Tom Clancy's Op-center Balance of Power - Tom Clancy [103]
Once, when she had gone undercover to expose police abuses in Barcelona, María was arrested with a group of hookers. She had used her hidden match to melt the soles of her shoes. The smell brought the guards as they were about to rape a woman in a cell down the corridor. She literally arrested one of them with his pants down. This time she needed more than the stench of burning rubber. She needed something that would catch their eye.
She set the stand beside the door then knelt beside the shirt. Carefully, she struck the match against the bottom of her shoe. It occurred to her how useful shoe bottoms had been this morning. The match flared. She shielded it as she moved it toward the shirt. She touched it to the collar and the garment began to smoulder. A moment later it erupted in flame.
María crept back to the music stand. Struggling to her feet, she picked up the stand and leaned against the wall beside the door. She was breathing heavily to fight down the rising nausea caused by the blows to her belly. This wasn't the first time María had been punched. She'd been hit by rioters, junkies, an angry motorist, and once-only once-by a jealous lover. She'd struck most of them back; she'd sent her lover to the hospital. But this was the first time she'd been held and beaten. The indignity of the attack and the cowardice of the attackers tasted worse than the blood that formed a shallow pool in her cheeks.
Flames consumed the shirt quickly. A thick column of dark, gray smoke rose behind the door. But the smoke wasn't going high enough, fast enough. So María stretched the music stand out and jostled the burning pile. There was a soft hiss. Fiery shards and dark, red-rimmed ash flew from the shirt in all directions. They winked out after a moment and drifted to the ground. But the smoke from the stirred shirt swirled higher and higher.
Now it was high enough. An instant later an alarm went off, followed by the two sprinklers.
As soon as the water sprayed down, María stuck the music stand back in the shirt. She pushed it round like a mop. The shirt came apart in small pieces and she spread the ash over the floor.
She heard footsteps and moved back beside the door-on the right side. She was still holding the stand. The footsteps stopped.
"You two wait here," said one of the men, "in case she tries to get out."
Good, María thought. One soldier was coming in alone. That would make this easier. The door flew out and the soldier ran in. As he did he slid on the wet ash and landed on his back, hard. María immediately raised the music stand above her head. She drove the short, metal tripod legs into his face and he screamed. His fall and shriek were a blur of action. They obviously surprised the soldiers in the corridor and caused them to hesitate.
That was the beauty of elite soldiers, she thought. They were young, fit, and nowhere near as experienced as ragged old warriors.
Their hesitation was all María needed. She tossed the music stand away and let her weak legs have their way: she literally fell over, face first, onto the soldier. She landed across his waist.
Across the holster.
María knew that the two men in the hallway wouldn't shoot her. Not yet. As the fire bell clanged and water rained down on María, the two soldiers rushed forward. At the same time, swearing viciously and vowing to rape her, the hurt soldier tried to push María off. She let him. As she rolled over, she slid the 9mm pistol from his holster. She released the safety and without hesitation fired a shot into his knee. He screeched and blood splattered her face. But María didn't seem to notice as she got up on one knee, aimed low at the other two soldiers, and fired. The pistol coughed twice and blood splashed outward from their knees. The