The Inner Sanctum by Stephen Frey Page A

tonight!" Pitts thundered.
    Walker cleared his throat. Thirty seconds.
    "Malcolm."
    "Reverend, we should get together and discuss our views. Perhaps you should come to Washington."
    "Malcolm!"
    "I'm afraid that's all the time we have, gentlemen," the host cut in. "Thank you, Senator Malcolm Walker, for being our guest on Night Speak."
    Walker's shoulders slumped as the woman signed off. He'd be more careful about doing these call-in shows in the future.
    ** Chapter 7
    Roth cased the room quickly, sweeping the gun from left to right, left eye closed, right eye staring down the sleek barrel to the small sight, and then beyond to the gray and green shapes perfectly defined by the night-vision goggles he wore.
    Bookcase to the left. A desk beneath a bay window in the center with the chair pulled out and no one in the crawl space between the drawers. A large leather chair in the far corner next to the desk and a closet to the right, door closed. But nothing human. He checked the crawl space again just to make certain. There was no way the person could have left here in the short time it had taken him to move inside the house.
    His eyes shifted to the closet. That had to be the answer. Somehow the prey had sensed his presence and in a pathetic effort to escape death had hidden in the most obvious location. As if it wouldn't be the first place he would check. But it was the only place to hide, and as Roth well knew, survival was the most powerful human instinct.
    He trained the Magnum on the closet door, not taking his eyes from the knob as he moved silently to the wall beside the door. He was ready for the prey to burst from within in an attempt to gain the advantage of surprise.
    Roth reached for the knob, then pulled his hand back from the brass as if he'd received a shock. He wanted to take the person alive, then perform the execution at a remote location and leave no trace of his presence here for the investigation that would inevitably follow. But this mission was too important to risk any possibility of failure. If he tried to take the prey from the house alive, there was that slim chance it might escape. He had to kill it here. There was no alternative.
    With the left side of his body pressed against the wall next to the closet, Roth reached out with the gun in just his right hand--exposing only his arm as a target in case the prey had a weapon--and pointed the barrel at the door, then fired three times into the door exactly four feet above the floor in a neat pattern across the wood. In rapid succession the bullets smacked angrily through the door just a few inches apart.
    Instantly something behind the door fell heavily to the floor. Roth ripped at the knob and hurled the door open. On the floor lay a laundry bag. It had dropped from a hook on the back of the door, its string neatly cut by one of the bullets. Roth cursed softly. The prey had not been so stupid after all.
    He whipped around, eyes flashing about the room, a small seed of concern suddenly taking root at the base of his brain. The prey was escaping.
    The shrill sound of insect calls humming in the night filled his ears. A slight, almost imperceptible breeze of salt air caressed his face. Insect calls louder than they should have been. A salt-air breeze. His eyes shot to the bay window. He moved quickly to the desk, leaned over it, and put his hand against the window. It was unlocked and slightly ajar.
    A large porcelain mug spilled its contents of pens and pencils as Roth jumped onto the desktop and yanked open one side of the window. The banker's lamp toppled over as he put one foot on the sill, but Roth took little notice as it smashed to the floor. He wasn't concerned about disturbing the house now. The bullet holes, the mug, and the lamp could be taken care of later. The only concern now must be to track down the prey as quickly as possible. Roth squeezed through the window and jumped six feet to the ground.
    Jesse sprinted through the gauntlet of trees and