once.
It was enough. Almost as soon as the sound registered, Harry had bounded forward from his seated position, scooped up his .44 and leaped over the end of the bed as well as the chair.
Harry flew out his apartment door and vaulted over the banister. He landed midway down the first flight of steps. From the sound of the scream, Suni had been surprised at the second-story landing. Harry had to turn a stairway corner before he could see what happened. He jumped down the remainder of the steps, swinging around the corner and preparing to bellow the woman’s name.
On the second-floor landing were three black-suited men crawling all over the unconscious form of Suni Michelle. That, in itself, was not incredible. Harry had subconsciously harbored worries that one of the city’s many sick weirdos would target the attractive woman for raping and/or murder. But the weapons the three men held were not of the normal psycho variety. One had a VZ61 Scorpion in one hand, another had a MAC 11, and the third had an Uzi. And all three weapons were silenced.
The man with the VZ pointed at Harry with the weapon, barking something in an Oriental language. As Harry threw himself back, he saw the man with the Uzi spin around. He wasn’t going to stay to see what happened next. Even with his Magnum talent, he wasn’t about to start shooting because of the possibility of hitting Suni. The other men had no such obstacle.
The VZ and Uzi went off at the same time, tearing up the top step and the wall he had just been standing in front of. Harry didn’t stick around to check out the damage. He charged back up to his apartment, jumped back across the bed, and threw open the window. He swung himself out onto the fire escape and climbed down to the second floor as fast as he could.
Standing on no ceremony, he found the first open window and dove in. He landed in someone’s dark, well-appointed living room on his shoulder, rolled and jumped for the door. Whoever lived there slept through Harry’s invasion. The back of the cop’s mind noted to tell the guy it wasn’t safe to leave his window open. Harry clicked open the door’s two locks and ran out into the hall. The last of the men’s heads disappeared under the landing. By the sound of their hurried footsteps, they were racing for the front door.
Harry took two long steps and bent himself double over the banister. He held himself there with his left hand and stomach muscles. His right hand brought the Magnum down in front of him. The VZ man was carrying Suni’s limp body out the front door. The two others were skittering behind him. Harry saw them upside down, since he was hanging over the banister like a possum sleeping with his tail wrapped around a tree limb.
His position threw his first shot off. The big blue Magnum boomed in the confines of the thin stairwell, the bullet smashing the glass next to the inside locked door. The Uzi man immediately pivoted and brought his vicious weapon up. Harry remained hanging even when he saw the masked man’s finger tighten. Streams of 9mm Parabellum tore up the stairs and the wall, accompanied only by the hacking cough of the silenced sub-machine gun.
It hardly made a difference. The masked shooter wasn’t really looking where he was firing. It was the surprise of a Magnum going off that made him fire back in the first place. These three boy-os were dressed professionally—all in black to blur their outlines with dark ski masks covering everything but their eyes—and they were armed like seasoned terrorists. It was painfully obvious that they wanted to get Suni only and not leave any shells or corpses behind to set up a trail. Unless they had to.
The Uzi
James Patterson and Maxine Paetro