Whisky holstered his gun and
headed straight for the girl. He had hit her chest but couldn’t be 100% sure it
was fatal. The distance to the girl and the fact that he only had his handgun
meant that she could have anywhere up to an hour of life if left to bleed out.
She was still the immediate threat, potentially able to set the bomb off
herself, or perhaps the device had a second trigger from a remote location.
Either way Whisky would be lucky to get there in time to find out but his duty
compelled him to neutralise the threat.
He had already made a rapid
descent from his vantage point in the scaffolding, stage left and just in view
of the audience, and was trying to push through the waves of people fleeing for
the exits. He stepped up onto an empty seat in the adjacent aisle and looked
towards the back of the theatre to where the girl had been standing. The retreating
masses seemed to peel away from the point in a perfect circle like a ripple
moving in slow motion.
Whisky stepped up and balanced
himself on the top of the back of the seat, the soft cushioning giving way to a
thin sturdy metal frame. He leapt from seat to seat, quickly closing the
distance before being cut off by the people again. An alarm sounded out in some
vain attempt at protocol and a voice came over the speaker asking for calm.
Whisky worked his way through the final perimeter of the ripple, aggressively
pushing the last few people away and sprinted to the limp body in aisle 76.
The girl was face down with a wide
berth of blood staining the carpet around her. Whisky rolled her over and
observed the bullet wound. It would have shattered a rib before piercing her
heart, no exit wound. She wouldn’t have even had time to recognise she was
dying. Whisky removed the plastic bound explosive, from the strapping around
her waist. C4, most likely, a simple homemade version with a mobile phone detonator
inside. He examined it a moment before removing the detonator.
In her handbag there were more
explosives which he disabled also. The size of the potential blast would not
have killed more than half the crowd or taken down the building which brought some
relief to Whisky – Walter Wallace was never a direct target.
Police had now entered the
building. Whisky whistled sharply and raised his hand. They worked through the
crowd slowly as the PA continued to issue futile directions.
“Do we need a squad?” the first
officer asked on arrival.
“No. Plastic explosives; it’s safe
now,” Whisky handed the packets to the officer who nodded and looked down at
the girl. “Dead.” Whisky said bluntly.
“Didn’t know they had snipers on,”
the officer said, possibly on behalf of the police force wishing to be better
informed of potential shootings. Whisky opened his jacket to show his holstered
weapon. The officer looked slightly confused, “You were close to the girl
then?”
“I was backstage, above in the
scaffolding. If you have any more questions please contact the network. Right
now I must continue my job and ensure the safety of Mr Wallace.”
The officer didn’t object and
Whisky ran through the mostly empty theatre until he arrived at Walter’s
dressing room. He entered discreetly and found Walter pacing back and forth with
Manny Holdsworth sitting in his make-up chair trying to calm him down.
“I just don’t understand. Why
would somebody want to bomb the place? It makes no sense to me.” His voice was
unnaturally pitched, he was clearly on an adrenaline rush and not at all like
the placid Walter Wallace that Whisky had seen so often.
“Walt, it was probably...probably
just a hoax or something, you know.” Manny said, with the tone of a man who
knew it was not a convincing argument.
“A hoax? Are you- Are you kidding
me? The girl was shot. I saw it. I saw her fall. Nobody tried to help her and-”
he just noticed Whisky’s presence in the room. “Who shot her?” he asked accusingly,
“Did you?”
Whisky nodded. Walter stared at him.
He had the body language of an aggressor, it was rare to see in Walter and were
it anybody else Whisky would have tensed himself for a physical encounter.
Walter drew a breath and the moment had passed. Whisky was grateful because he
would not have been able to react or detain Walter if he had advanced.
“Is she dead?” Whisky nodded
again. “Was there a bomb?”
“Two plastic explosives; a
detonator in her hand. Enough to kill about a 15m radius. 300 people, more
injured. Not enough to kill you.”
Walter seemed to take on the
information, appreciating the detail as it might help him answer the questions
he wanted answered. He slumped down on the couch, “So I guess I’m stuck in here
with you until we’re given the all clear?”
Again Whisky nodded.
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