Part 47 (1/2)
”Oh my” was the man's shocked reply.
”Tell your man to open the road. To get the ambulances in here.”
”We can't do that. They'll talk to the media. This is horrible.”
”Yes, Mr. Third Vice President, this place is horrible, people are dying, and you and I are talking about totally irrelevant matters.
”Tonight people have been trying to shoot me dead and blow me to bits. And I have shot people dead and hurled explosives that blew them to pieces. It would be no bother at all for me to add you to the long list of people who died here tonight.”
”Oh” came low and slow to the man's lips.
”Take down the roadblock.”
The politician looked down at the automatic at his throat. For a long second he eyed it, alarm growing in his eyes. Kris could almost hear his brain grinding as the pistol changed from a party prop to an instrument of death.
To the source of his impending doom.
Eden's third vice president brought his wrist up to his mouth. ”Inspector Johnson.”
”Yes, sir” came only a second later.
”Allow the emergency services vehicles in. Allow everyone in. Close down the roadblock. We need help here. Lots of it. Now.”
”What about the media?”
”Don't worry about them. Just get help in here.”
”Sir, is Kris Longknife pressuring you?”
”Inspector, do it.”
”Yes, sir.”
The line went dead. Kris didn't let go of the politician. She didn't lower the gun. Open covenants openly arrived at was one of her father's favorite sayings. But until this covenant started to pay off with medical care here, it hadn't been agreed to and Kris wanted this man to know that his chances of living to see the morning were not getting any better.
Gunnery Sergeant Brown kicked in the front door of the rotunda.
”I think the ambulances are moving, finally,” he announced, ”Yes, those blasted whirley gig lights are finally moving.”
”Let me know when the first one gets here,” Kris ordered, not releasing her grip on one pale, political fish. Maybe he was finally getting a good look at what lay around him.
Or maybe the closeness of his own brush with mortality was settling in.
A long minute later, the first ambulance arrived.
Kris didn't even waste a sigh when she tossed the politician aside. His knees failed to support him, and he fell on a still oozing body. The lovely blonde did not stoop to offer him solace.
She'd spotted a newsie coming in and made a beeline for him.
Lieutenant Martinez arrived in the first wave, a pair of alternate media reports at his elbow. They looked around wide eyed. One lost her lunch, but they kept their cameras rolling.
This was not something that would be lost somewhere between the happening and the eleven o'clock news.
Oh, and Inspector Johnson showed up.
He made a beeline straight for Kris.
57.
Kris had a command to care for. One that had bled deeply.
Gunnery Sergeant Brown announced he was the proud owner of ten prisoners. ”Would have been eleven, but dang if the officer that I personally plugged didn't managed to smash a tooth or something and kill himself.”
”I sure wanted to talk to him,” Gunny finished.
”So did I, Gunny, but I'm starting to think Greenfeld's powers that be don't want to be at war with us any more than our honchos want to be at war with them, official like.”
Which seemed to leave Gunny Brown with something to chew on.
Kris knew that the first thing she should have done was go hunting for the amba.s.sador. Instead, she trotted for the riverside walk to check on Captain DeVar. No surprise, the zoo collecting around her, trotted right along. Even Johnson.
The wounded captain was just being lifted onto a stretcher.
”He going to be okay?” Kris asked the nearest medic.
The woman looked worried. ”He's lost a lot of blood. We got to get him to Doc fast.”
”I'm too mean to let a little leakage put me down,” the captain grumbled, but his words were slurring.
”Gunny,” Kris said into her commlink, ”we need a rig here fast for the captain.” She glanced around the field. There were several casualties that looked to have been hit hard by the auto-gun. More that had been hit too hard and were beyond aid.
”I got one rig able to roll. That whale of yours needs a new tire. Once the driver changes it, I'm sending it back to the emba.s.sy with the walking wounded.”
”Do that,” Kris agreed. ”Just get me something back here that can handle four,” she said, eyeing the medic. The woman held up a hand with all fingers spread. ”Five stretchers.”
”d.a.m.n, was it that bad back there?”
”It looks it,” Kris answered.
A Marine rig quickly arrived, shot up and limping, but going nevertheless. Tailing it were a pair of private rigs driven by loyal members of the Fraternal Order of Proud Caballeros.
And a newsie made to jam a mike under Kris's oversize nose.