In Death 09 - Loyalty in Death

Two. Armed."
    "Lieutenant." One of them slipped a hand over her arm. "I'll take the payment."
    She let him steer her back. Not a man, she realized when she took a good, hard look. Fixer had been right there, too. They were droids. You couldn't even smell them.
    "You'll get the payment when I get the target, and it's confirmed. That's the deal."
    He smiled. "New terms. We'll take the payment, my partner will cut you in half where you stand, and the target will be destroyed as a celebration to the cause."
    She saw McNab barreling down the glide. He jerked his thumb up, signaling that the target had been made. Eve showed the droid her teeth. "I don't like those terms."
    She swung back, slamming the case into the knees of the droid behind her. With the move she swung down and to the side, catching him by the ankles as he discharged the weapon. The blast put a fist-sized hole in his partner's chest.
    Screaming for civilians to take cover, she reared up, clamped her fingers over his weapon hand, and twisted. The next blast hit the concrete, its path close enough to singe her hair. She could hear shrieks, stumbling feet, the roaring whine of an oncoming train.
    Eve threw back her weight, brought the droid down with her. They rolled through running feet, toppling people like bowling pins.
    She couldn't get her hand to her weapon, and his was lost in the stampede. Her ears were ringing with the noise, and beneath her, the ground shook like thunder. The droid reared up; something sharp and silver flashed in his hand.
    Eve bucked back, swung up her legs, and slammed her feet into his groin. He didn't buckle as a man would, but teetered back, arms pinwheeling for balance. She rocked to her feet, made one frantic grab, missed.
    He tumbled to the tracks, then disappeared under the silver blur of the train.
    "Jesus, Dallas, I couldn't get through." Panting, red welts swelling on his face, McNab gripped her arm. "Did you take a hit?"
    "No. Damn it, I needed one of them working. They're useless to us now. Call for a cleanup and crowd control here. Where's the target?"
    "Madison Square, they're evacuating and defusing right now."
    "Let's get the hell out of Queens."

CHAPTER NINETEEN
    The first charge went off in the upper deck of section B in Madison Square at precisely eight forty-three. The game, a hockey match between the Rangers and the Penguins, was in the bitterly contested first period. There'd been no score and only one minor injury when the offensive guard from the Penguins had cross-checked his man -- a little on the high side.
    The Ranger defensive lineman had been carried off, bleeding profusely from the nose and mouth.
    He was already in the ER when the bomb blew.
    The NYPSD had moved fast once the explosives had been detected. The game was halted, and the announcement was made that the arena was to be evacuated.
    This was met with catcalls, profanities, and from the Ranger side of the stadium, a rain of recycled toilet paper and beer cans.
    New York fans took their hockey seriously.
    Despite it, the swarm of uniforms and officials had managed to move close to twenty percent of the attendees out of the Garden in more or less an orderly fashion. Only five cops and twelve civilians had reported minor injuries. There were only four arrests for assault and lewd conduct.
    Below the Garden, Pennsylvania Station was being cleared as rapidly as possible, with all incoming trains and transpos diverted.
    Even the most optimistic of officials didn't expect to scoop up every beggar and sidewalk sleeper who hid in the station for warmth, but an effort was made to sweep through the usual flop spots and hiding places.
    When the bomb blew, spewing steel and wood and pieces of the drunk who'd been dozing on the floor of the bleachers along seats 528 through 530, people got the picture fast.
    They flooded like a raging tide for the exits.
    When Eve arrived on scene, it looked as though the grand old building was vomiting people.
    "Do what you can," she shouted at McNab. "Get these people away from here."
    "What are you doing?" He shouted over the screams and sirens, made a grab for her, but his fingers skidded off her jacket. "You can't go in there. Holy God, Dallas."
    But she was already pushing, punching, and peeling her way through the press of fleeing bodies.
    Twice she was slammed hard enough to make her ears ring as she fought to get clear of the doors and the frantic rush for escape.
    She swung up toward the closest set of stairs,