The Prophecy paj-5

by Chris Kuzneski

  Jumping to his feet, Payne hurdled the hedge and dashed into the lawn. The snow was deep but his traction was good, even better than it had been on the sidewalk. He sprinted forward until he reached the area where Jones had seen the muzzle flash. The snow had been trampled down, as if someone had lingered there for several minutes. Payne dropped to his knees and stared at the surrounding tracks. One set branched to the left; another pointed straight ahead.

  The question was, which were more recent?

  Payne looked closer, trying to figure out which way the shooter had gone, but the falling snow and the swirling wind hindered his progress. A fine layer of fresh powder had recently coated both sets of tracks. Coupled with a lack of light, Payne couldn’t rely on his eyes to pinpoint the escape route. Instead, he used his hand, running his fingertips from one side of the footprint to the other until he made sense of things. Like a blind man reading Braille, Payne located the ridge patterns in the compressed snow and determined which way the heel — which would be deeper in

  Just like that, Payne knew which way the shooter had fled.

  Now his pursuit could begin in earnest.

  11

  In the summertime, the Cathedral lawn was like a city park, filled with coeds in bikinis and frat boys throwing Frisbees. But on this night it resembled Siberia. The arctic wind was howling, and the snow was drifting high. In some places, it was over two feet deep. But none of that mattered to Payne, who sprinted across the flat terrain with reckless abandon.

  With the Cathedral on his left, he followed the shooter’s trail for nearly 200 feet. The entire way he ran parallel to Fifth Avenue, which glowed on his right and provided just enough light to see the footprints. Cars and buses occasionally passed, as did salt trucks and snowploughs. Somewhere in the distance he heard the shrieking of metal as ice was scraped from the asphalt. Other than his breath and his pounding heart, it was the only sound he heard.

  Bigelow Boulevard was straight ahead at the bottom of a small hill. The road ran left to right, just beyond a row of hedges that marked the end

  Payne cursed when he realized the sidewalk and the four-lane road had been recently ploughed. From this point forward, he was on his own. No more footprints to follow. Nothing but a vague description of a man in a trench coat. Even if he spotted a possible suspect, Payne couldn’t just shoot him. On a large city campus, there was no telling how many men met that description. Payne would have to approach him and confront him, face to face.

  Glancing to his left, he saw nothing but parked cars all covered in a thick blanket of snow, meaning they had been there for a while. With no exhaust fumes in sight, he knew none of the cars were running. On his right, three students were sitting inside a bus shelter, huddling together for warmth. They were dressed in jeans and ski jackets, not trench coats.

  Across the street was the William Pitt Union. At one time it had been the Schenley Hotel, a

  If the shooter went in there, things could get ugly.

  With no suspect in sight, Payne searched for a gap in the hedges. He found one near the bus shelter and squeezed his way onto the sidewalk. Not wanting to startle the students, he tucked his gun into his pocket and approached the shelter.

  ‘Excuse me,’ Payne said, ‘have you seen a guy in a trench coat?’

  ‘Why?’ said the smartass in the middle. ‘Are you hoping to get flashed?’

  Payne wasn’t in the mood for jokes. He took a step closer and stared at the kid, half-tempted to pull out his gun in order to stress the urgency of the situation. But the last thing he wanted to do was to threaten them, especially with the news he was about to share.

  ‘Listen very carefully,’ he said calmly. ‘There was a shooting near Heinz Chapel. The suspect is wearing a trench coat and he fled this way.’

  ‘Do you have a phone?’

  All three nodded their heads.

  ‘Contact the Pitt police and tell them what I said. Have them send a warning message on the campus system. The less people outdoors, the better.’

  Ever since the Virginia Tech shooting in 2007, most American universities had implemented a text-message alert system that could notify students and faculty of impending danger. With the touch of a button, more than 30,000 phones would receive the warning.

  ‘Do you understand me?’

  They nodded their heads in unison.

  ‘Make the call on your way to the Cathedral. Go right now and spread the word.’

  ‘Why the Cathedral?’ the smartass asked.

  ‘Because the shooter just passed the Cathedral and was headed this way. There’s no reason for him to backtrack.’

  ‘I think I saw him,’ said the girl on the right.

  ‘Where?’ Payne demanded.

  ‘He crossed the street towards the union a few minutes ago.’

  ‘Did he go inside?’

  ‘Did you see his face?’

  ‘I only saw his coat. It was long and dark brown.’

  Payne thanked her, then jogged across the street towards the main entrance of the student union. Three sets of doors sat under a large portico on his left. Just beyond it was a split set of steps that led up to Schenley Quadrangle, a cluster of five residence halls that housed more than 1,000 students. On most nights, the quad would be swarming with foot traffic — students heading to class or hanging out with friends — but Payne knew the basketball game on the far side of campus would reduce those numbers, as would the cold.

  He darted up the steps, hoping to find an empty quad.

  Instead, he found himself in the middle of a war zone.

  More than fifty students were in the midst of a massive snowball battle. Everywhere Payne looked, people were running, and throwing, and howling with laughter. Not only in the courtyard between the buildings but also in the windows above. Minutes earlier, a few devious students had dumped buckets of water on the participants

  Little did they know, a killer was lurking nearby.

  A female student, wearing a knit cap and matching mittens, spotted Payne in his tuxedo. She hustled over to warn him. ‘If I were you, I’d go another way. It’s not safe in here.’

  Payne smirked at the irony of her statement. ‘Are you on guard duty?’

  She smiled. ‘Something like that.’

  ‘Did you see a guy in a brown trench coat?’

  She nodded. ‘He ignored me and kept on walking.’

  ‘How long ago?’

  ‘Thirty seconds. You can catch him if you hurry.’

  ‘Which way?’ Payne demanded.

  She pointed to the right. ‘Just past Amos Hall, heading toward Fifth.’

  ‘Thanks,’ Payne said as he sprinted across the courtyard. Snowballs whizzed past him like enemy fire, but he wasn’t the least bit concerned. His sole focus was catching the man in the trench coat, stopping him before he killed again.

  Payne didn’t flinch. He stood perfectly still, gun in hand, waiting to make his move. A moment later he poked his head into the alley a second time, and once again the shooter fired. This time the bullet was even closer, missing Payne’s head by less than six inches.

  ‘Shit,’ Payne mumbled, realizing he was at a tactical disadvantage.

  As a right-handed shooter, Payne knew he would have to expose his entire right flank in order to get off a clean shot. Due to his opponent’s accuracy, he knew that was a dangerous proposition. With that in mind, he moved his

  Payne took a deep breath and inched his gun round the corner. He calmly squeezed the trigger, and the passenger window exploded. Payne made a small adjustment to his aim and fired again. This time the bullet entered the front passenger window and exited the driver’s side. Shards of glass rained down on the killer, stinging him like a swarm of angry bees. The man howled in agony as a piece of window pierced the corner of his left eye.

  It was the sound Payne had been hoping to hear.

  With his shield destroyed and his vision blurred, the assailant ran towards Fifth Avenue, hoping to reach his vehicle on the o
ther side of the street before Payne shot him from behind.

  A few seconds later, his escape attempt ended in a puddle of blood.

  12

  The bus driver had always driven carefully through Pitt’s campus. She knew several students had died over the years walking into the bus lane that ran against the flow of traffic on Fifth Avenue. But in this case, her caution didn’t matter because the man darted in front of her like a deer on the highway. One second he wasn’t visible, the next he was splattered on her windshield.

  The noise the body made was unlike any that Payne had heard before. It was a mixture of a meaty thud and the splash of a spilled drink, all rolled together with the crack of a wishbone. By the time the driver skidded to an icy stop, the surrounding snow looked like salsa.

  ‘Holy shit,’ Payne muttered as he moved forward to inspect the carnage.

  Although he was thrilled that the drama had ended quickly, Payne was smart enough to realize that the man’s death had left several questions unanswered. Not only his identity — which would take a while to determine based on his current

  During their careers, Payne and Jones had made a long list of enemies. Their time with the MANIACs guaranteed they would live the rest of their lives looking over their shoulders. Most of their missions had been classified, but rumours about their exploits were well known in the military community. Sure, some of the stories were untrue — nothing more than lies that had become a part of their legend — but enough facts were sprinkled in to put them in harm’s way.

  ‘Oh my God,’ the driver wailed as she stepped off the bus. She was white and pudgy, the female equivalent of Ralph Kramden from The Honeymooners. ‘I swear I didn’t see him!’

  Payne walked over to comfort her. ‘Don’t worry, ma’am. It wasn’t your fault.’

  ‘It doesn’t matter,’ she shrieked. ‘They’re going to fire me for sure! Oh my God, I can’t believe I killed a man!’

  He put his hand on her shoulder. ‘I swear, you’re not going to get fired. In fact, you’re liable to get a medal for this.’

  She looked at him like he was crazy. ‘What are you talking about?’

  monster,’ Payne said for effect, ‘just killed a woman. And he would’ve killed several more if it wasn’t for you. You, my dear, are a hero.’

  She wiped her nose with the sleeve of her coat. ‘He killed someone?’

  Payne nodded. ‘In cold blood.’

  ‘And I stopped him?’

  ‘With your massive bus.’

  She glanced at the red pulp that stained the asphalt. ‘Are you serious?’

  ‘Completely.’

  She let out a sigh of relief, then broke into a wide smile. ‘Oh my Lord, thank you Jesus. I can’t believe I’m a hero… Do you think I’ll be on TV?’

  ‘I’d bet on it.’

  ‘Oh my goodness, I gotta call my sister. She’s gonna be so jealous.’

  ‘Before you do,’ Payne suggested, ‘you better call your supervisor. This lane needs to be shut down for the rest of the night.’

  ‘Oh my Lord, I never thought of that.’

  He pointed towards her bus. ‘You also need to calm your passengers. Tell them what happened, and tell them they need to stay on board until the police arrive. The last thing we want is for them to be walking through any evidence.’

  He gave it some thought. ‘Tell me, do you wear glasses?’

  ‘Why? Do you think I need ’em? I’m telling you, the guy ran right—’

  ‘No, that’s not what I meant. What about sunglasses? Do you have sunglasses?’

  ‘Why? Should I wear them on TV?’

  ‘No, ma’am. I’d simply like to borrow them.’

  ‘Why? Are you gonna wear them on TV?’

  He growled in frustration. ‘Ma’am, this has nothing to do with TV. I need to make sure the guy is dead, and when I do, I don’t want any blood to splash into my eyes.’

  It was a lie, but he didn’t have the patience to explain the truth.

  She glanced at the body. Chunks of carcass littered the bus lane. ‘I’m telling you, sweetie, that boy is dead. I caught him flush.’

  Payne tapped his watch to make his point. ‘The cops will want a time of death for their report. It can’t be official if I don’t check his pulse.’ He knew she would believe him. ‘Of course, if you’d rather do it yourself, go right ahead. I’m not going to stop you.’

  ‘No way,’ she argued, ‘that’s okay. You can

  ‘Thank you, I’d appreciate it.’

  As she hustled to get them, Payne pulled out his phone and called Jones. He answered on the third ring. ‘Jon, are you all right? I heard multiple shots.’

  Payne nodded. ‘I’m fine. The shooter’s dead.’

  ‘How?’

  ‘I lured him in front of a bus.’

  ‘You what?’

  ‘Long story,’ Payne said dismissively. ‘The important thing is he’s dead.’

  Jones paused. ‘Did you recognize him?’

  ‘I’m still working on that. Things are kind of messy here.’

  ‘Here, too. The janitor is going apeshit over the crime scene. I told him he was in charge of cleaning everything up. I even told him to get his shovel.’

  Payne smirked. Their years of service had darkened their sense of humour. It was a trait they shared with half the military, especially those who saw combat. ‘Why’d you do that?’

  ‘Why? Because I don’t like the guy. He’s too lippy.’

  ‘Lippy? Look who’s talking! Mr Pot, meet Mr Kettle.’

  ‘Hold up! Is that some kind of black joke?’

  ‘Any moment now. I see their lights on Bellefield.’

  ‘Then we better talk quick. What’s our story?’

  ‘Our story? I didn’t know we needed one.’

  ‘Just a second.’ The bus driver returned with her sunglasses and handed them to Payne. He thanked her then walked away so she couldn’t hear what he was saying. ‘A mystery woman drives across the state to chat with us and gets her head blown off. I don’t know about you, but I’m slightly suspicious.’

  ‘Wait. You think this was about her, not us? I’m not sure about that.’

  ‘Me, neither. But until we ID the shooter, what can we say? If he’s from our past, we can’t tell the cops anything. We’ll have to get the Pentagon involved. And if that happens, you know damn well our statements will have to be cleared by them.’

  ‘And what if he isn’t from our past?’

  ‘Then he might’ve come for the letter. I mean, that’s why she was here, right?’

  Jones nodded. ‘By the way, I’ve got it.’

  ‘Good. We’ll deal with it later. In the meantime, what should we say?’

  ‘Let’s stick to the basics. She showed up at your

  ‘And what were we discussing?’

  ‘You tell me. I came up with everything else.’ Payne paused in thought. ‘Let’s keep it simple. She was a schoolteacher interested in Greece, and she asked us about our treasure. Nothing more, nothing less.’

  ‘Sounds perfect.’

  ‘Anything else to worry about?’

  ‘Just one thing. But it’s kind of big.’

  ‘What is it?’ Payne asked.

  ‘That gun you’re holding? I bought it on the street and never registered it because the serial number was filed off.’

  ‘What?!’ Payne blurted, suddenly panicked. The last thing he needed was to be arrested on a weapon’s charge.

  Jones stayed quiet for several seconds before he cracked up with laughter. ‘Nah, I’m just messing with you. Serves you right, though. I can’t believe you stole my gun. If I’d had a backup piece, I would’ve shot you in the ass. You sneaky bastard!’

  Payne hung up the phone without saying another word, realizing that Jones was fully within his rights to torture him. In fact, he’d probably

  In the meantime, he had more important things to worry about.

  Like identifying the shooter.

  Payne un
tucked his dress shirt and exposed the bottom of his undershirt. With the soft cloth, he carefully wiped off all the smudges on the driver’s sunglasses. When he was done, he held them up to a street light and inspected the lenses. To his naked eye, they were spotless.

  Next, he walked behind the bus and searched for the shooter’s torso. The initial impact had killed the man, snapping his spine and ribs like toothpicks. The messy part had come later, when his body got caught on the front axle and had been dragged along the asphalt for half a city block. At some point he had ripped free and was quickly run over by one of the rear wheels, which squirted out his innards like a popped zit. Thankfully one of the guy’s arms was mostly intact because that’s what Payne needed to make his identification.

  Grabbing the lifeless hand, Payne made a perfect thumb print on one of the clean lenses, then repeated the process with the index finger on the

  With any luck, he would know the shooter’s background by the end of the night.

  13

  Jones answered the same questions, over and over, for nearly forty minutes. First it was the campus cops, then the Pittsburgh police came rolling in. One officer after another, each slightly higher up the food chain than the previous one, all of them asking the same things. Not that Jones complained. He had spent too much time in the military to get upset over the chain of command.

  The only request that bothered Jones was their final one of the evening. Since he was covered in blood splatter, they asked him to undress inside the chapel and give his tuxedo to a forensics expert for further analysis. Jones wasn’t sure why they needed his clothes — the shooter was dead, which meant this case would never go to court — but he complied. He figured, the sooner he got out of the police’s spotlight, the better. Because there were things he needed to do.

  Illegal things.

  Unfortunately, he would be forced to do them

  With very few options in the lost and found, the police scrambled to find an alternative. The best they could come up with was a khaki jumpsuit that was a few sizes too small, but all things considered, it was acceptable to Jones. He wondered where they had found it on such short notice until he read the name on the front pocket. The tiny patch said: Sam.