The Serpent's Kiss

97

As distance toward Kevin Matsumoto, his brain clicked into what he sometimes thought of as “combat calculus,” a not-quite-conscious assessment of his opponent. He noted that the remote control was in Matsumoto’s left hand. That was the primary objective.

He noted that there was something in Matsumoto’s right hand. He didn’t know what it was. It was small. He didn’t think it was a gun.

He noted that Matsumoto had raised the left hand and shown him the remote control. It suggested that Matsumoto was left-handed.

He noted Matsumoto’s size, his build, the way he moved.

He noted the look on Matsumoto’s face when he started his charge, a look of surprise.

In the few seconds he had before they collided a hundred feet above certain death, Michael Church’s mind calculated a thousand different factors.

Kevin Matsumoto spun toward him, bringing the right hand forward, keeping the left hand raised.

Michael, moving fast, came in low, slamming his left arm down on Matsumoto’s right, spinning into a right elbow thrust to Matsumoto’s solar plexus, immediately snapping his right arm out and clamping onto Matsumoto’s left wrist and twisting.

With a surprised cry, Matsumoto dropped the remote control. It clipped the railing, bounced on the catwalk’s grid and skittered away.

With a shout, Matsumoto punched Michael in the face and dived after the remote control.

Michael jerked his head to the side, the punch grazing his cheekbone. Michael used the momentum to shift and bring his left hand into Matsumoto’s ribs, following with a flurry of short blows to the killer’s chest and ribs.

But Matsumoto wasn’t interested in the fight. He was interested in the remote control. With a guttural cry Matsumoto shoved Michael away.

Michael fell backward under the impact, smacked up against the railing, lost his balance and fell to the catwalk.

Matsumoto tried to leap over him. Michael grabbed his legs and brought him crashing down.

For a moment the two engaged. Matsumoto kicked out, catching Michael in the jaw with his booted foot. Michael jerked his head, stunned.

Matsumoto lunged away, scrabbling toward the remote control.

Michael reached out, caught his pant leg and yanked hard.

Matsumoto’s legs fell out from beneath him and he crashed down on the walkway with a grunt, the remote control still out of reach.

Beyond them, Derek Stillwater appeared on the walkway followed by Bruce Lippman. Derek was moving fast despite the crutch.

Matsumoto kicked out again and caught Michael in the shoulder with a hard slash that knocked Michael toward the unprotected edge of the catwalk.

For a heart-stopping moment Michael balanced on the edge, legs sliding out into open air. With a cry he gripped the catwalk and swung himself back over, rolling to his feet. He leapt after Matsumoto, who was heading for the remote control.

Suddenly Matsumoto turned to face him, raised the right hand and sprayed something into Michael’s face.

Michael gasped. His vision darkened. He shook his head and tried to breathe, but his lungs seemed locked up. It felt like he had lost control of his body. He caught just a glimpse of glee on Kevin Matsumoto’s face before he crumpled to the catwalk.