Hawke's Prey

by Reavis Z. Wortham

  Coughing again from the dust still hanging in the air, and gagging from the foul odor of voided bowels, I unwrapped a scarf from the one with the broken neck. I took his black knit cap and wrestled him out of his tactical vest. Breathing hard from the effort, I thought about putting them both on in there, but didn’t want to walk back into the courtroom and provoke another attack from the kid. As an afterthought, I picked up the remaining machine pistol and left, trying not to cough.

  Arturo was waiting beside the door. He saw the long scarf and vest in my hand. “What are you going to do with that?”

  “Blend in, I hope. Do you know how to use that thing?”

  He held up the firearm. “Yessir. I’ve used it in Assault.”

  I raised an eyebrow.

  “A game, you know?”

  Kids were becoming proficient with war through video games. “Well, I’m glad you didn’t use that on me when I came in.”

  “I was trying to be quiet.”

  “Um hum.” I unpinned my badge and slipped it into a pocket, shrugged into the vest and took inventory of the pouches. Magazines, at least six of them, a smoke canister, a flashbang, glow sticks wrapped with a bungee cord, LED flashlight, a package of peanut butter and crackers, long zip ties, a tourniquet and compression kit, and assorted personal items. The most surprising was a rosary.

  I opened the backpack on the table and found it contained MREs, more ammo, and faded clothes. “All right. Keep your finger off the trigger and don’t use it unless you have to.”

  I pulled the dark cap farther down over my aching head and tied the blue scarf over my mouth and nose like an Old West outlaw. I didn’t think I’d pass close inspection, but then again, I didn’t plan on letting the sonsabitches get that close, either. “It might be me again, and I don’t want to get killed by you. Got it?”

  A dimple formed in his cheek. “Got it. You want your hat back now?”

  “I don’t believe it’d fit over this cap, and besides, my head’s all swole where you hit me.” I slapped the little guy on the shoulder to let him know I was kidding, sort of. I didn’t want a pack on my back, so I distributed most of the magazines and gear in the tactical vest’s pockets. “Close the door when I’m gone.”

  The rag was suffocating, and I wondered how people wore those things for hours at a time. It smelled of sweat, cigarette smoke, and other things unimagined. I tried not to think about the former owner’s bad breath I was inhaling.

  I wondered if he had tuberculosis, or some other horrific disease a happy terrorist might pick up while skipping around the world murdering people. I forced the thought from my mind.

  A thin stream of warm blood trickled down the back of my neck. The stink and the blow to my head made my stomach roll, and all that took some of the spirit out of me.

  The mechanism clicked behind me as I slipped back into the walkway around the rotunda. I’d have liked nothing better than to lay down for a little bit, but that wasn’t happening.

  I hoped the bad guys were busy enough with whatever they were doing down there not to notice my clothes. None of ’em were wearing khakis and blue shirts, but in the dim light, I expected the tactical vest and face covering to be enough of a disguise for anyone seeing me at a distance.

  What I took for the commander’s voice became louder and clearer as I neared the staircase. People were moving with a purpose down there. Two men passed below, both carrying weapons battle-slung across their chests.

  My first inclination was to lean over the rail and pour it on those guys, but I’d been studying on it long enough to decide against suicide. I needed to find the kids before I could take any action, but I had no idea what that would be.

  With no other options, I went hunting.

  Chapter 57

  Willa Mae entered Don Bright’s outer office as if she didn’t have a care in the world. She’d called the number he gave her. Jess McDowell agreed to call his FBI son, Landon, and ask him to drop by the congressman’s office.

  Willa Mae carried a bag from the local Subway sandwich shop. “Congressman? Lunch is here and your appointment will be here in a minute.” She knocked again, louder. “Don?”

  Spine tingling, but forewarned, she peeked inside.

  Chapter 58

  Halogens on the ground floor of the rotunda lit the detailed tin ceiling far overhead. The lights intensified the contrast between the shadows on the upper floors and the balustrade, working in my favor. If those guys were staring into the brightness, they’d have trouble making out any distinct features on the upper floors.

  I peeked at the southern staircase to find out what they were doing. Cases and boxes lay scattered like someone was cleaning out an attic. With nothing to block the noise, the generators were louder, and I knew why they hadn’t heard the fight upstairs.

  A hole had been sawed in the floor. The glow from its opening was like something from a Stephen Spielberg movie. Three dusty metal canisters sat beside the opening.

  I’d heard rumors all my life of a basement below the courthouse, but I also heard tell of Santa Claus, the Easter Bunny, and the boogeyman. Still, I recalled that worn wooden floor always had a lot more give under my feet than it should have.

  I backed away and let my eyes readjust to the gloomy light. The generators covered the sound of my footsteps as I worked around the perimeter, listening at doors. Several had been kicked in. The shelter in place didn’t work. The terrorists hadn’t behaved like we’d all been taught. That’s the problem with radical Islamic terrorists or jihadists or lunatics, they don’t think like normal people.

  Go figure.

  These weren’t random shooters after targets of opportunity. They had a specific plan and followed it, rootin’ out anyone trying to hide. In one of the offices I found a man and woman who’d been murdered. They’d absorbed more than half a dozen shots each and lay in coagulating pools of blood. I recognized their faces, though I couldn’t recall either of their names.

  I wondered why they’d been killed when others were taken alive and figured they did it for pure-dee meanness. That thought fueled the rising anger I kept tamping down. It wouldn’t do to lose my temper, because it scared me to death when I lost control.

  I’d about decided there weren’t any terrorists up there on the third floor until I found another rat in the second-to-last tower on the west side. He’d left the office door cracked open and a soft smoker’s cough let me know he was inside. I walked in like one of the boys.

  He was staring into the storm, down what would have been South Charles Street if he could have seen it. Like I feared when I’d earlier passed the upstairs windows, he was silhouetted against the glass.

  The office was full of desks, chairs, and file cabinets with no clear aisle leading toward the guy. Dreading that he might turn around, I ran the maze, zigzagging on my toes through the obstructions. It’s a wonder I didn’t kick a trashcan on the way.

  The generator wasn’t as loud in there, but the wind moaning past the building covered my charge. I didn’t want to shoot, but then again, I didn’t want to fight him, either. I was too damned tired and scared. So I did the next-best thing and rammed him like a linebacker, noting at the last second that he was a redhead. He heard or felt me coming. It could have been the change in the air pressure between us or the rustle of clothing as I neared.

  He pivoted in my direction, his right hand dropping toward an M4’s pistol grip. I hit him with all my weight, high in the chest and hard enough to rattle his mama’s teeth.

  He crashed through the window and flipped over the sill in a splinter of glass as the brittle wooden frame gave way. The guy vanished into the river of cold air pouring into the room.

  I had so much momentum that I barely got a hand on the sill to stop. Regaining my balance, I covered him with my pistol in case he started to get up, but he was spraddled out and twisted up, half-buried in the snow and as still as road kill.

  Four down.

  The idea that I’d killed still anoth
er human being should have had an impact, but I was numb to the violence I’d been part of since the terrorists took over.

  Good God, killin’s coming easy now, and I’m getting good at it.

  I didn’t dally long, because I wasn’t sure if someone looking out a window below saw the body fall. Once back in the hallway, I closed the door, just in case one of his buddies came along to check on him and felt the draft.

  I was still fuzzy, and my head ached from the knock Arturo gave me. The whole nerve-wracking thing was stretching into next week, and I figured my luck and time were running out. Ethan and his men were sure to try and make entry soon, or those guys below were going to realize something was up and come to find their buddies.

  I had to be ready.

  Chapter 59

  Congressman Don Bright didn’t waste any time. He was standing in the doorway of his attached bathroom when Willa Mae returned. “Come in here. Did you bring the ketchup?”

  She followed him inside. He stopped beside the shower stall. Searching with her eyes for an explanation, Willa Mae withdrew the plastic bottle from the sandwich sack and handed it over. She noted the pistol stuck in her boss’s waistband. “What are you doing? I hope that’s legal. You realize it’s a federal offense to possess a handgun in D.C. without a permit.”

  Bright ignored the obvious and tried to squirt the ketchup on the tile wall. Nothing came out. “Did you call McDowell?”

  She flapped a hand. “You told me to.”

  The congressman unscrewed the cap and peeled off the foil seal. “Keep your voice down.

  “What the hell is going on?”

  Voices rose in her outer office and both knew time was ticking away. She watched him screw the cap back on and flick the bottle at the shower’s wall opposite the fixtures. Satisfied with the spray, he splattered it again and again.

  “I don’t understand what you’re doing.”

  Bright flicked the bottle again, adding more spray as the thick red fluid splattered against the tiles. “We don’t have much time. Did you get another cell phone?”

  She repeated her usual answer as if were an everyday question. “You told me to. Look, I’m sure we have other options.”

  “No. We don’t. This’ll be better. The guy on the phone gave me the idea, and I think it’s the only one that’ll buy Katie some time. I’m going to give them my body. That should be enough to make them release her or delay whatever else they’re planning, since I’ll be out of the picture.”

  Willa Mae watched Bright shake ketchup into his hand and smear it on the side of his head. “This won’t work.”

  “I think it will. The ATF did the same thing several years ago.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “Operation Black Biscuit. An undercover agent, Jay Dobyns, posed as a gunrunner for the Hells Angels. He earned his ‘patch’ by faking the murder of a rival Mongols gang member. They took a picture of another officer dressed in the Mongols colors and covered in an animal’s blood and brains in a shallow grave. The undercover agents delivered the blood-covered vest, a videotape, and a photo to the Hells Angels leadership. They bought the story and made Dobyns a full-patched member of the club.”

  Willa Mae looked unconvinced. “That beats all I’ve ever heard. That was a long time ago, Don, and things weren’t as sophisticated then. Now with reality television, people recognize fake photos and videos pretty damn quick. You’re playing with Katie’s life. They’ll kill her when they find out.”

  “The man I talked to is insane. He’ll kill her anyway and this might gain her some time, enough time for a SWAT team to get her and the others out.” He added more ketchup to his hair and sat down in the walk-in shower. Laying the snub-nose revolver to the side, he leaned back and went limp. “Shoot a picture.”

  Willa Mae held the borrowed phone up and snapped a quick photo. “This is stupid.”

  “It’s my call. Desi said at first that he wanted me dead, so I’m gonna give it to him. How does it look?”

  “Almost real, but the image is way too sharp.” She squinted at the phone. “Let me try again.”

  Willa Mae pushed the button again before the device had time to focus. This time it looked more like someone had snapped a quick photo, hoping not to get caught. She studied the screen. “I have to admit, this came out better than what I thought.”

  Bright rose to his feet and took the phone. He checked the image. “That’s what I wanted.”

  “Look, Don. Don’t do this. Let someone else handle it.”

  He picked up the pistol, aimed at a high corner of the shower, and pulled the trigger.

  Willa Mae screamed. “What are you doing? That may have gone through the wall and hit someone.”

  The congressman grunted. “Check the angle if it’ll make you feel any better. I imagine the bullet lodged somewhere in the outside wall, and I doubt the hollow point went through the brick.”

  He pushed her toward the door. The odds were that someone’d already called 911 and police units were rolling. “Meet McDowell out there and have him come in. Tell him I’m already dead and to check on me. I’ll do the rest.”

  The red-eyed secretary backed into the outer office and spun to find a growing crowd gathered at her desk, frightened and curious. She straightened her shoulders. “Everyone into the hallway, please.”

  Eyes full of genuine tears, she shooed them back. “It’s bad in there. The worst.” She wasn’t lying to that point. “The congressman shot himself.”

  Gasps and moans filled the air. Willa Mae held up her hands. “Please, let’s handle this with decorum.”

  Agent Landon McDowell pushed through the crowd with a stricken look on his face. “What happened?”

  Without a word, Willa Mae took his arm and led the FBI agent into Bright’s office.

  At the same time, cell phones in the hands of the crowd vibrated with a tweet sent from Daniella’s borrowed phone.

  Chapter 60

  DeVaca glanced up to see one of their men watching over the rail’s edge. Something was strange about his clothing, but Wicked’s attention was elsewhere.

  Chavez was once again speaking into his ear. “Status?”

  The annoying interruption frustrated DeVaca. He took several calming breaths to satisfy the Demon and pressed his comm button. “All is fine. They’re doing what we expected, just waiting. Any news from Washington?”

  “I haven’t seen anything on television yet. I may have to call him a second time. He doesn’t want me to do that. Is his relative close? Is she secure?”

  “Of course.”

  “Fine then. Once I have confirmation that the congressman has stepped down, do what is necessary.”

  “It will be slower than expected. I am sure you are aware of the blizzard outside.”

  “I’m watching it on the news, of course. Do you think I’m just sitting here, twiddling and twiddling and twiddling my thumbs?”

  DeVaca thought of Chavez’s malady. Washing them to excess, no, wait, probably letting Lucille diddle something for you.

  “No. Just making sure you are aware of all the factors in play. Our primary extraction is a no go. We will use the alternative method, but even that is questionable with the snow.” He checked his watch.

  “Do what you have to do. I don’t care about them.” His voice rose in excitement “Wait . . . all right. CNN just broke in with a special report. The congressman is going to make his statement in ten minutes. I’ll be back in fifteen.”

  Chapter 61

  Hugging the wall, I slipped down the staircase to the second floor in a gut-wrenching repeat of what I’d done upstairs. Slide along the walls, creep through the doors with my stomach fluttering, then on to the next office.

  I had reached the municipal courtroom and put my ear against the door when the cell phone in my back pocket vibrated.

  The caller ID identified Ethan Armstrong. I let the phone vibrate until I could duck into the office beside the courtroom. I answered by swiping
the screen without speaking, continuing through Judge Dollins’s main office and into his conference room. I’d already cleared it.

  Closing the door, I pressed the phone against my covered ear.

  Ethan’s voice was near panic. “Sonny! Sonny! Can you hear me? Hello? Hello?”

  The static was bad, frustrating me to no end. I was wired tight as a mainspring. I tilted my head and moved the phone, hoping to get a better signal. “I said never to call me at this number.”

  “Uh, Sonny? Can you hear me?”

  Keeping my voice low, I kept talking and hoping I was coming through. “Yes. I was in a meeting and couldn’t answer.”

  The signal wavered and Ethan missed the funniest thing I’d said all day. He plowed ahead. “We’ve been trying to get through for a while, but everybody with a damn phone’s clogging up the cells.”

  “Sorry. I’m on the second floor. Everything’s clear from the third up, and most of this floor is, too.”

  “What?”

  “Don’t talk. Just listen. My text was wrong. There’s four less bad guys than they started with . . . oh, while I’m thinking of it, there’s a kid on the third floor with a little machine gun. Try not to shoot him when the time comes, he’s one of Kelly’s students and he’s wearing my coat and hat.”

  “A kid with a—!”

  “It’s Arturo, the kid we were talking about at breakfast this morning. I’ll tell you all about it later. I think I’ve found the hostages on the second floor, but I ’magine there’s guards in there with ’em.”

  “Where are they?”

  “They’re in—”

  The phone beeped in my ear as the connection was lost. When I checked the screen I saw the CALL FAILED message. To make matters worse, the phone was down to 11 percent power. I couldn’t believe how fast the battery was going, then I remembered something the twins had taught me two weeks earlier.

  I doubled-clicked the button and saw that same endless stream of open windows again, draining what was left of my battery. Swiping my finger across the bottom, an even longer line of apps appeared; Google, Photos, Notes, Maps, Health, App Store, Game Center, Settings, and more.