Hellfire
by Cory

    "That was amazing!"  Victoria Sutherland ran a towel through her hair.
    "I'm glad you liked it," said a deep Scottish voice.  She turned and saw Duncan Torrens behind her, sipping a sweating glass of lemonade through a decorated straw.
    "Oh Sam," she said, wrapping her arms around his large shoulders.  "Can I come back?"
    "Of course you can," said Duncan, holding her close.
    She glanced over his shoulder at the large pool, and the water slide leading into it.  She caught her breath, remembering the dramatic ride.
    "Victoria?" said Duncan.
    "Yes?"
    "Can I ask you something?"
    Victoria moved her head and stared deep into his dark blue eyes.  "Yes?"
    "Could you just move to your left?"
    A look of confusion crossed her face.  "What?"
    For an instant, his voice hardened.  "Just step to the left."
    As she had been told, she moved over.
    "Perfect," said Duncan, smiling.  But this smile was different.  "Now stay right there."
    She screamed.

    Angie, having the time of her life, motioned insistently for Rollie to get up from the table.  For a moment, the F/X expert resisted, but seeing the look on Angie's face, he gave in.
   She hasn't had this much fun in a long time, he thought.  And it's good.  His memory ran back to the incident at the museum with the Budgeree, and before that, Loubar's reappearance.  This wrap party was definitely good for her.
    Angie grabbed Rollie's hand and pulled him onto the floor.  She didn't stop moving.  The Spice Girl's Spice up Your Life blared from a tall bank of speakers across the floor.  Rollie, not the world's greatest dancer, attempted to follow Angie's lead.  "Having fun?" he yelled over the music.
    A spotlight flashed across Angie's face, and Rollie realized she looked even more beautiful when she was having fun.  "This is terrific!" she shouted back.  She laughed lightheartedly, and it struck a chord in Rollie.  She hasn't laughed in a long time.  "Shake it to the left ... " sang Angie, dancing her heart out.
    Soon the song moved on to a slow dance, something Rollie was much more comfortable with.  She wrapped her arms around his shoulders, and they began to slowly rock back and forth to the song.
    Breathing hard, Angie rested her head against Rollie's chest.  "Whew -- that was fun."
    Rollie smiled.

    The call came in at ten forty.  Frances picked up the phone.  "Yes -- yes sir.  All right.  I'm on my way."  He hung up the phone, and ran over to Mira's desk.  "Mira -- let's go."
    Mira set the files she was reading down.  "Where?"
    "The docks.  Looks like we got ourselves one interesting homicide."
    "Yeah?  Well, then ... "

    "Officer Fernandez?"
    The spanish policeman looked up.  "Ah, you must be Frances Gatti."
    "Yes sir," said Frances.  "This is Detective Palmira Sanchez."
    The officer shook Mira's hand.  "So what have we got here?" asked Mira, glancing around the deserted shipping yard.
    "Well," said Fernandez, "I was out on patrol when I noticed a car pulling out of the entrance to the dock, here.  A black car -- I got a partial license."  He handed Mira a slip of paper, on which was written "New Jersey -- J29 ??P".
    Mira handed the paper to Frances.  "Run this when we get back," said Mira.
   Officer Fernandez began walking down toward the dock.  Mira followed.  "I knew that no one's supposed to be here at night, so I just wanted to check to make sure everything was okay."  He paused, fumbling for his flashlight.  "At first glance, there was nothing out of the ordinary.  Then I noticed something, and found ... this."  He shone the flashlight into the shadowed area behind a dumpster.
    Gatti moaned, and Mira caught her breath.  "Oh my god," she said.

    "All right, let's get started," said chief medical examiner, Francesca Dubreil.
    "I really appreciate this on such short notice," said Mira.
    The french woman smiled at Mira.  "Well, I owed you one," she said.  "And from the sound of things, this is going to be interesting."
    Mira pursed her lips, and when Francesca uncovered the sheet, she turned away.  "Holy Lord," said Francesca, seeing the body.  "This is going to be a, uh -- mess."  She looked up at Mira, who was turning green.  "You can wait outside, if you want."
    Mira shook her head.  "No, thanks," she said.  "I want to see what happened."
    "Can you stomach it?"
    Mira felt her stomach churn.  "Yeah," she said.
    "All right," said Francesca.  She reached up, and brought the bright circular light above the bed in closer.  She reached over and switched on a tape recorder, then lowered a small mike from the ceiling.  She walked across the room, and quickly snapped on a pair of latex gloves.  "July 12th, subject 1292.  The victim is a white caucasian female, looks to be around late twenties, possibly early thirties.  No identification, found naked behind a garbage dumpster by the south side docks.  The body is very dirty -- time of death seems to be recent.  No signs of rape -- the body is almost covered in blood.  I am taking a sample for analysis, though I believe it is probably all the victim's.
    "A metal -- spike, of some sort ... has passed through the body, now lodged in the midsection.  Some type of ornaments on it.  I will pass it on to the FBI."  She ran her hand slowly across the surface of it.  "I sort of recognize the designs on it -- I've seen it before somewhere."  For a moment, Mira could see Francesca's eyes unfocus as she attempted to remember where she had seen it before.
    Francesca shook her head.  "Uh -- yeah.  Moving ... moving on, there appear to be many external marks on the body.  Most appear to be deep scratches."  Her eyes narrowed, and she moved in closer.  "There is some type of design on the left bicep.  It appears to be a crude tattoo."
    Mira stepped forward, and she knelt down to look at it.  Francesca continued, "There is a sword, with blood dripping down it.  It is cutting through a -- a snake.  The sword is vertical, the snake horizontal."  Her eyes widened.  "It's in the shape of a cross.  Oh my god -- Mira, I know why this seems so familiar."
    Mira straightened.  "What?"
    "I've seen this all before -- the death, the spike, the tattoo ... in a movie!"

    "And now, may the ghostly spirits of our ancestors rise from the dead -- and join us in our crusade!"
    A dark figure rose to his feet, two tall hot dripping candles held in his palms.  The wax melted quickly, and his hands burned with pain.  But the man stood, staring up at the starry night sky, in the center of the ring of trees.
    The other three hooded figures around him chanted softly.  Slowly, as their chant continued, the candles burnt down to the bottom.  The man holding them winced slightly in pain, and as the last of the liquid wax dripped from his fingers, the flame extinguished itself on his palm.
    "We will fight evil, and bring order to this chaotic world.  We mourn the deaths that must be done, the slaughtering of the innocents ... but it is all the master plan!"
    As the hooded figures rose, each drew swords from behind their backs.  They moved towards the speaker, and he pulled off his shirt.  One by one, the nicked their swords across his chest.  The man stood, the only hint of pain in his face being his eyes.  As the last hooded figure stepped back, he lowered his shirt.
    "My brothers," he said, "we have been joined.  Come."  He smiled, and the figures lowered their hoods, returning their swords to behind their backs.
    Still smiling, Duncan Torrens turned, and led them out of the bush.

    "What do you mean a movie?" exclaimed Mira, incredulously.
    Francesca scowled.  "A movie.  I saw it a few years ago. Night of
Darkness III: Hellfire."
   Mira glanced down at the body in front of her, then quickly turned away.  "Then I have to go talk to someone."

    It was about one o'clock when Rollie pulled the F/X van up in front of his loft on Brewery.  Humming, he switched off the engine, and hopped out of the truck.  He opened the loft door, and walked in.
    "Bluey, lights!"
    The voice came from across the room.  Rollie spun around as the lights flickered on.  It was Mira.
    "God, Mira, you scared me," said Rollie, annoyed.
    "Sorry," she said.  "Rollie, I know it's late, but I have to talk to you about something urgent."
    "Well it better be if we have to talk about it at one ... " he glanced at his watch, "make that one ten ... in the morning."
    "Listen, I am sorry.  But it's an emergency.  There's been a killing down at the docks."
    Rollie sighed.  "And that means what to me?"  Mira said nothing.  Rollie groaned.  "Okay -- I'm sorry.  I'm tired."
    "Good party?"
    "Very."  He walked across the room to a small fridge, pulling out two drinks for them.
    "Well, anyway," said Mira, "I had someone look at the body.  It's ... gruesome.  But the crazy thing is, it's like a killing in a movie."
    Rollie stopped dead in his tracks.  "What?"
    "That's right," said Mira.  "Ever heard of a movie called Hellfire?"
   Rollie's jaw dropped.  "Hellfire?  You gotta be kidding me, Mira."
    "You know of the movie?"
    "Dammit, Mira, I helped make that movie!"
    Mira's eyes widened.  "Well, someone likes it a bit too much."
    Rollie sat down in a chair.  Mira sat across from him.  "What happened?  Who?"
    "No identification -- she was found at the docks.  Spike through her abdomen.  A tattoo drawn on her arm.  A sword and a snake, in the shape of a cross."
    Rollie exhaled.  "Oh my god, Mira," he said.  "It's like Hellfire, all right."
    There was silence.  Finally Mira spoke.  "I thought you might have something I could work on.  The body is a mess.  It'll take another day for the examiner to finish everything and get back to me."
    Rollie shook his head.  "I don't know what could help, Mira," he said.
    "Did the movie have a cult following?"
    "Not that I know of.  It was a fun thing to shoot -- and I liked the result.  Really gory."  He let out a shuddering sigh.  "Must have been too gory.  Jesus."  His voice trailed off.
    The ringing of Mira's cell phone made them both jump.  Mira fumbled in her pocket, and pulled it out.  "Sanchez."
    "Mira," came Gatti's voice, "Happy Halloween."
    Palmira glanced up at a calendar on the wall.  It was past one o'clock on Halloween morning.  "You too," she said, slightly sarcastically.  "I'm at Rollie's loft.  Got anything good for me?"
    "Nothing yet," said Francis.  Then, in the background, Mira heard a shout.  The phone clunked down, and there was a moment of silence.  Rollie exchanged glances with Mira.  She mouthed "Gatti" just as Francis' voice came back on the line.  "Mira," he said, sounding scared, "Is there a TV around?  Turn it on."
    Mira scowled.  "What, Frank?"
    "Turn on a TV," said Gatti, hurriedly.  "Channel 27.  Hurry up."
    Mira jumped up off of Rollie's couch and hurried over to a flatscreen television Rollie had built into the wall.  She grabbed the remote, and flipped through the channels.
    Rollie leaned over, intrigued and concerned.  Finally Mira reached 27.  She gasped.
    The screen was dark.  Then, a bright light filled the screen, and the silhouette of a person moved in front of it.  The picture was grainy, and when the man spoke, his voice had a background of static.  The deep Scottish accent rumbled through the speakers of Rollie's television.
    The man spoke slowly, and carefully.  "This is an interruption of your broadcast," said the man.  "I am speaking to you on behalf of my groups members, and our forefathers and ancestors.  I am speaking to all of you citizens out there.  Prepare for your spirit to be cleansed, and the new power of order to arrive in the city." The picture faded, to be quickly replaced by a photo.  Rollie caught his breath, seeing the gruesome sight of the murdered woman at the docks, spike protruding through her stomach.  "She is one of the first to die," came the voice.  "She is a sacrifice of the new world order."  The image was replaced by the silhouetted figure.
    "There will be more."  The broadcast faded out -- and repeated.

    Up on the wall of the Midtown South Precinct, the clock slowly ticked toward 0400 hours.  Mira, Francis, Rollie, and Captain Vanduren sat at a long metal table, surrounded by a large group of officers, detectives, and supervisors.
    "Who the hell is this?" Vanduren was saying.  "How the hell does this guy broadcast his message on cable?"
    Chief Detective Darryl Smits glanced up from a memo he was reading.  "We have a team there now," he said, crushing the butt of his cigarette into an ashtray.  "They're the best.  They'll find something."

    The cable 27 building was in the heart of a grungy area of New York.  The task force vans screeched to a halt, and the side doors rumbled open.  Eight black-clothed figures clambered out of the van and hurried across the deserted parking lot.  Guns drawn, they hurried up to the station door, which swung open on creaking hinges.
    Inside, an old neon sign with the station's logo flickered, buzzing softly.  The station lights were still on.  The reception area was quiet.  As two officers ran quickly to the back area, Officer Jenna D'Jorres hurried up to the security desk.  Seeing no one in sight, she slammed her hand down on the bell --
    -- and brought it up, disgusted.  It was covered in blood.  She hurried around the desk, and saw the security guard, motionless, lying in a pool of his own blood.
    A shout from down the hall jolted her to her senses.  Wiping her hand on her sweater, she jogged down the hall to the director's room.  Two attendants lay sprawled across the panel, both victims of gunshot wounds to the back of the head.  The two officers held up a note that had been lying on the panel:

        PREPARE FOR THE CLEANSING
 

    "A movie?!" exclaimed Smits.
    "Yes sir," said Rollie, looking up.  The imposing detective stood over him, staring down.
    "You're telling me this son of a bitch is following the script of some B-Hollywood movie and murdering citizens?!  You gotta be shittin' me."
    "No shit, detective," said Mira, barging in.  "Hellfire -- you can bring it in and show it to your men."
    A woman at the back of the room suddenly spoke.  "He's right," she said, pointing to Rollie.  "I saw that movie."
    "I helped make it," said Rollie.  "I know I'm right."
    "Jesus," said Smits, rubbing his temples.  "So what happens in this movie?"
    Rollie sighed.  "Murderer creates new religion," he began, matter-of-factly, "decides to bring the city to believe it, kills enough people, city lives in constant fear, he recruits an army of loyal people who basically just don't want to be slaughtered, and takes control of the country like a dictatorship."
    Smits collapsed in his chair.  "Is that the end?"
    "Pretty much," said Rollie.  "At least, until me make a sequel."
    This brought dirty looks from both Vanduren and Smits.  "So is he following the plot?" said Vanduren, finally.
    "Pretty much," said Rollie.
    "So what'll happen next?" asked Smits.
    "He makes a big hit," said Rollie.  "In the movie, he blew up an underground gas line in the center of Manhattan early in the morning ... boom. But this guy's playing things a little different.  Who know's what he'll do?"

    The sky was beginning to just beginning to brighten as a checkered cab pulled up at the curb.  A man got out, and through the passenger window, tipped the cab driver.  The yellow streetlight shone across the man's face.  He was fairly young, with black hair gelled back against his head, and the beginnings of stubble on his chin.  He reached back and pulled out his large backpack from the backseat of the cab and slammed the door.  The cab's engine roared, and the cabby took off down the street.
    Strolling down the steps toward the doorway, the man pushed through.  He entered into a large room, which, although early in the morning, bustled with people.  Above him, a tall glowing sign read "Welcome to Grand Central Station".

   Rollie stopped in front of the loft and staggered out.  His head rushed momentarily from lack of sleep, and he stopped.  As his vision cleared, he continued on, to the door.  Unlocking it, he stepped through.
    "Blue, lights!" he called.  The mechanical dog barked twice, and the bright lights came on in the building.  Hurrying to a flat screen TV he had set up along one wall, he fumbled through a collection of videotapes, he found the one he wanted.  He popped it into the VCR machine, and collapsed into a recliner.  A top of the line sound system hummed to life as the screen brightened, and the opening credits of a movie played across the screen.
   Hellfire.

   "Train 1530 to Philadelphia ... "  The woman's voice echoed through the P.A. system.  The man pushed through the early morning crowd to a metal door along the wall, reading Employees Only.  Typing a code into the mechanical keypad, he pulled the doorhandle.  The lock beeped, and he was let in.
    He entered a loading dock area.  In front of him stretched what seemed to be hundreds of deadending train tracks, some of which freight trains were backing into.  The man turned, and jogged down a long metal staircase.  He was now under the main part of the train station, and he passed down a long walkway to reach the trains.

    Rollie woke up suddenly.  He cursed himself for drifting off.  The movie was now halfway through.
    Suddenly he sat up.  Wait a second, he thought.  He fumbled on a table by the chair, and his hand clasped the remote.  He pointed it at the VCR and hit the rewind button.
    He wound it back about ten minutes.  Finding what he wanted, he let go of the button.  The movie began to play again.  "... so what will we hit?" said a voice.
   "I need something big," said a hoarse voice.  Rollie smiled as the camera zoomed in a silhouetted figure.  "What's big?"
   The first figure chuckled.  "Grand Central."
   Rollie hit the pause button.  That was it.  The bad guy's second choice.  Grand Central Station.
    Rollie lept up from the recliner, and ran across the room.  "Blue, cell phone, Sanchez," he said, quickly.  Bluey barked, and the phone dialed.

   Atlantic Freight.  This was the train.  The man hopped on the back of the train.  Inside it was empty of people, but there were rows upon rows of large wooden crates.  The man's mouth twisted in a sneer that was almost an evil grin.  He lifted the pack off of his shoulders, and placed it on the floor.  He reached inside one pocket, and his fingers found a small button.  He pressed it.  Inside the pack, something beeped, and a muffled computerized voice began counting down.  "Five minutes to detonation ... "

   The police cars screeched to a halt, sirens screaming.  Officers lept out.  Day was just beginning to break, and the first rays of the sun hit the roof of the station.
    Running through the doors, the officers shouted for people to evacuate.  The hundreds of people barely noticed over the general noise.

   "Fifteen seconds to detonation ... "
   A worker passed the open end of the train.  He heard the voice, and glanced inside.
   "Ten seconds to detonation ... "
   Confused, he stepped forward and picked up the backpack.
   "Five ... four ... three ... two ... one ... deton -- "

    The bomb in the backpack detonated.

    The car had been loaded with explosives.  The resulting fireball ripped down the length of the train, as the wooden crates which secretly held plastique and TNT caught.

    The explosion was huge.  The billowing wall of heat and fire spread out across the length of the loading dock.  Above, in the main part of the station, the floor shook and heaved upward under the commuters' feet.

    The few passengers who were far enough away from the floor, which was caving in, were nearly deafened by the tremendous sound.  Those in the center of the station screamed almost silently over the noise of the explosion as they fell, their flesh burning.

    As the first fireball dissipated, there was a powerful suction effect.  And suddenly, another train below exploded, though less forcefully, as the fire spread to its gas tank.

    One woman had just barely scrambled to safety as the floor caved in.  Her face and arms were covered in burns as she squeezed herself through an exit door, with a mob of other terrorized people.  She watched as the glass ceiling above the main area collapsed with a giant wrenching sound, and the steel beams and glass rained down into the pit below.  Above, the cool morning air rushed in.  She glanced down at the fire below, which glowed a hot white.

    Suddenly there was a loud snap, as a power cable caught.  She heard a buzz, and the remaining lights in the station went dark.  Only the fire below provided light, and she ran down the hall, to safety.

 

   "This is the scene at Grand Central Station.  As you can see, this morning's early terrorist attack resulted in the total shut down of the station.  Over fifty people were killed, and hundreds injured, as a train loaded with explosives detonated under the floor of the main commuting area.  The attack is suspected to have been done by a new terrorist group, which last night broadcast a message over Cable Channel 27. *Prepare for your spirit to be cleansed, and the new power of order to arrive in the city.* "

    "... this attack follows a gruesome killing at the New York docks of a young white female early in the night ... "

    "Ladies and gentlemen, if you are just tuning in, it has been a busy night ... "

    "New York waits and watches in terror, wondering when, and if, the killer will strike again..."

 

   Darryl Smits was on his fourth cup of coffee.  He felt horrible.  Across from him, Vanduren didn't look much better.

    "Keep the Hellfire story angle quiet," Vanduren was saying.  "I don't want calls from people making predictions on where he'll strike next."

    "Captain?" said Mira, appearing in the doorway.  "Can I talk to you?"

    "Not now, Sanchez," said Vanduren.  "You must have something better to do."

    "Captain, is it just me, or am I being shut out of this case?  Gatti and I haven't been given any assignments at all."

    Vanduren stood up, excusing himself.  He stepped out into the hallway with Mira.  "Sanchez," he said, never having gotten into the habit of calling her by her first name, "this case is too big for you.  One officer can't handle it all."

    Mira sighed.  "Yes sir, I know.  But I can do something."

    "This is Smits' case now."

    "But the killing by the docks was my case .. "

    " .. and it still is.  But the rest of this came up, and now it's part of a bigger hunt.  I'm sorry.  Get some sleep."

 

    "So you're off the case?" said Rollie.

    "Yeah," Mira answered.  She was on the freeway, and talking with him over her cell phone.  "There's a big task force now, and everything."

    "Well, in a way I'm not surprised."

    "Neither am I."

    "Listen, Mira, I'm trying something out here with Angie.  Do you want to stop by?"

    "It depends on what it is."

    "I think I can show you your man."

 

    Angie sipped a cappuccino.  She watched the video of the silhouetted figure again.  "It's going to be a tough one, Rollie," she said.  She turned away when the image of the victim appeared.  "But I'll try."

    Just then Mira came through the door.  She bounded up the steps, to where Angie and Rollie were sitting around the workstation.  "So what have you got?" she asked.

    "Well," said Rollie, "I just got some new graphics software.  It's pretty cool.  It's for a movie we're starting in a few weeks, Final Demise ... "

    "Basically," said Angie, before her boss could keep rambling, "what it'll let us do is map the face by the silhouetted shape.  It'll give us a wire frame model.  With that, and a little digital magic, I just might be able to give you an image."

 

    The news report came over all radio and TV channels, except for Cable 27, which was indefinitely off the air.  The mayor's image projected across millions of TV screens.  "I ask you, as one member of this great city to another, to stay at home.  This is an emergency."

 

    "What the hell is he doing?!"  Smits slammed his fist against the table, watching the mayor appeal for the citizens to stay in their homes.

    "Declaring a state of emergency," said Vanduren, flatly.

    Smits' face was pale.  "There is a death toll of seventy-four people," he said.  "It's not a real emergency.  A cause for alarm, sure.  More people were killed in the Oklahoma City bombings."

    "He doesn't want more people dead."

   "So he decides to shut down the whole city?!  Does this man have any idea what repercussions this will have?!"

    "Probably not," said Vanduren.  "But this can work to our advantage.  People stay at home -- they don't get in our way -- less people killed at the next attack.  And he's not 'shutting down' the city.  He's just asking people to stay at home.  How many people will listen?"

 

    Mira leaned forward.  "What's happening, Angie?"

    "Well, the computer's just mapping the face now.  It's also enhancing the image, to see if we can lighten his face to make other things out the wire frame won't show, like face colour.  It'll take a few minutes for it to take all the clues out of the frames, and hopefully we might in the end have a 3-D model of the terrorist's face."

 

    The highway was quiet.  Occasionally, a trucker would pass by, or a daredevil rider, taking advantage of the empty road for a little speed test or drag race.

    Millions of people waited in their homes, eyes glued to their TVs.  Those people who did go to work found things were emptier.  Less customers.  The downtown was not busy at all.

    The city was in total fear.

 

    "Bingo, baby!"
    Mira opened her eyes groggily.  "Bingo -- wha?"
    "Wake up!" said Angie, excited.  "Here's your man."
    Rollie leaned forward, looking at the three dimensional model of a man's face.  "He doesn't look like your average terrorist type."
    Angie hit a few buttons.  "I'm searching for any matches in police records."  The computer beeped.  "There aren't any."
    "So -- so this guy doesn't have a record," said Mira, rubbing her eyes.  Vanduren had been right -- she needed sleep.  She fumbled in her pocket for a piece of paper.  She gave it to Angie.  "Send that picture to these addresses," she said.  "They'll be able to identify him."
    "Okay," said Angie, hitting a few more keys.
    "What time is it?" asked Mira.
    "Nine a.m.," said Roll.  "You fell asleep."
    "I need it," said Mira.  "God.  I gotta call Vanduren, and get this down to the station right away."

    "This Tyler guy made this?"  Smits examined a few angles Angie had printed out of the man.
    "His assistant, actually," said Mira.
    Vanduren's voice hardened.  "I thought I told you to stay off this case, Sanchez."
    "Well, sir," said Mira, "it was Rollie's idea.  I'm sorry I disobeyed orders."
    "Hey hey hey," said Smits to Vanduren, setting the images down, "I don't have any problems having her on my team.  That is, if she doesn't mind.  She's proven herself extremely valuable."
    Vanduren scowled, and Mira smiled.  "Well -- I -- all right, Sanchez," he said, in defeat.  "You're back on.  Under Mr. Smits' authority."
    Mira grinned.  "Thank you, sirs,"  she backed out of the room.
    Smits chuckled.  "Feisty one, her."
    "She's a fine cop," said Vanduren.  "With an interesting friend."
    "Yeah, about this Tyler.  I want to get him in here."

    "Would you say that one more time ... "
    "That's right, sir -- they have your picture. "
    Duncan Torrens slammed his fist against the table.  "How ... who?"
    "A movie special effects guy.  He and a cop have worked together a lot."
    "Fuck him," said Torrens.  His eyes burned like fire.  "I'll make him pay.  No one can get in the way of the cleansing."
    He stormed out of the room, and into a small closet which had been turned into a small shrine.  He lit a candle, and held it up, head bowed.  He chanted softly, and spoke.  "Spirits, I will make him pay for attempting to get in the way.  The plan will go forward.  We will rule."

    "So you worked on this movie?"
    It was twelve thirty.  Rollie and Darryl Smits sat together, across a table from each other, alone in the room.
    "Yes sir," said Rollie.  "This man appears to be following its plot."
    Smits sighed.  "I'll be straight with you, Tyler.  This is a powerful man.  He's been following your movie's plot.  But now we will find out who he his, and disrupt the whole thing.  In a way, we're worse off than we were before."
    Rollie's face was blank, and Smits continued.  "This guy is a pro.  He probably knows we have his picture, and who produced it.  Your life will be in danger.  I'll assign you one of my men-- "
    "My life's been in danger many times before, sir," said Rollie.  "I can handle myself."
    "No you can't, Tyler.  This guy is different from anyone you've probably ever dealt with."
    "Sir, I've dealt with some of the slimiest of the slime.  Victor Loubar, for example -- "
    "Yes, I heard you know him.  How is he?  Never mind.  I know him too.  But, if I've heard right, recently he kidnapped you, and raped your assistant -- am I correct?"
    Rollie bit his lip.  "Yes."
    "So, if Loubar could drug you, this guy could kill you.  You're getting a guard.  That's all.  You can go."
    Frustrated, Rollie stood up from the table.  Just as he was about to step out the door, Smits called to him.  "Oh, and Tyler!  Thanks, man."
    Rollie forced a smile, and stormed out.

    The call came in at one o'clock precisely.
    There had been more deaths.

    Mira, Francis, Smits, and a few other members of the team hurried down a set of concrete steps and into the New New York Shopping Plaza. The scene there was a gruesome one.  Eight bodies lay in pools of their own blood.  Police officers herded panicking civilians out the doors.
    "It just happened," said a witness.  "It was so crowded, then suddenly, boom.  Gunshots.  Oh my god."
    Another terrorist attack, thought Mira.  Innocent people.  The bastard.  Things were working in his favour.  The whole city was paranoid.  Afraid to go outside, for fear that they might be the next victims.
    They had to stop him.
    Suddenly, her cell phone rang.  She picked it up, listening.  "Hey, detective!" she called.
    Smits turned around.  "Phone!" called Mira.  Smits hurried over, and snatched it from Mira's hand.

    "Duncan Torrens.  Originally from Scotland, moved here eight years ago."
    Smits, Mira, Vanduren, and Rollie were gathered around a table at the precinct.  "Seems he was very anti-Christianity back in Scotland," continued Smits.  "Anyone surprised?"
    No one said anything.  Finally, Mira spoke up.  "So, what are we going to do?"
    "I have to get a team together," he said.  "Quickly.  The moment he finds out we know who he is, he's going to be long gone."

    At just past four thirty, two grey vans pulled up in front of a large house in one of the richer subburbs of the city.  Even before the van had stopped completely, the doors swung open and specially trained commandos leaped out, spreading out across the street.  Weilding heavy, powerful firearms, they quickly ran across the yard and onto the front porch of the house, which had been recently painted.  They reached the front door, and kicked it open.
    As most of the team went in through the front, a few team members carefully made their way around the back of the house.  The officer in the lead pushed through a gate in the tall bushes that surrounded the house, and entered the pool area.  He stopped dead in his tracks.  It was a mess.  The slide, the tiles, the lawnchair were covered with a spattering of dried blood.

    Duncan Torrens had just managed to escape through the back yard into the forest before the task force saw him.  He could have easily killed them when they drove up, but that would have been too easy.  Not to mention not very dramatic.  So he'd set something else up instead.
    He stopped running, glanced at his watch, and smiled.

    Inside in the main hallway, the team leader spoke worriedly into his headset.  "I'm telling you, there's no one here!"
    On the other end, Smits swore.  "He knew we were coming!" he said.  "Get out.  Get out now."
    "Yes sir ... " said the team leader, calling for everyone to regroup outside.  But as he made it to the door, he paused.  On either side of the doorway were two small mechanisms, directly across from each other.  Sucking in a breath, he followed with his eyes a wire running along the wall to the ceiling, to a small LED timer.
    0:02, 0:01 ...
 
 

    Mira could feel the electricity in the air even before she saw Rollie.  As he plowed down the hallway, she put her hand out and grabbed his shoulder.  "Rollie!" she exclaimed.
    The F/X man didn't stop.  "Rollie Tyler, what the hell's gotten into you?!"
    Rollie stopped suddenly, and spun around.  "You know what's gotten into me?!" he exclaimed, "I just gave your superior a major break in the case!  And do I get any gratitude?  No!  I'm told I've just made things worse now.  Dammit, he thinks I need a babysitter!!"
    "Calm down Rollie!" said Mira.  He had attracted some attention.  "C'mere." she said, dragging him to her desk.  She shoved him into a seat, and sat down across from him.
    "We -- are having a difficult time here," she said.  "And if you act like a jackass you're gonna be left out of this investigation for good.  Smits is right.  You need someone to guard you.  Rollie, there's a terrorist loose in this city.  Every minute that ticks by is another minute closer to his next hit.  So you're going to cooperate, right?"
    Rollie sighed.  "All right."

    Clink.
    There was complete silence.  The team leader finally exhaled.  Nothing had happened.
    "Team leader, we're all out here," came a voice over the headset.
    The team leader fumbled for the mike, to answer.  "Uh, yeah, right.  Okay, I'll be right out."  He reached over to pull the door open.  He turned the knob ...
    ... there was a soft click, and the sound of something shooting through the air ...
    ... he opened his mouth to scream, and collapsed.

    Angie double-checked the security system one more time via the Ambler terminal.  Everything was in place, and in the green.  She sighed, wrapping a blanket around her.   Where was Rollie?
    A noise from the doorway made her jump.  The door opened, and Rollie stepped through.  "Rol!" exclaimed Angie, running to him.  They hugged, and he kissed her on the cheek.  "Hello love," he said.
    For a moment Angie felt uncomfortable.  Ever since Red Storm, where she and Rollie had been thrust into an awkward relationship, they had never been quite the same with each other.  She'd expressed her love to him, and he to her -- but they knew, down in the depths of their hearts, that they weren't ready for anything.
    But that didn't change what they felt.
    She pulled away, eyes fixed sheepishly on the floor.  "Um, uh, how did it go?" she said.  She stepped backward a little far to let Rollie in.
    "It went -- it went fine," said Rollie.  He pointed outside at an unmarked police car parked beside his truck.  "I -- we -- have a bodyguard now," he said.  He waved for the officer to come in.
    "Oh -- okay," said Angie.  She followed Rollie up the steps, leaving the door open for the policeman.
    "Um, Ange, I'm going to grab a quick shower," said Rollie.  "If that's okay?"
    "Sure," blurted Angie, "yeah, fine, go ahead, I don't mind.  It's your loft, after all."
    Rollie came closer.  "Ange, are you okay?"
    "Yeah, uh huh," said Angie, stepping back.
    "Angie, come on.  You don't have to act this way all the time."
    "No, no, I just ... "
    The officer came through the door, and their conversation promptly ended.  Rollie climbed the stairs to his living area, and a few moments later the soft hiss of water could be heard from the bathroom.
    Angie sighed, covering her face with her hands.  Would they ever be the same around each other?
    "Uh, hi."
    Angie looked up, startled.  "Oh, hi," she said to the police officer.
    "I'm Officer Jack Carter," he stuck his hand out to shake.  "I'm supposed to be Mr. Tyler's and your guard."
    "Oh, hello Mr. Carter," said Angie, shaking his hand.  His grip was strong.  "Uh, make yourself at home."

    Duncan Torrens eyed the building cautiously.  From the outside, it looked a bit run down.  But apparently, the inside was quite fancy.
    Checking to make sure his mask was in place, he climbed out of the driver's seat of the beaten up blue van he had been driving.  Crossing the street, he passed a telephone booth.  He continued on around the back of the building, where he found himself outside a set of heavy garage doors which had been left open.  Checking to make sure no one was watching, he stepped inside.

    A soft siren sounded from the workstation.  Angie's and Jack's heads turned to see what had set it off.  One of the security cameras outside the garage had stopped sending its signal to the main system.
    "Stay here," said Jack, motioning for Angie to sit on the couch.  Pulling his gun out of his holster, he crossed the loft quietly and made his way to the garage entrance.  Pushing open the door, he looked inside.  He couldn't see anyone.  He moved farther into the doorway, and suddenly he was hit with a blunt object.  Everything he saw exploded in a set of flashes, and all he could see were stars --
    -- and then he blacked out.

    "Jack?"
    "What's the matter, Angie?" asked Rollie, coming back down the stairs.  He was toweling his wet hair.
    "Something's wrong," said Angie.  "One of the security cameras just quit.  Jack's gone to investigate, but ... "
    Suddenly she turned white.  "Oh my god.  Could he be here?"
    Rollie froze.  He opened his mouth, and finally said, "It has to be."
    There was a soft click as all the lights in the loft went out.  The only illumination was from the outside, where the setting sun cast a soft orange glow.
    Suddenly a deep Scottish voice pierced the terrifying silence.
    "Happy Halloween."
 

    Angie screamed as the lights went out.  Hearing the sound of shots, she dove behind a shelf.  There wasn't enough light to see what was going on.
    Suddenly she heard a cry from Rollie.  Peering over the couch, she could see him and Torrens in the dimness.  Torrens was holding Rollie, a knife to his throat.  Rollie tried to move, but Duncan had him in a firm grasp.
    "This," said Duncan, "is for giving me away.  This ... is for spoiling my plans.  Are you ready to die?"
    Rollie wrestled with the shorter man, but Duncan was amazingly strong for his size.  Rollie could do nothing.  "In a way," continued Duncan, "I envy you.  You will meet our superior being before me.  Too bad you'll never get a chance to worship him on Earth.  He'll punish you -- but then you will be taught the right way.  Your spirit will finally be cleansed."
    Rollie growled.  "Yeah -- right ... "
    "Oh well," said Duncan, moving the dagger closer to Rollie's throat ...
    "Hold it right there," came a voice.
    Duncan didn't even turn around.  "Why?" he said, chuckling.
    Jack Carter squinted down the barrel of the gun.  "I've got a gun on you," he said.  "Don't do anything."
    "Oh," said Duncan, nonchalantly.  He glanced over his shoulder.  "Oh, yeah.  I see you."
    "Put the knife down."
    "Why should I?"
    "Because I'll kill you."
    "No no no!" said Duncan, laughing insanely.  "You wouldn't do that!  I'm what, a quarter of an inch from killing a man!"
    "I'll kill you ... "
    "I've got a knife to his throat ... "
    "I'll kill you."
    Duncan looked up, and saw Angie just a few feet away.  She held a tranquilizer rifle in her hands, and a large, evil looking dart was loaded in its muzzle.  She held it pointed at Duncan.   Duncan smiled.  "Now that's my kind of weapon," he said.
    "I'm sure it is," said Angie, eyes narrowed.
    "Put the knife down!" exclaimed Jack.
    "Oh, yes ... I forgot," said Duncan.  He grinned.  "Okay."  He dropped the knife, and kicked it behind him to Jack.  Then he turned and walked over to the officer, holding out his arms.  "Cuff me," he said.
    Rollie stood, mouth half open.  Suddenly Angie rushed up to him, and hugged him tightly.  "Rollie," she said, pressing herself against him, "are you okay?"
    Rollie rubbed his neck.  "Yeah," he said.  "I'm fine ... it's over."
    "I think it finally is."  Angie looked up and smiled at Rollie.  She looked deep into his eyes, and suddenly she felt so close -- yet so far away.  He brought his face closer to hers, and ...
    "Oh, ah, Tyler?"
    Rollie looked around to see Duncan being led out of the building.  Just as he disappeared out the door, Duncan said, "It's not over yet."
    Rollie and Angie exchanged worried glances.  Pulling away, he ran to the door.  The sound of sirens in the distance was coming closer.  The sun had set -- the streetlamps were beginning to turn on.
    "What do you mean?" shouted Rollie.
    Duncan grinned evilly and laughed as he bent down to get into the police car.  "There's nothing you can do."
    Rollie ran toward the door of the police car, pushing Jack aside.  Bending over, he punched Duncan in the jaw.  "What the hell do you mean?!" he yelled, grabbing the Scot roughly by his shirt.
    "I mean," said Duncan calmly, "that by midnight, I will be in total control."
    "How?!"
    "Ah, you'll see."

    "The bastard!" shouted Rollie, banging his arms down on the conference table in frustration.
    "Easy, Rol!" exclaimed Mira.  "You're lucky Jack's overlooking that punch you pulled, or else you'd be facing assault charges."
    "He's had this plan in the works from the beginning," said Rollie.  "He meant to get caught -- dammit, he wanted to get caught!"
    "Rollie!" barked Mira.  "Sit down now!"
    Rollie froze, then sat down resignedly.  "I -- I'm sorry," he said.
    "You were almost murdered," said Mira.  "But don't give in -- this is what he's aiming for.
    "This -- maniac -- has gotten to you.  He's gotten to a lot of this population.  Rollie, people out there are panicking.  Panicking because they don't know if they're going to be next to die.
    "This is his so called cleansing, Rollie.  Just like the movie -- he's striking fear in everyone's hearts.  The only way they'd be safe is to follow him.  The secret is to not give in.  We can stop what he has in the works.  But we need to be calm ... and rational.  Do you get me?"
    "Yes," said Rollie.
    "Good."
    Suddenly there was a shout from outside the office.  Mira ran to the door, and she saw Francis running up.  "What's going on?" said Mira.
    "It's happening," said Francis.  "Mira, we've got problems."

    "What kind of problems?!" exclaimed Mira.  Suddenly, the station lights flickered.
    "Well, there's one," said Francis.
    Rollie came out into the hallway.  "What the hell is doing?" he said.
    "We should ask him," said Francis.

    Rollie, Mira, Francis, and Smits hurried down to the stairs to the station basement, where Duncan Torrens was being held.  Rollie glanced at his watch.  They had an hour and a half to midnight.  And the problems were already beginning.
    Torrens' cell was far in the basement.  He was being kept secluded from the rest of the people being held.  Guards stood outside of his cell.  Duncan looked up as they came nearer.  "Ach, here comes the cavalry!" he said, grinning.
    "Dammit, this is no time for games, Mr. Torrens!" shouted Smits, reaching the cell first.  The lights flickered again, and Duncan laughed out loud.  Rollie and Mira exchanged a glance.  Duncan was mad.
    "Games?" said Duncan, pushing his nose through the bars of his cell.  "Why not?  That's all this is -- a game."
    "A game!!" shouted Smits.  He grabbed the shoulder pads of Torrens' suit through the bars and pulled roughly.  "This is no game!!"
   "Mr. Smits, please,'' said Duncan.  "That's brutality, you know."
    "The laws don't apply here!!" yelled Smits, pulling Duncan's face close to his.  "I can beat you up if I want!!"
   The station lights fizzled, and suddenly darkness fell upon them.  "What the hell are you doing?!" exclaimed Smits.
    "Oh, as I said before, my dear boy, I've done.  There's no stopping it."
   "Stopping what?!"
   The lights came back on again.  "Do you want me to start at the beginning?" said Duncan.
    Rollie and Mira exchanged another worried look.  "Talk," ordered Smits.
    "Well, already, a slight computer glitch has infected the New York power grid," said Duncan calmly.  "Nothing too serious.  A few outages here and there.  But that's just the start.  There's another computer glitch buried in the stock exchange computers, which will spread to the other international exchanges.
    "After that, well, let me see.  It's been a while.  Ah, yes.  Tell your boys to keep their eyes on the TV?  How about local cable channel 45.  They have some very exciting programming scheduled for later tonight.  Complete with," suddenly Duncan burst out laughing.  Another shove from Smits made him stop.  " ... with -- subliminal messages!"  Torrens seemed to find this hilariously funny, and he began laughing hysterically again.
    But suddenly, as if remembering something terribly important, he pressed his face against the bars.  He paled suddenly as he spoke.  "And I almost forgot," he said.  "The piece de resistance .... hey, I talked french.  That's pretty good -- I don't know much french I mean, but that must be something I know ... "
   "What is it?!" growled Smits, again.
    Torrens smiled.  "Why should I tell you?  I have to follow through -- hee hee -- with the plot!"  He giggled.  Suddenly, his knees buckled, and he collapsed to the cell floor.
    Vanduren looked at Mira, alarmed.  Suddenly, Torrens sat up again.  His face was blank.  He moved so he sat cross-legged on the floor.  He closed his eyes, and fell asleep, still sitting up.
    "He's out of his mind," said Mira, softly.  She glanced up at Rollie, who had a far off look in his eyes.  "What is it?" she asked.
    "I was thinking about what he said," said Rollie.
    "Mr. Tyler, we can't trust what this lunatic told us," said Smits.
    "I think we can," said Rollie.  "Up to a point.  This guy has pretty much exactly followed the Hellfire script.  In the movie, we had commercials with subliminal messages ... the stock exchange meltdown ... the," the power flickered again, "the electrical outages."
    "So are you saying that this resistance thing is real?" said Smits.  "You gotta be kidding.  The man's a lunatic.  You can't trust him."
    "I'd bet it is real," Rollie shot back.  "Because there was one thing from the movie he didn't mention.  And if he did do it -- everything else is going to look like child's play."

    "What is it, Tyler?!" exclaimed Smits, frustrated.  "What's he going to do?"
    Rollie bit his lip.  "Get down to Mayor Whitfield's residence -- now."
   "You mean ... "
    "Of course," said Mira.  "It's the perfect way.  Destroy the person who runs the city.  It's Duncan's way of signifying that the government is no longer in control."
    Rollie nodded, grimly.
    Smits was white.  "Then ... let's go."

    The police car lurched as it careened around the corner.  The street was empty and dark.  The power in this section of the city was erratic.
    Rollie looked at the green glowing clock on the car's dash.  11:23.  In the movie, the bomb went off at twelve.  Rollie prayed that Torrens had also followed that part of the plot.  If so, they had just under forty minutes to get there and find the bomb.
    They rounded the last corner and sped up as they raced down the rural street.  Suddenly Rollie saw something.  "What is that?" he said.
    Mira, who was driving, squinted.  "Looks like there's a -- a lot of people there already."
    Smits, sitting beside Rollie, frowned.  "What's going on?"
    They had to stop two houses away because a line of people blocked the car's path.  Mira, Rollie and Smits lept out as other police cars pulled up behind them.  "NYPD!!" shouted Smits over the noise of the crowd, flashing his badge.  "Get out of the way!"
    Rollie surveyed the group.  A lot of people were blocking the road -- hundreds.  He reached into his back pocket and grabbed a flashlight.  He shone it across the crowd.  They looked like average people.  Except they were completely expressionless.
    "Sorry, we can't do that," said a woman.
    "You must!  This is an emergency!!" said Smits.
    "They're blocking the entire property," said Mira in awe.
    "All right," said Smits.  He took his gun out of a holster on his hip, and waved it at the crowd.  "Get out of the way."
   "We can't do that," said the one woman again.
   "Why not?!" exclaimed Smits.
    "Because the ruler told us not to."
    "Of course!" said Rollie.  He turned to Smits.  "The subliminal messages -- Torrens told them all to come here.  These people are under his control.  He told them not to let us through."
    For a moment, Smits didn't believe Rollie.  But, scanning the crowd again, he realized that it made perfect sense.  He stepped forward.  "Where's the mayor?"
    "In his house," said the woman, "of course.  Any average citizen would be safely inside their house at this time of night."
    "She's wacko," muttered Francis, who'd come in another car.  "All of them are."
    "We have to get in there somehow!" shouted Mira, frustrated.
    "We can't let you do that," said the woman.
    Suddenly Rollie had an idea.  "You are mistaken," he said.  "The ruler has sent us to take the mayor to him."
    "But the ruler must destroy the mayor and this property," said the woman, confused.
    "He has changed his mind," said Rollie.  "Let us through, now -- or the ruler will get angry."
    The woman thought for a moment.  She whispered something to another man nearby, then turned to face Rollie again.  "All right," she said.  "If it is what the ruler commands."  The crowd parted to let them through.
    Rollie smiled at the victory.  Then he glanced at his watch ...
    11:46 -- it was almost midnight.

    Rollie, Mira and Smits sprinted down the sidewalk towards the mayor's residence.  Behind them came a barrage of officers, including Francis and Tony Rizzo.
    Smits reached the front door first -- it was unlocked.  He opened it and entered the main foyer.  Shining his flashlight around, he found it empty.  To his left and right, a short flight of stairs led to what looked to be a living room on the left, and a study on the right.  Ahead of him, a bigger staircase led to the upper floor.  He barked orders, sending officers to search the house.
    Rollie and Mira arrived.  Smits turned to them.  "Anything you can help me with, Tyler?" he asked.  "We're running out of time, and if we don't find Mr. Whitfield quickly... "
    Rollie squinted, thinking.  "If I remember correctly, they found him and his wife tied up somewhere ... "  Suddenly his eyes lit up.  "The basement!"

    Mayor Thomas Whitfield looked up, hearing sounds of people upstairs.  Suddenly, a flashlight beam cut through the darkness, and a police officer emerged down the staircase.  "He's here!" the officer called.
    More people appeared at the top of the stairs.  They came running down.  "Thank god you're here!" said Mayor Whitfield, as his gag was pulled off.  "What the hell is going on?!"
    "No time to explain," said Smits.  He glanced at his watch.  11:58.  And his watch was a minute slow.  He pulled the ropes off of the mayor's hands as quickly as he could, as others freed Mrs. Whitfield.  "Sir, your life is in extreme danger if we don't get out of here ... now."
   The mayor looked into Smits' eyes -- and could tell he was serious.  He tried to stand, then collapsed again.  "Unh," he grunted.  "Head rush."
    "Come on!" said Mira, at the top of the stairs.
    Smits grabbed Whitfield under the shoulder as another officer did the same for his wife.  "We have to get going, sir!"

    The officers ran down the hall towards the basement, with Rollie in behind them.  But suddenly, something made him stop.  He turned around, slowly.  He could hear a soft beeping.  He waved the flashlight across the hall, homing in on the source of the sound.  Then he saw it.  A closet door was open.  He walked carefully towards it, and looked inside ...
    ... and saw the bomb.  It was huge.  He himself had only worked with one or two things this size before.  It was amazing.  As a little voice in his head screamed for him to run, he leaned in closer, and squinted at the timer.
    One minute, two seconds.
    For some reason -- he didn't know why -- he didn't say anything to the officers downstairs.  Instead, he knelt down on one knee, and frowned, examining the setup of the bomb.
    One minute, zero seconds.
    His heart racing, his eyes followed the multiple sets of wires running across chunks of plastic explosive, and TNT.  What ... ?
    He could hear the officers shouting something, but ignored it.  He reached out, and lifted the LED timer up, looking at its back.
    Fifty-two seconds.
    They were coming up the stairs now with the mayor and his wife.  They'd pass by him in a minute.   But still, he did not get up.
    Forty-seven seconds.
    His frown grew larger.  Something was seriously odd about this whole thing.  As he reached back into the closet, his hand closed on something metal -- a box.
    Forty-one seconds.
    The police were passing by.  He heard someone say something, then Smits shout, "Tyler, let's go!!"
   Rollie held up a hand, concentrating.  "Go," he ordered.  "I'll be out in a minute."
   "Dammit, Tyler!!" said Smits, "You have only thirty seconds before this whole place explodes!!"
   Rollie understood.  But he had to stay.  He examined the box, then quickly grabbed for the timer again.  "Aw, shit," he muttered, amazed.  The timer wasn't even connected to the explosives!
 
 

  But what was?  Something was -- the box.  He looked at it.  It looked like some kind of receiver -- a short range antenna.  He'd used them many times, to remote detonate explosives.
    He could hear the officers nearing the front lobby.  They'd be almost out the door in a moment.
    Eighteen seconds.
    Suddenly Rollie knew what he had to do.

    Outside, one person stood in the darkness, behind a tree -- across the street.  He could see from the shadows in the house, the mayor was almost at the door.  They were early.
    Checking the small video camera he had set up on a small tripod, he reached into his pocket, and drew out what looked like a miniature TV remote.  He typed a code on the number pad, and the remote chirped softly.
    To my joined brother Duncan, he thought.  And he hit the button marked Detonate.

    Rollie jumped as the box beeped.  A yellow light began to flash.  Jesus, it was armed!  His eyes widened -- and he closed his hand around the wire protruding from the back of the box to the explosive.  Come on ...
    The wire came loose ...
    ... just before the light on the box changed to a deep crimson.
    Rollie exhaled.  Had he not pulled the wire out -- the bomb would have exploded ...
    He frowned.  Why was the bomb remote detonated?  It was almost as if someone had wanted the bomb to explode at an exact moment ...
    Hearing gunfire, Rollie jumped up and ran down the hall, his flashlight beam bobbing wildly.  Banging out the door, someone called to him "Get down!"
   Rollie turned.  "But I disarmed the bomb!"  Then he saw Mira, Smits, the mayor, and his wife hiding around a corner of the house.  The grass was littered with fallen officers.  Across the lawn stood someone with a semi-automatic in his hands, trained on him.  Swearing, Rollie ran behind one of the tall white columns in the front of the building just as the gunman let loose with a flurry of bullets.  He winced as the alabaster chipped, and sharp shards broke off as the bullets hit the column.
    Mira fired back a few shots, and the man dodged behind a tall tree along the front path.  Then, keeping his gun trained on the corner where the remaining police were hiding, he began quickly backing up down the path.
    The moment the man had reached the end of the path, Mira and Smits chased after him.  He fired a few shots in their direction, and they flattened themselves up against another tree.  Mira peered around, and saw the man grabbing a camera and tripod, dropping the gun.  Swearing, he let it lay there, and jumped over to the driver's side of a car waiting for him on the opposite side of the street.
    Mira rounded the tree and took off across the street, Rollie and Smits right behind her.  She had almost reached the car as its engine fired to life.  She flung herself onto the back hood as the tires screeched and the man pulled away from the curb, leaving Rollie and Smits behind.
    Mira scrambled for a handhold as the car carreened around a corner.  Just as she felt she might fall off, her hand closed around a metal bar, which was part of a roof rack.  Grunting, her knuckles white, she pulled herself onto the roof.
    The street was still dark -- the power in the city out.  Wasting no time, Detective Smits and Rollie dashed for one of the police vans, and began chasing the gunman's car.

    Mira almost screamed as the car rounded another corner too quickly -- for one terrifying second, its two right wheels lifted off the ground.  She almost lost her grip on the rack as the wheels hit the ground again with a hard jolt.  Drawing on all of her strength, Mira turned herself around, and backed up down the front windshield.  Still holding onto the roof rack with her left hand, she attempted to straddle the hood, pointing the gun at the driver.  "Stop the car!" she yelled.
    Suddenly, the blast of a truck's air horn sounded right in front of her.  Mira awkwardly looked around to see them barreling down on a heavily loaded transport truck.  At the last second, the car swerved to the left, and they missed the truck's front bumper by inches.
    The turn nearly made Mira fall.  Both of her legs swung around to the right side of the car, and she had to make a grab at the rack with her gun hand.  She couldn't do it, and she yelled out as her gun dropped out of her hand, clattering across the roof and onto the road on the opposite side.  Swearing, she slapped her right hand onto the rack, and hung on.
    Now her feet were dragging on the pavement, and she could see the driver through the passenger's side window.  "NYPD -- stop the car!!" she ordered again.
    The driver looked at her, and just grinned.  Then, he nodded ahead of them.  Mira looked up to see them heading straight for a gas station on the side of the road.  Yelling, she let go of the rack with both hands, and fell to the ground, rolling hard.  A searing, white hot pain shot through her leg and arm, and the dirt seemed to grind itself into her skin as she rolled to a stop.
    The driver had only just barely slowed down.  The car jumped the curve, and the front bumper tore off in a shower of sparks.  For a moment, the car was airborne.  Then it landed, and skidded towards one of the pumps.
    The police cars were just coming up behind her as Mira watched, still laying awkwardly on the ground.  The car hit the pump, and began to tip over.  She thought she could make out the driver, inside, laughing.  As the car carreened into one of the supports, and into another pump, there was a shower of sparks ...
    ... and the street, which was up until now, dark as night, lit up with a tremendous, white hot explosion.  The car went up in a huge fireball.  The ground under the gas station heaved as an underground tank below it ignited ...
    ... and suddenly the ground heaved up in a second, even bigger, fireball.  Then came a succession of huge explosions, as other tanks ignited.
    Along the street, windows shattered, and the ground rumbled with each explosion.  Rollie came running up to Mira, who was lying against the curb, bleeding badly.  As the final earth-jarring fireball ignited, he shouted, "Looks like you got off just in time!"
    Mira didn't respond.  Rollie realized she had lost a lot of blood.  As Smits ran up with a small, portable stretcher, they knew they had no time to waste.  The man might have been dead, but the crisis wasn't over yet.  They lifted her onto the stretcher, and quickly carried her back to the police van.  As the station burned, they loaded her into the back of the van.  Rollie sat back with her as Smits jumped in the driver's side.
    "There's a hospital near here!" shouted Smits as he floored the gas, and the tires screeched as the left the burning gas station behind.  "They'll have they're own power generator -- we just have to get there in time!"
    Rollie pulled his coat off, and held it against a wound on Mira's side, which was bleeding badly.  "Come on, Mira," he said, "wake up, Mira -- wake up ... "
    Her eyes fluttered open.  "Rollie?" she said.  "Wha -- where ... "
    "Lie still," said Rollie, trying to stay calm.  Inside, he was panicking -- what if they didn't get to the hospital in time?  But he had to stay cool.  "You've lost a lot of blood."
    "I -- I feel so tired," whispered Mira.  Her eyes started to close again --
    "Mira!  Mira, no!" exclaimed Rollie.  "Mira, Mira, don't fall asleep, Mira -- wake up Mira!!"  He grabbed her hand, feeling a tear stream down his cheek.  "Come on, stay with me!!"
    She didn't answer.