A/N

Sorry for the long delay again, but you can call this one Son of the Mother of All Chapters – and it has actually split into two parts as well. I originally was going to have a Brennan chapter followed by a Booth chapter, but then realized it would be better mixed up a little. Further, to get the timing right I had to go ahead and write both of them together at the same time anyway, for about 7000 words total before I could finish either thread.

Here is the first half of the resulting product at approx. 3800 words. The second part is very nearly finished and may be up tonight. I would appreciate if you would review them separately even if you read them back to back.

For best effect you should probably go back and reread starting with the first bomb blast at the museum in chapter 19. The alternating POVs are continuous in that Booth takes up exactly where he leaves off, and Brennan does too.

BTW, I still have a few curveballs left in these last few chapters :) I hope you will enjoy them…

Jeffersonian Museum Rotunda, immediately after the second bomb…

Brennan picked herself up again. Apparently her capacity to be shocked and stunned had already been overloaded because she became minimally functional much more quickly this time. Fortunately for her, most of the second explosion took place within the security offices and the blast had therefore been more confined, or at least deflected elsewhere, so she had no new significant injuries. However, this time her detachment evaporated before the overpowering instinct to flee danger. Fear overwhelmed her rational mind only briefly, but it was long enough to propel her across the Rotunda to the safer ground of the Gallery at a staggering run in spite of the burning agony in her calf. Her wits only fully returned when she recognized the sound of Angela's voice yelling her name. She almost panicked again before she spotted Angela with Emily and her mother. They were a few rows back in the crowd which had reflexively shrunk back upon itself toward the Gallery and away from the danger at the front of the museum. Moans and cries were behind her and screams of terror were rising before her, but the crowd were so stunned by the double blasts that most were still rooted in place. A full panic had not set in yet, but it was about to…

The relief evident on Angela's face when she saw her abruptly gave way to naked fear as she pointed behind Brennan into the Rotunda.

Brennan turned and almost lost it again then and there. In crossing she had passed by others still on the floor with various injuries, whom she felt guilty for not helping, but giving her instincts free rein had saved her life – four terrorist gunmen had entered the building only seconds behind her and as she watched they began shooting down several of the adult walking wounded in their way. They advanced, spreading out across the Rotunda, two coming straight toward the Gallery and the others heading toward entrances to the east and west wings. Angela grabbed her arm and pulled her deeper into the crowd away from the approaching gunmen.

The crowd pancaked into the Gallery panicked and turned into an unruly, screaming mob. It was not an irrational response. The large proportion of children due to school field trips and vacationing families only made things worse. Another smaller explosion which she guessed must be a grenade at the far end of the Gallery sent the crowd surging madly in the opposite direction and they were carried helplessly along. But the human current gave them what appeared to be a lucky break.

Brennan pointed to a nearby fire exit and shouted to the others above the din, "The emergency exit! Go! Go!"

Angela shook off her shock and took her arm again to support her as the four of them tacked the few yards through the people to the door, making it at the same moment as several other people who'd had the presence of mind to spot it. A red headed man in his forties, the father of a family of five around him, was fumbling with the door, which had an "Alarm Will Sound On Opening" mechanism. The two older children were crying, hugging their mother, a brunette carrying an infant in a sling.

"Just open it!" Angela had to yell at him at point blank range to make herself heard over the screams, gunshots, and shouts of the terrorists which were unintelligible from their vantage point in the tumult.

"I'm trying!" He shouted back in frustration. "The fucking thing's jammed!" He backed up and kicked at the latch several times without success then began throwing himself at it shoulder first, cursing the whole while.

At the same moment Brennan realized it must have been sabotaged the sound of another grenade and a burst of automatic weapons fire at the other end of the gallery stopped the streaming crowd with an even greater volume of shouts and cries. The other two men must have entered the opposite ends of the Gallery where it curved around and joined the east and west wings. The several hundreds of people caught in the vise of the terrorists tried to reverse their course, only causing further pandemonium as families were pulled apart and people fell in the turmoil of the resulting panicked traffic jam.

As she and the other three backed away from the false hope of the jammed fire exit, the random motion of the jumbled crowd resolved itself into a renewed surge of movement in the opposite direction. They were swept even although they tried to retain control by hugging the wall. A sudden eddy of people searching for escape, a place to hide, or simply relief from the stampede pushed into the outer entrance of the restrooms outside the theater along the same wall they were on. Janice and Emily started to go in.

Brennan shouted at them, "No! No! It's a dead end!" There were no windows or other exits inside. Even though they were just a few feet ahead of her the mother and daughter did not hear her over the noise and were now almost lost from sight. She turned to Angela who had never let go of her arm, "Get them back!"

Angela eyed the madness in the common vestibule of the men's and women's restrooms and then nodded at her, her mouth set in a thin, line and shouted her reply.

"Get against the wall and stay put!"

She yelled back, "Ok!" as her friend let go of her arm and waded into the mass, elbows first, shouting Janice's and Emily's names.

Another eddy in the crowd briefly opened a more or less clear path to a spot along the wall a few yards on the other side of the restroom entrance, clear of the struggling knot, and Brennan hopped-ran for it. But her luck ran out as the gap suddenly closed on her mid-hop, catching her in another wild surge. She started to panic as the press of bodies closed on her and a sudden jerk to the right swept her from her one good leg. The packed torsos of those around her were all that kept her from falling, but her arms were mashed against her sides and she could barely breath much less put any volume into her shouts for Angela. Fortunately she was buffeted back and forth helplessly only for a little while. The Brownian motion had actually brought her closer to the relative safety of the wall she had originally aimed for when the pressure was suddenly relieved on one side. She almost fell but was just able to catch her balance and had pushed her way, half stumbling, nearly there, when a sudden shove from one side brought her up against a sobbing child against whom she couldn't brace herself.

Then she did fall.

The crowd closed again, packed tighter than ever, and began moving more quickly in one direction again above her. Down on the floor Brennan wrapped an arm around her head trying to protect herself as she crawled toward the wall. If she just gave into the instinct to curl into the foetal position she knew she might very well be trampled to death. She forced herself forward through the forest of legs, just managing to keep from getting kicked in the face, at least nothing more than getting a fat lip, but her ribs picked up several bruises, and at least one person tripped over her legs and fell on her. She kicked herself clear and finally made it to the wall where she realized she could just make out Angela calling her name. She was debating whether she should attempt to stand yet when someone stepped on her injured calf.

She screamed and passed out.

- - - - - - -

Brennan came to, roused by Angela and Janice trying to pull her to her feet by her arms. Emily was standing close trying to protect their tiny clear space with her body.

"Oh, thank God!" Angela looked like she was near tears, but she tried to smile. "Don't do that to me again, ok?"

Brennan nodded gratefully. The pain in her calf had subsided again to a throbbing ache and she tentatively put some of her weight back on it. It would have to do… But she wasn't too proud to accept their support and they all held on to one another.

The crowd bulged in their direction again, pinning them against the wall then suddenly moved sideways again more coherently, and they had to go along with the flow to keep from getting knocked down or separated again. Now the press of bodies seemed somewhat less, but they could tell that the shouts and the occasional gunshots of the terrorists, at least the ones on this side of the Gallery, were getting closer. It was obvious they were being herded, but the only rational choice for the moment was to move along and maintain some space between their little group and the gunmen.

Brennan suddenly realized their destination – the crowd was being funneled into the entrance of the IMAX theater. Quarters were getting uncomfortably close again and they were helpless once more to do anything but let the current carry them inside.

For a second, only a second, she allowed herself to wish Booth would show up and make this nightmare end like he'd done with Kenton. She knew in her heart he would come for them no matter what, but she dismissed the unproductive thought. Here, for now, they were on their own… Come on, you're tough…

Once through the bottleneck of the dogleg entrance to the large, big screen theater, the human stream picked up speed as people began rushing down the steps. Fortunately the lights were on. There were already what appeared to be a few hundred people crammed into the lower half of the stadium seats and against one another on the steps further down, as well as in the broad aisle running across the theater directly in front of the giant screen.

The mass of people crushed further into the left and right corners by the screen where the fire exits were located. Apparently these had been sabotaged too, just as she had dreaded, but those continuing to pack into the theater didn't realize it yet. Another round of panic was going to get ugly very quickly in the crowded space.

Having been trampled once and seeing the false refuge of the bottom of the theater for what it was, Brennan made the others move directly across into one of the long rows in the section that was still relatively clear where they had entered near the top. With her leg the way it was it would be difficult to get down anyway, and any return trip back up would be an even greater struggle.

Think! She forced herself to resist the impulse to rest her leg by sitting. When Booth was off at his training course they had discussed some of the recent large scale hostage situations overseas in one of their late night phone chats. She looked around with a feeling of dread. The theater was going to be a deathtrap. With most of the Islamic terrorists, their actual demands were not really the point, the terror was. If they stayed they would probably die… and worse things might happen before that point. Now or never. She got the others' attention.

"We HAVE to try to get out of here!"

Angela and the others followed her lead and began moving across the row to the aisle leading to the theater exit, at the top a the same level as the entrance, but their way was blocked.

A gray haired man in his 60s was sitting hunkered down with six shell-shocked boys and girls in blue, white and plaid school uniforms who were all desperately holding on to each other. To Brennan's untrained eye they looked like second or third graders. He held another little girl in his lap who was crying and clutching his neck fiercely, and he was saying the 'Our Father' with his eyes closed.

Brennan interrupted him with an irritated shout, "GET UP!" There's no time for that crap.

His eyes opened with a start. He looked like he wasn't doing much better than the kids. He focused on her and said shakily, "I don't know where the rest of the class is. I'm just a chaperone…"

The little girl shifted and Brennan could read a name tag. Bob Reynolds, Fairfax Christian School.

"Mister Reynolds, you have to take care of the ones you've got. We have to move NOW! This place is a trap!"

Something in her expression seemed to get through to him. He nodded and collected himself. He started to push the girl off his lap but she squealed and resisted.

"Let go of Grandpa, honey. I have to get up. I'll pick you back up, I promise."

She slid off his lap reluctantly. He rose this time and ushered the kids out to the aisle, and he picked the little girl up again, waving Brennan and the other women out. Janice and Emily helped take charge of the children and Angela helped Brennan up the steps past the last few rows of seats.

"Come with us," she told Reynolds.

Brennan hobbled ahead and opened the thankfully still working theater exit doors as Angela and the others helped shepherd the kids. She shouted to the much larger mass of people in the rows and aisles farther down, "It's a trap! This way!" Then she stepped through and held the door open, urging on the chaperone who was still carrying his granddaughter. He squeezed by shooing another boy and girl ahead of him, and she moved to catch up with him once Emily took over holding the door for the others. Brennan was moving at a stiff-legged trot with most of the rest of the group right behind her when she rounded the corner of the short dog-leg passage that served to keep light from entering the opened exit doors just in time to hear screams from the children ahead of her.

Eyes wide, the terrorist who came into view right in front of them shouted, "Back! BACK!" in accented but perfectly understandable English. He dropped the chain that he had been about to use to secure the exit doors, and he ignored the boy and girl as he smoothly raised his slung AK. Time seemed to slow for Brennan as her momentum carried her inexorably closer while she watched the gun barrel rise and his finger tighten on the trigger. At this close range he could not possibly miss. The shots sounded like explosions in the confined space…

------------

14th Street near Constitution Avenue…

"Shit!"

Booth grabbed the mike of the radio but was momentarily frozen in disbelief, watching as man after armed man bailed out of the windowless utility van like it was some kind of god damned terrorist clown car.

He recovered from his shock and transmitted, "Booth here. I had to take out the spotter – turns out he had a rifle and spotted me. But we've got a bigger problem. A Jeffersonian-marked full sized van pulled up and armed men are getting out…" He let go of the rifle's pistol grip and raised the binoculars for a better look, "… make that five, six, seven, eight, no nine hostiles." Jesus fucking Christ! It was a target rich environment but also that sniper's worst nightmare. "… looks like a mix of AKs and some M-16 variant, grenades, some are wearing bomb vests as well. Some Middle Eastern or possibly Pakistani in appearance, others more or less 'white'. None have their faces are covered. All are wearing black headbands." Black was the color of the banner of jihad.

"Got it. Keep going. We're feeding this to all units in transit," came the response when he paused.

Fortunately his location gave him a slightly oblique view of the opened rear of the van and he had a front row seat allowing him to keep up a running report as they deployed. Two men with AKs immediately spread out on the sidewalk looking outward, pulling security, one nearer the van and the other about twenty-five yards down the sidewalk. The brazen sonsabitches acted like they had all the time in the world, and why not, it had not been five minutes since the first bomb, and the open Mall gave them a clear view of any approaching response. Ominously, five others began unloading backpacks and duffle after duffle full of heavy gear, obviously ready for a siege. The cocksuckers were coming to stay. The last man immediately loped up the steps to the museum's portico and went to one knee in the shade of one of the fat pillars, scanning the area as he pulled out a radio, a long rifle at the ready.

Booth set aside the binoculars and got a closer look through the rifle scope. The news got worse, much worse. Upon closer inspection he saw that the shooter on the portico sported a wicked looking Russian Dragunov SVD sniper rifle, and he'd already folded down the legs of the built-in bipod. The guy he'd already shot was an amateur, the JV, and this bastard, still fiddling with the radio though keeping an eye out, was the varsity. He had the cold look of a predator, one that Booth recognized instantly because he used to see it in the mirror years ago. He kept up the running commentary on the radio. Worse, when Booth looked at the men still carefully handing down bags he got a good view of some of the contents: spools of wire, paint bucket IEDs, antipersonnel and even antitank mines, and what appeared to be one shitload of explosives in general. He even saw what must be half a dozen sticks for an RPG launcher. There was so much shit the terrorists had to have ridden packed like cordwood atop their gear.

Booth thought of the massacre at the booby-trapped school gym in Beslan where almost four hundred had died – more than half of them children, and the takeover of the Moscow movie theater, both by Islamist Chechens eager to die and take innocents with them. He had a horrible flash of insight… God dammit, so that's the plan…

He keyed the radio again, and spoke a rush, "They're seizing the IMAX theater and they have a ton of explosives to blow it straight to hell if we try a rescue. It's just like Beslan. They're here on a one-way ticket!"

He'd gladly help them achieve martyrdom, but he had to act right now.

"Request permission to engage." Sure of the answer Booth dropped the mike and put both hands on the rifle, flipping the safety off again. He tracked the likely first target -- one guy with an AK and a smaller backpack had trotted to the base of the broad steps and started up, apparently to link up with and reinforce the first group already inside. The others down by the van started to load each other up more heavily with the rest of the gear. He put his finger on the trigger and gave a slight squeeze to draw up the slack in the mechanism.

Booth was utterly shocked by the strange voice that commended in reply on the radio.

"Negative! Do NOT engage, repeat do not engage!"

WHAT THE FUCK?

The armed backpacker was nearing the top of the steps…

- - - - - -

Jeffersonian IMAX Theater …

The chaperone barely a pace ahead and to the right of Brennan caught both rounds from the AK squarely in the face, only missing the little girl on his shoulder by inches. For half a second the resulting horror struck Brennan as strangely surreal as the man, no, surely the corpse by now with that much of his cranium and left parietal lobe missing, slumped toward the floor, arms still loosely around his granddaughter who had not yet even mustered a scream. Brennan distantly noted the hot wet spatters on her own face and neck, now only having eyes for the terrorist who raised the AK one-handed and fired two more warning shots into the ceiling to turn back the would-be hostages as he opened his mouth to shout…

One coherent thought managed to form in her mind, I will not be a victim. She continued her forward motion, speeding up rather than slowing down, fueled by her accumulated outrage which finally had a target. Flight turned into fight.

Her sensei would be proud. She felt an odd sense of detachment, as if she were merely a spectator clinically observing as her body seemed to act by reflex, her years of training paying off. She couldn't count on her injured leg for any kicks so her attack had to be all upper body. She moved through the kata alternating left and right moves in rapid succession…

… jodan uke … shotei ate … age hiji ate … shuto uchi…

… a left rising block to stop the descending rifle as the terrorist realized his mistake in underestimating the woman before him and with this move she simultaneously wound up for the next…

… a palm-heel smash with her right hand to the solar plexus 5cm below the xiphloid process of the sternum to stun the buried nerve ganglia responsible for respiration, drawing back her left arm again as she stepped forward into him as he stumbled back against the wall of the passage…

… a rising left elbow to the sternum around the third or fourth rib, which she definitely felt dislocate, an excruciating injury that made him drop the rifle…

…and the only way to she had to disable him for sure given her lesser female upper body strength, a move she had never been able to practice at full power with a live partner… shuto uchi, a 'knife hand' strike to his throat with her right, which crushed his trachea against the cervical vertebrae around C7.

The gunman dropped at her feet convulsing, eyes bulging as he grabbed at his throat in futility. But he was already fading. Heart pounding and panting from the sudden adrenaline-powered exertion, Brennan just managed to prop herself against the wall before she nearly fell on top of him, her injured calf a burning agony. During her attack she had felt a distinct tearing sensation as the tensing muscle cut must have itself further against the embedded shrapnel, and now she could feel hot blood freely dripping down her leg.

Emily caught her arm and kept her from falling, her eyes wide. Brennan could just make out her words over the little girl crying hysterically over her grandfather's body…

"Holy shit!"

A/N

As always, your reviews are greatly appreciated. Again, longer ones for longer chapters even more so :)

Regardless, please let me know if you are still out there reading. Thanks.