Kickaha turned and saw Anana running toward him. She had shot a beam at the same time that Kickaha shot his, and the gunman had gotten a double impact.
Kickaha leaped forward, scooped up the gun, and hurled it over the fence into the tar pit. He and Anana ran around the fence and up the slope onto the sidewalk. There was no crosswalk here, and the traffic was heavy. But it was also slow because the traffic light a half block away was red.
The two ran between the cars, forcing them to slam on their brakes. Horns blatted, and several people yelled at them out the windows.
Once they reached the other side, they looked behind them. The traffic had started up again, and the seven men after them were, for the moment, helpless.
“Things didn’t work out right,” Kickaha said. “I was hoping that I could grab Kleist and get away with him. He might’ve been the lead to Red Orc.”
Anana laughed, though a little nervously. “Nobody can accuse you of being underconfident,” she said. “What now?”
“The cops’ll be here pretty quick,” he said. “Yeah, look, Cambring’s men are all going back. I bet they got orders to get Kleist and the others out before the cops get here.”
He grabbed Anana’s hand and began running east toward the corner. She said, “What’re you doing?”
“We’ll cross back at the traffic light while they’re busy and then run like hell down Curson Street. Cambring’s there!”
She did not ask any more. But to get away from the enemy and then to run right back into his mouth seemed suicidal.
The two were now opposite the men about a hundred yards away. Kickaha looked between the trees lining the street and saw the unwounded men supporting Kleist and three others. In the distance, a siren wailed. From the way Cambring’s men hurried, they had no doubt that it was coming after them.
Cambring, looking anxious, was standing by the car. He stiffened when he felt the pen touch his back and heard Kickaha’s voice.
Cambring did not look around but got into the front seat as directed. Anana and Kickaha got into the rear seat, and ducked down. Kickaha kept the pen jammed against Cambring’s back.
Cambring protested once. “You can’t get away with this! You’re crazy!”
“Just shut up!” Kickaha said.
Thirty seconds later, Kleist, supported by two men reached the car. Kickaha swung out the back door and pointed the pen at them, saying, “Put Kleist into the front seat.”
The two holding Kleist halted. The others, forming a rear guard, reached for their guns, but Kickaha shouted, “I’ll kill Kleist and Cambring both! And you, too, with this!”
He waved the pen. The others knew by now that the pen was a weapon of some sort even if they did not know its exact nature. They seemed to fear it more than a gun, probably because its nature was in doubt.
They stopped. Kickaha said, “I’m taking these two! The cops’ll be here in a minute! You better take off, look out for yourselves!”
The two holding Kleist carried him forward and shoved him into the front seat. Cambring had to push against Kleist to keep him from falling on him like a sack full of garbage. Kickaha quickly got out of the car and went around to get into the driver’s seat, while Anana held the pen on the others.
He started the motor, backed up with a screech of tires, jerked it to a stop, turned, and roared out of the parking lot. The car went up and down violently as they jumped the dip between the lot entrance and the street. Kickaha shouted to Anana, and she reached over the seat, felt behind Kleist’s ear, and came up with the transceiver. It was a metal disc thin as a postage stamp and the size of a dime.
She stuck it behind her ear and also removed Kleist’s wristwatch and put it on her own wrist.
He now had Cambring and Kleist. What could he do with them?
Anana suddenly gasped and pushed at Cambring, who had slumped over against Kickaha. In a swift reaction, he had shoved out with his elbow, thinking for a second that Cambring was attacking him. Then he understood that Cambring had fallen against him. He was unconscious.