Patriot games - Tom Clancy [111]
"What's that?" Ryan asked.
"It's an experimental thing they foolin' with down at Quantico for military police use, and maybe at the embassies. Instead of lead pellets, you shoot sixty or so darts, about three-caliber diameter, like little arrows. You gotta see what those little buggers do to believe it. Nasty. So that'll take care of home. Now, you gonna want to carry a handgun with you?"
Ryan thought about that. It would mean getting a permit. He thought he could apply to the state police for one or maybe to a certain federal agency. Already his mind was mulling over that question.
"Maybe," he said finally.
"Okay. Let's do a little experiment." Breckenridge walked into his office. He returned a minute later with a cardboard box.
"Lieutenant, this here's a High-Standard target pistol, a.22 built on a.45 frame." The Sergeant Major handed it over. Ryan took it, ejected the magazine, and pulled the slide back to make sure the pistol was unloaded. Breckenridge watched and nodded approvingly. Jack had been taught range safety by his father twenty years before. After that he fitted the weapon in his hand, then sighted down the range to get used to the feel. Every gun is a little different. This was a target pistol, with nice balance and pretty good sights.
"Feels okay," Ryan said. "Little lighter than a Colt, though."
"This'll make it heavier." Breckenridge handed over a loaded clip. "That's five rounds. Insert the clip in the weapon, but do not chamber a round until I tell you, sir." The Sergeant Major was accustomed to giving orders to officers, and knew how to do so politely. "Step to lane four. Relax. It's a nice day in the park, okay?"
"Yeah. That's how this whole mess started," Ryan observed wryly.
The Gunny walked over to the switch panel and extinguished most of the lights in the room.
"Okay, Lieutenant, let's keep the weapon pointed downrange and at the floor, if you please, sir. Chamber your first round, and relax."
Jack pulled the slide back with his left hand, then let it snap forward. He didn't turn around. He told himself to relax and play the game. He heard a cigarette lighter snap shut. Maybe Robby was lighting up one of his cigars.
"I saw a picture of your little girl in the papers, Lieutenant. She's a pretty little thing."
"Thank you, Gunny. I've seen one of yours on campus, too. Cute, but not very little. I heard she's engaged to a mid."
"Yes, sir. That's my little baby," Breckenridge said, like a father rather than a Marine. "The last of my three. She'll be married-"
Ryan nearly jumped out of his skin as a string of firecrackers began exploding at his feet. He started to turn when Breckenridge screamed at him:
"There, there, there's your target!"
A light snapped on to illuminate a silhouette target fifty feet away. One small part of Ryan's mind knew this was a test-but most of him didn't care. The.22 came up and seemed to aim itself at the paper target. He loosed all five rounds in under three seconds. The noise was still echoing when his trembling hands set the automatic down on the table.
"Jesus Christ, Sar-major!" Ryan nearly screamed.
The rest of the lights came back on. The room stank of gunpowder, and paper fragments from the firecrackers littered the floor. Robby, Jack saw, was standing safely at the entrance to the Gunny's office, while Breckenridge was right behind