Ed Howdershelt - Assignment Atlanta.pdf - po ang - Januszek66

ASSIGNMENT: ATLANTA

A Sandy Shield Novel

ISBN 1-932693-06-8

Caution: Some Erotic Content

Prologue:

Ahmed Musaffi combined three prayers on Friday afternoon; one for his

family, one for himself, and one for success in his holy mission. He then got

into the yellow Crown Victoria that had been provided for the occasion and

drove the few miles from Cascade Heights into downtown Atlanta through a

drizzling rain.

The Crown Vic had been 'heavily customized' -- a choice of words that had

been a source of great amusement among those who had labored for a week to

pack the trunk and every concealable square inch of the car with plastic

explosive.

Every little bump in the road bottomed-out the shocks and springs, and

despite what he'd been told about his load being detonated only by radio,

Ahmed flinched hard at every jolt and swore viciously at the other cars around

him.

A red, hard plastic suitcase shifted slightly on the seat next to him.

Ahmed reached to push it back in place and briefly cursed the fool who'd

perched it there, although no wires showed and there was no chance the case

would fall.

At a red light one block from his goal, Ahmed wiped his face on his

sleeves and repeated part of his last prayer -- the part for himself -- one

more time as he twisted his grip on the steering wheel.

Clusters of people hurried across the street, some in various costumes he

recognized. Spiderman led Wonder Woman at a laughing dash to the shelter of an

awning, where they were joined by Lara Croft, a tall, furry creature, and a

couple of white-armored stormtroopers.

Ridiculous fantasies of the unfaithful, thought Ahmed. There was only one

true book under heaven and no man had ever been so foolish as to try to make a

movie of it.

Ahmed's little group had been instructed to strike on the second day of

the science fiction convention. No reasons had been given for choosing this

particular event as a target and -- as far as Ahmed was concerned -- none were

required. Their leader had spoken, and his words were the words of Allah in

matters of their holy cause.

When the light turned green, Ahmed's jangling nerves caused him to goose

the gas pedal. The back tires spun uselessly on the wet pavement until he

rather shakily let up on the gas a bit.

Continuing up the street, he turned left into the covered driveway of the

Rivage Hotel's reception area and joined a line of cars waiting their turns to

load or offload passengers and luggage at the big glass doors at the top of

the driveway.

Ahmed's was the fifth car in line when a family of five came through those

doors and walked past him, evidently on their way to some part of the science

fiction convention.

The three children all wore costumes; the two boys were waving their

hollow plastic lightsabers at each other and the blonde girl -- perhaps as old

as twelve -- was wearing a Batgirl costume and slinging her cape dramatically

as she walked.

A pang of pity lanced through Ahmed, but then he remembered his teachings,

hardened his heart, and severely chastised himself for his momentary weakness.

They were just infidels. Untaught, unholy, and therefore unfit to live. He

moved forward another carlength, and again watched the family in his rearview

mirror as they stood waiting to cross the street.

The blonde girl grinningly faced into the gusting wind to make her cape

billow behind her. Too bad, Ahmed thought appraisingly. The girl might

possibly have been found worthy of conversion to Islam.

Or not, he appended, remembering the dancers at the strip club the night

before. After all, even infidel females were good for purposes of pleasure and

labor. In the pure world that he and other holy martyrs would bring into

being, their children would be raised according to the teachings of the

Prophet and the women would be allowed to live only so long as they dutifully

served the righteous and faithful.

The car by the doors moved away as people got into the car behind it. It

then moved away, as well, and Ahmed was only one carlength away from where he

could aim his fake taxi up the ramp at the doors.

He eyed the walkway ramp -- easily five meters wide, with no posts or

other impediments -- and the doors above. In the center was a revolving door,

flanked on either side by doors that swung open. They would prove no barrier.

All he had to do was ram through and get the car into the lobby, then press

the button on the transmitter in his raincoat pocket.

Motion in his side-rearview mirror and the sound of something hollow

clattering on the ground caused him to look away from the doors.

A truly beautiful blonde woman in what appeared to be little more than a

bathing suit and boots stood just behind his car. She seemed to be looking for

something, probably some sort of accessory to her scandalously inadequate

costume.

Thinking that she must also be a visitor to the science fiction

convention, Ahmed's eyes locked on her marvelous bare legs and ample bosom for

some moments as she crouched and knelt to try to reach whatever had fallen

beneath the taxi.

Her eyes met his in the mirror and she smiled coyly as she walked up the

driveway. Allah be praised for letting such a magnificent woman be his last

sight on Earth! And her glorious breasts were nearly leaping out of her

costume!

Concentrating on her approaching breasts, Ahmed never saw -- and was

conscious only long enough to barely feel -- her fist slam into the side of

his head. The blow sent him sprawling against the luggage on the seat and into

oblivion.

The woman quickly shifted the car into neutral, went behind it to grab the

bumper, and began pulling the Crown Vic backward down the ramp to the street,

where she jumped to the front of the car, lifted it by the bumper and reached

under it to grip the frame, and launched upward with the Crown Vic dangling

from her grasp.

From the indoor cafe across the street, Mohammed Jamal took his eyes off

the policeman and another man who were having a light lunch at a nearby table

and stared with incredulous awe as a half-naked blonde woman lifted the Crown

Victoria and seemed to leap into the sky with it.

He'd frozen in mid-sip of his coffee with as much complete, mind-boggling

shock as anyone else witnessing the event, but he recovered fairly quickly as

he realized that there was still a slim chance to set off the bomb in or near

the canyon-like confines of the streets.

Hurriedly putting down his coffee cup, he reached for the transmitter in

his left coat pocket, but the chair arm got in his way. He stood up, wasting

precious seconds and knocking his chair over as he continued to stare upward

through the window at the Crown Vic. He'd finally managed to get his left hand

into his pocket as the two men he'd been watching also stood up and began

coming at him.

The one in a police uniform pointed at Jamal and said, "Freeze!" as he

reached for his sidearm. Jamal -- his radio transmitter momentarily forgotten

-- made a grab for his Beretta 9mm pistol in his right coat pocket.

Jamal had thought the cop was the greater danger. He was wrong; before

Jamal could even finish bringing his own gun into line with the two men, the

other man yanked a pistol from a shoulder holster, leveled it at Jamal, and

fired twice.

Mohammed Jamal felt the hot slugs plunge completely through his chest as

their impact slammed him back against the window facing the street. He was

barely aware that he fired his Beretta as he toppled; for a moment he actually

wondered why the light fixture by the coffee bar exploded.

The bullets that had passed through Jamal hit the window behind him a

split-second before Jamal did, turning it into a ten-foot-tall spiderweb of

shattered safety glass that collapsed around Jamal's body in a glittering

cloud as he fell to the sidewalk below.

The bushes below the window snagged Jamal's coat and violently twisted him

in mid-air, then he fell to the sidewalk on his left side, hearing and feeling

the bones of his arm snap as his head slammed against the concrete.

Momentarily stunned, Mohammed Jamal fought to remain conscious and stared

upward, trying to locate the Crown Victoria.

There! Almost directly overhead, an odd-shaped dark dot against the sky!

Jamal waveringly aimed his pistol at the men who leaned out of the window

frame above him and prayed to Allah that his transmitter hadn't been broken.

Forcing the unfeeling thumb and fingers of his shattered left arm to

squeeze the small transmitter took a supreme effort. Jamal cast the pistol

aside in frustration and dropped his right hand over his left to help it close

on the transmitter even as more bullets tore through his chest and skull.

Chapter One

Looking down from the cafe window at the man he'd just shot, Ed Cade saw

the brilliant overhead flash reflected in the windows of the hotel across the

street and realized that something -- likely the car -- had exploded above the

city.

Some guy dressed as a knight was standing smack in the middle of the

street, aiming a camera of some sort straight up at the sky. The light turned

green at the intersection and the guy almost tripped over his sword trying to

scramble out of the street.

Cade stepped back from the window and looked to his left and right. There

was only the Atlanta cop -- Avery -- standing next to him on the right. On his

left, one person still sat by the windows, apparently frozen in stark, staring

terror.

"Get away from the windows," said Cade.

Avery stepped back as Cade grabbed the frozen guy's coat to pull him to

his feet and insistently repeated, "Get away from the window, dammit!"

The man's eyes fixed on Cade's Glock and he said nothing, but as bits of

debris pelted down on the street outside the window, he stood quickly on shaky

legs and tried to comply.

His knees failed and he wound up kneeling, then sitting on the floor.

Avery came over to get a grip on the guy's other shoulder and they dragged him

away from the windows.

The rain of unidentifiable debris slackened quickly and seemed to end, and

Avery started back toward the window to look up between the buildings.

"Avery!" said Cade. "Not yet. Count to thirty before you go near that

window."

Cade put his Glock back in its shoulder holster under his field jacket and

looked around again. Nine people. Five men, four women. Two had apparently

left the cafe.

He heard more debris-rain hit the street and buildings outside and saw

Avery cast a wondering glance at him.

"Some of it had farther to fall," said Cade.

As if to punctuate his words, a car bumper slammed into the street,

narrowly missing a black Lexus, and spinningly bounced out of view toward the

intersection.

Glancing past the group clustered by the cafe entrance, Cade saw the two

missing women hurrying past the reception desk and he took off after them at a

trot.

He caught up with them by the elevators and didn't bother with

introductions; they'd likely remember him.

Stepping in front of them, he said, "Ladies, get back to the cafe. You're

witnesses to a shooting."

"I'm not going back in there!" the one on the right said in a

near-hysterical tone. "I'm not! You can't make me!"

Snatching her purse off her shoulder, Cade said, "I won't have to. The

cops'll find you with whatever's in this."

Turning to the other woman, he asked, "Are you going to give me a hard

time, too?"

Shaking her head slightly, she said, "No. I didn't think we should leave,

but Judy..."

Interrupting her, Cade said, "Cool. Let's go, then."

Putting his arm through hers, he led the way back to the restaurant. After

a moment, Judy followed. Cade turned the ladies and Judy's purse over to

Avery, then stepped away from the group to have a look at the street below the

window.

The street was empty of people. Between the blonde hauling the car

upstairs, the gunshots, and the blast in the sky, most of them had at least

had sense enough to get off the sidewalks and under the cover of the Rivage's

drive-through.

The rent-a-cop who'd been directing foot traffic across the street between

the hotels was one of those under cover. Cade whistled to get his attention

and pointed to the body on the sidewalk, then yelled that he should keep

people away from it. The guy nodded and headed toward the body. Cade went back

to Avery, who was talking to someone on his radio.

Avery finished his immediate conversation, then turned to Cade and said,

"Teams five and nine got lucky, too. Two dead and one in custody. The guys on

the roof are coming down, so we'll have some help here in a few minutes."

Nodding, Cade said, "I'll go out and keep the tourists away from the one

on the sidewalk."

Extending a hand, Avery said, "Okay. Hey, if I don't see you again, it's

been good working with you. Why won't they tell us where you extra guys came

from?"

Shaking Avery's hand, Cade said, "Damned if I know. I'm from Florida, if

it helps any."

"Oh, yeah," laughed Avery. "That helps a bunch."

"Great. Later, then."

Moving past the coffee bar, Cade stopped and looked around for the

attendant, then knocked on the counter. A man in a suit separated himself from

the crowd by the door and came to say that the coffee bar was closed.

"You're management?" asked Cade.

"Yes, sir. Look, we're rather busy at the moment..."

"I'm the guy who shot out your window and I have to go guard a body on the

sidewalk. How much is a coffee to go?"

The man seemed to have to find a way to attach the two concepts in his

mind before he said, "Uh, just take one, sir."

"Thanks. Why not offer all those spooked people a cup, too? It'll look

great on your record if you take charge and keep them quiet and happy until

all the note-taking is finished."

The guy glanced at the group and seemed to realize that this was his

middle-management chance to achieve some favorable and potentially useful

self-publicity. He nodded and stepped behind the counter to draw Cade a coffee

as he called the attendant over.

"Yes, Mr. D'Angelo?" asked the attendant.

Handing the coffee to Cade, D'Angelo said, "Go ahead and open back up,

Manuel. Free coffee for anybody who's supposed to be in here until the cops

are gone."

"Yes, sir," said Manuel.

"Could I have an extra coffee?" asked Cade.

Manuel drew another coffee and handed it to him. Cade thanked him and

headed for the stairs to the street. The rent-a-cop was standing by the body,

as requested.

He said, "You're the guy who told me to watch the body."

Cade handed him the extra coffee and said, "Yup, sure am. Here, I brought

you a coffee."

Someone aimed a camera toward them and Cade turned to face the cop --

Davies, by his nametag -- as the camera flashed. He kicked the gun that had

fallen into the bushes over by the body and toed it under a fold in the coat.

"Should you be moving the evidence around like that?" asked Davies.

"So tell 'em I kicked it. I just came down here to get your name and badge

number for the record and secure the scene."

Shrugging as he looked around, Cade said, "Now the scene is secure, I have

my info, and you have your coffee. Just stay put until the cops get here."

Davies almost choked on his first sip of coffee.

He glanced down at the body, then stared at Cade as he asked, "But... You

mean you aren't a cop?!"

"Never said I was," said Cade. "I've just been working with them today.

See you later."

As Cade turned to go, the guard said, "Hey, wait. Is there any word about

the blonde? The woman who, uh... who flew off... with the car?"

"I haven't heard anything."

Glancing up at the sky, Davies said, "God, I hope she wasn't still hanging

onto that car when it blew. I was looking right at it, but it was too far

up... Do you think she...?"

"No idea," said Cade. "Later."

With that, he headed back up the steps and into the hotel, where he gave

Davies' info to Avery and refilled his coffee cup, then sat down in a corner

of the cafe with an incident report form to wait for Lieutenant Bain.

Chapter Two

Sandy Shield had landed behind a support column in the drive-through of

the Rivage Hotel, then stepped out to briefly join a group of costumed

conventioneers on their way up the walkway ramp.

As she neared the taxi at the front of the line, she spun the two-foot

piece of pvc tubing she'd found behind the column like a baton. Letting it

escape her grasp in the direction of the taxi gave her a pretext for going

through the motions of pretending to look for it as she studied the car.

The paint was new, but the car wasn't. It was full of luggage and rode so

low that it must have had a ton of extra weight aboard. No normal luggage

would weigh that much.

Sandy pretended to search for her missing baton beneath the taxi's rear.

She discovered that the inner side of the fender was solid, not hollow. A

pinch of the clay-like plastique came away between her fingers and she let it

fall under the car before retrieving the bit of pipe and standing up.

In the rearview mirror, the driver's eyes were focused on her legs. Sandy

saw that he was none other than Ahmed Mussafi, a 'suspected' terrorist whose

face had graced several of the wanted posters she'd studied before she'd left

Las Vegas.

The anonymous tip to Gary's office about a suicide attack had been gospel,

after all. Now; how to neutralize this situation? How to handle the driver,

who likely had some kind of a detonator close at hand?

To a typical Middle-Eastern man, just about any visible female flesh would

hold his eyes like a magnet. Pretending to adjust her uniform, Sandy tugged

her skirt and brushed imaginary dirt from her breasts. Her motions guided his

eyes over her body as she pretended to continue past the car on her way up the

ramp.

As she came even with his window, Sandy took advantage of the fact that

his eyes were firmly locked on her breasts, snapping a punch at the side of

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