grappling for his service pistol even as he wiped the bloody remnants of his partner off his face with his suit sleeve. His hands shook as he reached over to the radio and grabbed the microphone, keying the transmit button before he made the distress call.
He glanced at the macabre profile of Supervisory Special Agent Andy Teluride, obviously now deceased, and made the call, hopeful that there would be at least a squad car in the vicinity to lend backup.
~ ~ ~
The shooter took two more seconds to survey his work through the high-powered Zeiss scope and briefly considered killing the other agent, the top of whose head he could just make out bobbing above the dash. It would be an easy shot, but he decided to err on the side of caution. His assignment was done. No point sticking around any longer than necessary.
He slipped the rifle into the carrying case and scooped up the backpack, taking care to drop the binoculars inside before shouldering it. After running in a crouch to the far end of the building, he tossed first the sack, then the rifle, over the side onto the soft grass a story below, then pulled on gloves before lowering himself over the side until his feet were dangling six feet above the lawn. He released his grip and dropped, landing easily, then retrieved his bags before moving into the underbrush at the edge of the deserted parking lot. His vehicle was a hundred yards beyond the far side of the brush – an easy minute jog.
A handheld police scanner chirped and crackled in his pocket, and he could just make out the chatter. A cruiser would be at the site within five minutes. That left him four to be long gone in the opposite direction, headed for the freeway that would take him to his crash pad in Buffalo.
This had been child’s play. It would ensure that he rose in the ranks and got a bigger slice of Seventh Sons’ drug profits, in addition to the cash bonus he’d been promised for carrying out the hit. All in all, a very productive morning.
He got to his truck and stowed his gear before sliding into the cab. The Nissan’s big motor turned over with a satisfying roar, and within twenty seconds he was headed south, away from the shooting, looking to all the world like a man with no worries. He listened for a few more minutes to the police radio, then switched it off once he was on the road east.
He was home free.
~ ~ ~
Silver’s phone rang right after she dropped Kennedy off at school.
“Pick up a copy of the Herald,” Seth’s voice advised.
“What now?”
“They notified us late last night that they were running something this morning. We’ve had a team over at their offices for the last hour, but it doesn’t look like there are any traces on the e-mail the killer sent them. Whoever this guy is, he’s good. Knows his cyber-security. The e-mail account he used to contact them was set up yesterday using a proxy mask. We can probably get past that, but what do you want to bet that it was done from a public computer? Same setup he used in Florida? Just get the paper and call me back.”
“I’ll be there within fifteen minutes, so no point. Have one sitting on my desk when I get in. See you in a few,” Silver said before hanging up.
So their killer had turned up the heat in a bid for wider exposure. That wasn’t unexpected given his performance in Boca Raton. But it meant that her life would become more complicated now because the media furor would bring more pressure on the Bureau to do something to stop him. And the truth, which was that they really had nothing, wouldn’t sit well with the inevitable panicky politicians. It never did.
The subway was packed, but she tolerated the jostling from the press of humanity with grim determination. When the train pulled into her station, she got out with a sigh of relief and strode purposefully to the exit, up the familiar shabby stairs a block from her office. New York in late spring could be pleasant, and today was a textbook
He glanced at the macabre profile of Supervisory Special Agent Andy Teluride, obviously now deceased, and made the call, hopeful that there would be at least a squad car in the vicinity to lend backup.
~ ~ ~
The shooter took two more seconds to survey his work through the high-powered Zeiss scope and briefly considered killing the other agent, the top of whose head he could just make out bobbing above the dash. It would be an easy shot, but he decided to err on the side of caution. His assignment was done. No point sticking around any longer than necessary.
He slipped the rifle into the carrying case and scooped up the backpack, taking care to drop the binoculars inside before shouldering it. After running in a crouch to the far end of the building, he tossed first the sack, then the rifle, over the side onto the soft grass a story below, then pulled on gloves before lowering himself over the side until his feet were dangling six feet above the lawn. He released his grip and dropped, landing easily, then retrieved his bags before moving into the underbrush at the edge of the deserted parking lot. His vehicle was a hundred yards beyond the far side of the brush – an easy minute jog.
A handheld police scanner chirped and crackled in his pocket, and he could just make out the chatter. A cruiser would be at the site within five minutes. That left him four to be long gone in the opposite direction, headed for the freeway that would take him to his crash pad in Buffalo.
This had been child’s play. It would ensure that he rose in the ranks and got a bigger slice of Seventh Sons’ drug profits, in addition to the cash bonus he’d been promised for carrying out the hit. All in all, a very productive morning.
He got to his truck and stowed his gear before sliding into the cab. The Nissan’s big motor turned over with a satisfying roar, and within twenty seconds he was headed south, away from the shooting, looking to all the world like a man with no worries. He listened for a few more minutes to the police radio, then switched it off once he was on the road east.
He was home free.
~ ~ ~
Silver’s phone rang right after she dropped Kennedy off at school.
“Pick up a copy of the Herald,” Seth’s voice advised.
“What now?”
“They notified us late last night that they were running something this morning. We’ve had a team over at their offices for the last hour, but it doesn’t look like there are any traces on the e-mail the killer sent them. Whoever this guy is, he’s good. Knows his cyber-security. The e-mail account he used to contact them was set up yesterday using a proxy mask. We can probably get past that, but what do you want to bet that it was done from a public computer? Same setup he used in Florida? Just get the paper and call me back.”
“I’ll be there within fifteen minutes, so no point. Have one sitting on my desk when I get in. See you in a few,” Silver said before hanging up.
So their killer had turned up the heat in a bid for wider exposure. That wasn’t unexpected given his performance in Boca Raton. But it meant that her life would become more complicated now because the media furor would bring more pressure on the Bureau to do something to stop him. And the truth, which was that they really had nothing, wouldn’t sit well with the inevitable panicky politicians. It never did.
The subway was packed, but she tolerated the jostling from the press of humanity with grim determination. When the train pulled into her station, she got out with a sigh of relief and strode purposefully to the exit, up the familiar shabby stairs a block from her office. New York in late spring could be pleasant, and today was a textbook
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