Page 70 of The Atlas Maneuver

“She has grown into a fine young lady,” Katie said over the phone.

Her eyes closed and began to tear.

“I even have a photo of her. Nineteen years old. Short blond hair, cute face, petite. Perhaps she looks a lot like you before the accident?”

Perhaps. She’d fantasized many times about just that.

“Tell me your location and I’ll send someone to get you,” Katie said. “Then we can make a deal.”

AIKO FROZE.

PSIA agents rarely carried weapons. That practice dated back to post–World War II when weapons were outlawed in Japan. She’d authorized her men to be armed yesterday, especially after the attack on Kelly Austin.

But today? She’d seen no need.

The two vehicles had pinned her in, the van blocking the way behind her. Could she turn and run?

Doubtful.

The three men advanced.

Guns aimed.

COTTON LEFT HIS PURCHASES AND FLED THE GROCERY STORE, USINGthe cars in the parking lot as cover to make his way toward the trouble. He decided to get their attention and fired a shot into the air.

Which worked.

All three of the men with rifles whirled around his way.

The woman dove to the ground behind another parked car. The men kept striding toward her. Cotton, off to one side, aimed his weapon and fired, dropping one of the assailants. He anticipated the other two’s movements and leaped behind one of the cars. A barrage of rounds came his way, the bullets ricocheting off the cars. He’d only have a few moments before they turned their attention back to the woman. So he stayed low and advanced to the next car, coming up and sending two more shots at his attackers.

Which were returned fivefold.

This firefight was not good. They had rifles. He had a pistol.Somebody was going to get hurt. Especially himself. So he hugged the pavement and searched beneath the cars for feet. There. One set. He sent a bullet into them, then retreated behind the rear tire next to him for protection. The guy screeched out in pain and fell. He risked a look and saw that the two men were retreating to the cars that had brought them, the one man helping the injured one, whom he stuffed into the back seat. Two more rounds came Cotton’s way, designed to keep him pinned and allow them an escape.

So he let them go.

The car reversed, tires screeching, then it raced away.

He stood.

The woman also came to her feet.

The guy he’d shot remained on the pavement, not moving.

He hustled over. “We need to leave.”

People from inside the grocery store were now out, some with cell phones aimed his way. Someone said the police had been called. So they both ran to her car, climbed in, and sped away.

“Thank you,” she said.

“And you are?”

“Aiko Ejima.”

“PSIA?”

The woman nodded. Interesting admission.

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