Free Dirty Harry 10 - The Blood of Strangers by Dane Hartman Page B

any additional shots, Harry realized that Kayyim was safe—for the time being, at any rate—and he picked himself up. Then, before Kayyim could utter a word, he hurled himself off the stage. Rather than try advancing through the crowd, he chose to leap from one abandoned folding chair to the next.
    Spotting the man, or more precisely, his white sports coat, Harry increased his speed. At the same time, he freed his gun and when he brought it into view, those people closest to him cowered and started running in the opposite direction.
    The assailant—in spite of his desperate circumstances—was apparently not so preoccupied that he didn’t notice the cameras that were recording his every move. Even if he should manage to escape, his face would be known to millions of people around the country come the evening news. He had not taken this into account in his calculations.
    It might not be possible to prevent his image from being broadcast, but he obviously thought that he would do something to exact a price for it. Not having put his .38 away, he had only to aim and fire it now, and in this instance, he showed none of the hesitation that had sabotaged his attempt on Kayyim’s life.
    Too late the cameraman comprehended his predicament. He was so professional, he continued to shoot the assailant with his video camera at the same instant that the assailant was shooting him.
    The bullet smashed into his throat, severed the jugular, releasing as a result, a Niagara of blood. He was dead as he dropped to the ground. His camera fell on top of him, the tape still running.
    His colleague, preferring to save his ass rather than win a posthumous Pulitzer for news photography, threw himself down without the slightest regard for the fate of his equipment.
    Ellie remained standing, incredulous that one of her cameramen should have died before her eyes. She knew that she should duck or get out of the way or do something but she was rooted to the spot, paralyzed by fear, and there was the assailant looking right at her, his eyes gazing into hers with a strange intensity. He had come to a halt, only yards away, and for a moment it was as if he had all the time in the world. She had the feeling that she knew this man from somewhere, that they had met long before, and that he now intended merely to renew their acquaintance. This was not his intention at all. She did not actually see the .38 until he had it raised in his hand and the sun was on it, making it sparkle as brightly as a fabulous jewel.

C H A P T E R

S i x
    “D rop it!” Harry yelled, loud enough to be heard over the tumult.
    The assailant swung about immediately, but the .38 was still grasped in his hand. He possessed fine reflexes, firing as he turned, instinctively gauging Harry’s location.
    Harry had anticipated this, and shifted his position just sufficiently so he was no longer in the line of fire. Just as he discharged his .44, several police officers and plainclothesmen had the suspect in range and began to open up on him.
    The .44 took him first, causing him to collapse with a gaping hole in his thigh. Still, with the .38 in his grip, he struggled to rise but by that time several men were shooting at him and he had no chance to get off another round. His body twitched in midair as he was struck again and again; his white sports coat, torn and shredded, flapped in the breeze like a flag of surrender. Then there seemed to be nothing left of him at all. He seemed to have folded up when he died, his knees close to his brow, like a fetus.
    Harry would have liked to have known who this man was, but there were too many detectives congregating over the body. No telling who had the authority here, but one thing was sure, it wasn’t Harry. His obligation was to watch out for Kayyim, unless, of course, he was forced to track him instead.
    It was at that moment that he looked up and saw Ellie Winston.
    She had, more or less, recovered from the shock of nearly being killed. Her