Hunter's Games by James P. Sumner Page A

fight and consequently, I consider myself responsible for those kids. And unlike all the desk jockeys that are standing around watching me, I’m not restricted by procedures and regulations, which means I’m able to do what’s necessary, not what’s appropriate.
    “How far away is this place from where we are?” I ask.
    “In traffic, about twenty minutes,” she says. “It’s near Golden Gate Park. Our Hostage Rescue Team won’t make it in time, so we’re liaising with the San Francisco PD and mobilizing our SWAT team as we speak.” She checks her watch. “They'll be on site in fifteen minutes,” she adds.
    I look at one of the clocks on the wall.
    “We’ve got just over three-quarters of an hour until his deadline, so we better get moving, eh?”
    “You two aren’t going anywhere on your own.”
    “You’ll only slow us down, and I’m better equipped to handle this than you are.”
    “How do you figure that?” asks Johnson.
    “I think we’re all done flirting around the subject of who I am and what I do. Under the circumstances, I suspect you’ll overlook all the things you know you can’t prove and let me help you any way I can. If this Shark guy is anywhere nearby, he’ll be shooting at me pretty much on sight. Which means his focus won’t be on you guys, so you’ll then be in a better position to save those kids. Whereas if you try to confront him directly, you’ll have to stand there beating yourselves off waiting for all kinds of authority to give you the green light to even think about pulling a trigger. I have the luxury of doing what I want if I need to. You guys don’t.”
    I turn to Josh. “Come on, we’re going.”
    We both head for the main corridor but Chambers runs over and blocks our path. She stands in front of us, arms folded, thinking about the best move.
    She sighs reluctantly. “If you screw up, it’s my ass that gets fried, so watch your step, okay?”
    I smile. “I will do what I can to make sure your ass remains intact,” I say.
    She almost succeeds in holding back the smile, but it slips out a little. She looks over at the huddle of agents.
    “Wallis. Johnson. You’re with the Two Stooges here.” She smiles at us both. “Play nice boys. We’ll be right behind you.”
    We walk out of the office, back down the corridor, down the elevator, through the entrance hall, and outside to the small plaza in front of the building. It’s late afternoon, and the sun is shining brightly, reflecting all around off the windows of the surrounding buildings. Josh checks his watch.
    “We’ve got just about forty minutes,” he says. “We best get a move on.”
    Special Agents Wallis and Johnson appear behind us.
    “You’re riding with us,” says Johnson. Wallis moves past us, taking his car keys out of his pocket.
    “Dream on,” I say. “We’ll go in Josh’s car and meet you there.”
    “Agent Chambers said—”
    “Agent Chambers isn’t here,” I say, interrupting. “Why don’t you boys live a little?”
    “Come on,” shouts Wallis from over by his car, which he's parked close by to the entrance. “We’re wasting time.”
    “Fine,” Johnson says to us, with resignation. “But don’t be skipping town or anything.”
    He walks off toward the car. Josh looks at me.
    “What a dick.”
    “Aren’t they all?” I reply. “So where’s your ride?”
    I scan the street, seeing nothing but government-issue sedans, with the occasional civilian vehicle thrown in for good measure, parked along the sidewalk. Then my eyes rest on a dull, dirty, cream-colored Winnebago with a huge aerial sticking up from the roof and a windscreen that’s so filthy, I’d be surprised if you could see anything through it.
    I look at Josh, who’s standing smiling like a proud father.
    “Really?” I ask.
    “What?” he says.
    “The money we make and you have that piece of shit?”
    “Don’t knock it ‘til you’ve tried it.”
    “I wouldn’t want to knock it at all—it