Warhol's Prophecy

THE GUN METAL felt cold against his hands.

The weapon was heavy as he hefted it in his fist, admiring the sleek lines of the pistol.

The Steyr Model GB.

Nearly six inches long and weighing over twenty-nine ounces, the entire gun was constructed of steel, even the grip plates.

He checked the eighteen-round magazine, thumbing several more of the hollow-tip rounds into the slim steel frame. Then he worked the slide and laid the pistol inside the case, alongside the four spare clips.

The Scorpion machine-pistol, the CZ68, was only slightly larger, but infinitely more lethal. Capable of spewing out over eight hundred 9mm rounds a minute. It had been chambered to take the same kind of slugs as the Steyr.

Like the rounds he’d loaded into the pistol, the bullets he’d fed into the six spare magazines of the Scorpion were also hollow-tipped.

When fired, they would be travelling in excess of one thousand feet a second, but when they struck their target they would explode.

The Scorpion also had a folding shoulder stock and a silencer, but he doubted if he would need either.

The Heckler and Koch MP5SD3 featured a telescoping butt, should he require it. But, again, he didn’t expect the need to arise. Both of the machine-pistols could be held in one fist, if necessary. The MP5’s thirty-round magazines were capable of firing six hundred and fifty shots a minute.

It was a beautiful gun and he couldn’t resist running his hands over the frame before he slid it into the case with the other two weapons.

The Sig-Sauer P225 was, like the other weapons, a 9mm. Eight-round magazine. Capable of putting a hole in a brick wall from close range.

He studied the pistol a moment longer, then laid it alongside the others.

Before he sealed the small carrying case, he looked almost lovingly at the awesome array of firepower before him. Then, smiling, he fastened the two combination locks of the case.

The time had come.