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"See you in fifteen to twenty." I end the call, armor up and load crushed ice into three light plastic half gallon oblong containers made of thin brittle plastic. From a distance they look like innocent water balloons shaped like plastic footballs. But thrown at sixty miles an hour they become ice bombs. I pack those in my banana sling pouch before filling cotton-stuffed paint balls with fluothane; an anesthesia ten times stronger than chloroform. Now the paint balls are souped up sleeping pills . The job is complete when my automatic paint gun is loaded and in the bag with extra nite-nite ammo. A room full of five year old hostages calls for non-lethal weapons that won't endanger the hostages. .I was a pole vaulter in college; that's my way in. I am ready.
As an afterthought, I add two rolls of silk butterflies .
Fifteen minutes later Kammy circles our four seat helicopter above the school from a distance to remain unseen by the crowd so I can reconnoiter the whole scene.
This job demands precision and speed. If I s succeed, millions live. If I fail, millions die. I dash down the fire escape and ride the five blocks in a speeding police cruiser driven by a young, tense, Hispanic driver. "Sir, the captain wants to know how he can help."
I stick to the Mando's Rule: Never tell my plan, especially to the officer or agents in charge because they'll feel obligated to approve it or improve it. My pat answer buries that shit in a vacuum bottle. "Won't know until I see the total situation." Yep. Keep them in an information void so they'll give me space.
For a disguise my skin is light brown, I have a scar on my left cheek, thick eyebrows and a tightly trimmed van dyke: He is a she.
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