Snow Falls

by Bobby Nash

  “Watch yourself, pal.”

  More cautious this time, Snow checked the tunnel, leading with his weapon, but he had no shot. His target was on the move again, and he caught a glimpse of her as she reached the end of the tunnel and headed into the food court.

  He took off in pursuit.

  By the time he reached the food court, he had lost sight of her. “Dammit!” he cursed, which drew a few stares, although probably not as many as the gun in his hand. He tucked the weapon in the waistband of his pants and covered it with his shirttail. The last thing he needed was to start a panic or a riot. The shooter was going to be hard enough to find without the extra pandemonium his charging in and waving a gun would cause.

  “If I were an assassin, where would I go?” he muttered as he cut through a line at the Chinese buffet, ignoring the complaints of those in line.

  He slowed, no longer running, scanning the cavernous space while trying to catch his breath. His body ached. The pain in his chest felt as though someone had thrown a giant concrete block on top of it. He pushed through the pain even though common sense told him that he should set down, or better yet, call a doctor.

  Stuffed in a nearby garbage can was a familiar piece of clothing, a housekeeping smock like the one the sniper had been wearing when she ran. There was little doubt in his mind that it was hers. She had changed on the go. That was smart. It’s what he would have done in similar circumstances. Unfortunately, that meant that now he had no idea what she was wearing. He wasn’t even sure of her hair color. If she was good at her job, which seemed to be the case, then she had most likely been wearing a wig when he saw her earlier. He checked the trashcan. There was no wig inside, but that didn’t mean anything. If it had been him, he would have dumped the wig in a different trashcan.

  She was quick and had a head start, but she also wasn’t stupid. He didn’t see any one running and heard no shouts or screams of a person crashing through the throng of tables. Why should she run? Once she ditched the disguise, all she had to do was blend into the crowd like the rest of the nine to five crowd gathered there for a quick bite to eat before heading back their offices.

  There were too many exits to cover.

  She was gone.

  • • •

  Snow felt sweat prickle his brow.

  Despite the air conditioning cooling the food court, he was roasting. His heart thundered so loud that he could feel it throbbing in his ears. Sitting down wasn’t the worst idea he could have. He was about to give up the chase and head back to check on his family when he caught sight of her.

  The shooter looked completely different, but he knew it was her the moment he laid eyes on her. It was like she wasn’t even trying to hide it. She stared daggers at him across the crowded room.

  Snow made his way toward her, weaving around tables and patrons milling about the food court. Surprisingly, she held her ground, not running. That unnerved him. She’s up to something, he realized. What he didn’t know was what. What the hell are you up to? he wondered as he navigated the crowd.

  When he was within earshot, she held a hand to keep him at bay. “I think that’s close enough,” she said.

  “That’s not how this works, lady.” Snow was happy to slow down, not that he would let her know that. He tried to keep his breathing steady, but it was clear that the exertion was taking a toll on him. Once, he would have been able to chase her down without so much as breathing hard, but now, his breathing was labored and sweat ran down his face. Yet another thing to thank Miguel Ortega for when he found him.

  But that was a problem for another day.

  She flashed a pearly white smile his way. In any other situation, he would have found her attractive. Here, he found her scary. “You care to gamble if I had time to plant a surprise to cover my tracks?” she said, holding up her hand to show him the small trigger device clutched there.

  “You’ve obviously got something you’d like to get off your chest,” Snow said. He motioned toward an empty table nearby. “By all means, let’s hear it. You have my undivided attention. Have a seat.”

  A smile crossed her lips. “Nice try. You sit. I’ll stand.”

  Snow shrugged then did as instructed and sat at the table, thankful for the opportunity to get his heart rate back under control. Not that he would tell her that. “So…” he prompted.

  The shooter stood nearby, just out of reach. This was clearly not her first time at bat. If she was nervous or worried about being captured, she showed no outward sign. She was a pro.

  “I know you’ve probably got people locking down the building even as we speak,” she said. “Something tells me you and I wouldn’t be able to sit down and have a private conversation before your friends get here, would we Agent…”

  Now, it was his turn to smile. If she was fishing for his name, then he had some leverage. The last thing any professional like her, like him, liked was finding an unknown variable added to the mix. “I guess I didn’t turn up in your homework, huh?” he said with a chuckle.

  “Not exactly. I do my research. The FBI lacks, shall we say…” She seemed to search for the right word. “…innovative thinking. Everything falls into one of two categories with them. It’s either black or white, never anything in between. The FBI likes its plans and procedures, and agents, like yourself, rarely deviate from them. I’ve studied every man and woman on this particular detail.” She paused, stared at him as if waiting for him to break and fill in the silence. It was a time honored interrogation tactic.

  He simply sat there and smiled. Time was on his side. All he had to do was wait for Mac to show up. Despite her frequent pauses, the shooter did not have the time to play this out, and they both knew it.

  “But not you,” she continued. “You weren’t on the list, so I don’t know who you are. And I’m pretty sure I’d remember you.”

  “It’s the hair, isn’t it?” he said, running a hand through his wild locks without taking his eyes off of her. “I never could get this stuff to stay in place. School pictures were a bitch when I was a kid.”

  “I don’t like surprises.”

  “Really? I love ’em myself,” Snow said playfully. In spite of the seriousness of the situation, he was enjoying himself. He liked being in the thick of things, but until that moment, he hadn’t realized how much he enjoyed being undercover. There was a freedom to playing a role that set him at ease. Sometimes, he preferred being someone else. That revelation surprised him.

  “Who are you?” she asked again.

  “Would you believe I’m just a regular guy in the wrong place at the wrong time?”

  “No.”

  He laughed. “I didn’t think so. Unfortunate, because it’s true.”

  “Your name, Agent?” She shook the detonator in her hand. The threat was clear. “Now, please.”

  He held up his hands in mock surrender. “Fine. My name’s Abraham Snow, and I don’t work for the FBI. I really am only here to visit someone at the conference, like I said. Wrong place. Wrong time. You know how it goes.”

  “Right.”

  “And you are?” Snow inquired.

  “Not dumb enough to tell you my name.”

  “Oh, come on. I showed you mine.”

  “Funny that,” she said. “Probably not your smartest move, huh?”

  “I’m having an off day,” Snow admitted.

  “So I noticed. So, you’re sticking to your bullshit story that you just happened to be in the right place to get in the way of my work?”

  “Just lucky, I guess.”

  “You’re just dying to quote Die Hard, aren’t you?” she said.

  He crooked his head to the side. “Maybe a little.”

  “Don’t let me stand in your way.”

  “You killed one man and tried to kill more,” Snow said, the playfulness gone from his voice. “I couldn’t just stand there and watch, now could I?”

  “So, like a Good Samaritan, you just decided to get involved in a shootout then decided t
o chase down the person doing the shooting? I find that hard to believe, Mr. Snow. No one is that stupid.”

  He chuckled. “I’ve been told I have impulse control issues.”

  “A little advice, Mr. Snow?”

  Snow shrugged.

  “Owen Salizar is not worth throwing your life away over. Trust me.”

  “Oh, you don’t have to convince me,” Snow said. “Salizar is as dirty as they come. I wouldn’t be surprised that the rumors about him are true.”

  “And yet you risked your life to save his.”

  “I mentioned the impulse control issues, right?”

  “Putting yourself between a bullet and a man like Salizar will end badly for you, Mr. Snow. There’s a very expensive round with his name on it. If not me, someone will collect. You don’t want to be there when that happens.”

  “Considering you were the one shooting at me, I don’t know what to say.” He seemed to think it over, mimicking her earlier move. “Thank you… for, uh… missing?”

  “I don’t like killing people without being paid.”

  “Lucky for me,” Snow said.

  “I’m not so sure anyone would be willing to pay to much for you.”

  “You’d be surprised.”

  “Really?” Her eyes brightened. “I might just have to look you up,” she said.

  Snow smiled and changed the subject. “As much as I love sitting here having this lovely little chat, and it’s been the highlight of my day, truly, I have a dinner date to get to. So, I guess we should cut the bullshit and skip to the part where you tell me what you want so we can get out of here without getting any of these nice people hurt.”

  5.

  Tom McClellan took the stairs in a run.

  Once his men had the building surrounded, he headed up the steep concrete stairwell that opened up into the mall’s food court. The first thing he noticed was that everything looked pretty much normal, which was not what he had been expecting. At the very least, he expected screaming and running.

  “All sites, report in,” he said into his hand mic. A flurry of short checks piped in his ear. “Keep one agent on each door,” he said once all of his men had checked in. “Everyone else, move in. Holster your weapons until we have eyes on the shooter or Abraham Snow.”

  “Who, sir?” a voice called back.

  Following his own order, McClellan holstered his weapon and stepped into the bustling food court. “Snow is a private contractor. Jeans and a black suit jacket. Look for a guy with black hair that looks like it hasn’t been combed in a week or two. He was last seen in pursuit of the shooter, so remember, he’s on our sides, boys and girls.”

  “This is Ellison. I’ve got a visual,” a voice said in his ear.

  “Where?”

  “East end of the food court… near the sandwich shop.”

  “What’s he doing?” Mac asked, stepping up his pace.

  “He’s talking with someone,” Ellison reported. “Female. Could be our shooter. Moving in for a closer look.”

  “Be careful,” Mac warned. “If it is the shooter, she’s armed and dangerous.”

  “Understood.”

  Agent MacClellan could see the sign above the sandwich shop. He was close. With a hand on his service weapon, he eased through the crowd until he caught sight of his men. When they saw him, they pointed, and he followed to see his friend sitting at a table talking to a woman. He assumed she was the shooter, although he hadn’t gotten as good a look at her as Snow had, so he couldn’t be sure.

  He held up a hand, signaling his men to hold position. If the woman hadn’t seen them yet, she would soon enough. The last thing he needed was a shootout with so many innocent bystanders around. Her back was to him though, so the agent eased forward, slowly, carefully.

  Snow saw him and waved him off with a simple hand signal.

  Agent MacClellan didn’t know what was going on, but he trusted his friend. He would give him a few minutes before he had to move in.

  He thumbed his mic. “All agents… hold position. Move in on my signal only.”

  “Your move, Snowman,” he whispered.

  • • •

  Snow saw Mac heading his way.

  He made a soft gesture, convincing his friend to keep his distance for the moment. When he saw his friend on the mic, he hoped he was telling his men to do the same. He wasn’t sure what would happen if the shooter saw federal agents approaching from all sides with guns drawn. He suspected it would not end well for any of them, especially if her threat of planting an explosive device was genuine. He couldn’t afford to take the chance that it was a bluff.

  “Looks like your friends are here,” she said, shattering his hopes.

  “Let’s don’t do anything rash,” Snow said. “There’s still a way out of this.”

  “Of course there is,” she said. “You and I are going to walk out the door behind me, and your friends are going to back off.”

  “You know they aren’t going to let that happen.”

  “Yes, they will. Unless they want to try and separate your remains from the mess it’ll make if I let go of this.” She shook her fist for emphasis. “Get up.”

  Snow stood slowly. He held out a hand, palm out in that just give me a minute way to signal Mac to stand down. “If I do this, you promise me nothing bad will happen to these people?”

  “You have my word as a professional.”

  “Well, then, one professional to another, I’m going to hold you to that.”

  “Whatever,” she said, grabbing him by the collar and pulling him close. “Come on.”

  The moment she grabbed him, the FBI moved in. “Federal Agents!” Mac shouted as he pulled his gun and aimed it at the shooter. “You need to stand down and let him go!”

  “Tell them to back off, or this place goes boom,” the shooter whispered in her captive’s ear.

  “Mac, give us some distance, okay?”

  “What’s going on, buddy?”

  “She’s not playing around,” Snow said. “Look at her hand.”

  She held up the trigger so everyone could see it.

  “We’re heading outside. Once we’re out, she’s going to give it to me, and this will all be over.”

  “We can’t let her go, Ham. You know that.”

  “I know what will happen if we don’t,” Snow said.

  • • •

  Agent MacClellan stood in the center of the food court.

  “Okay. You win, pal. I’m standing down,” he said, holstering his gun as a show of good faith.

  The shooter moved faster, dragging Snow along with her as a human shield. They were only a few steps from the exit when Mac opened the channel on his radio mic. “All units, clear the food court and mall immediately. We have the threat of a possible explosive device on the premises. Get all of these people out of here, and get the bomb squad in here a.s.a.p.”

  “Copy that.”

  “Let’s keep the delegates inside the conference area,” he added.

  He turned back in time to see his friend pass through the doors out into the street. As soon as they were out of sight, he ran to catch up, leaving his men to clear the area. Mac was almost to the door when he heard the first sounds of panic behind him. It was inevitable. Even without using the word “bomb,” it was hard to clear an area the size of the food court without scaring someone.

  Mac pulled his gun once they were out of sight and ran to catch up. He stopped at the door. Beyond the frosted glass, he could just barely make them out as they moved down the one-way street against the flow of traffic.

  “This is MacClellan. Do we have eyes on the target?”

  “Copy that,” a voice called in his ear. “No good shot. The hostage is in the way.”

  “If you get a shot, you take it,” Mac ordered. His glimpse of the device in the sniper’s hand was brief, but he suspected the signal range was short at best.

  “What about the hostage?”

  “If there’s no other way, tak
e the shot.”

  “Sir?”

  “You heard me.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “I’m sorry, buddy,” Mac whispered.

  • • •

  Snow held position at the curb as a car squealed to a stop.

  “I think this is where you and I part company, Mr. Snow,” the sniper said. “You’ll forgive me if I say I hope to never see you again.”

  “Oh, I think it’s a safe bet we’ll see one another again,” Snow said plainly. “You can pretty much count on it. You see, I’m a professional too, and I keep my promises just like you do.”

  “That would be a pity. You get in my way again, and, contract or no, I won’t be so charitable.” She opened the car door and moved him closer to block her from the obvious sharpshooter nests. She was good.

  “The detonator,” Snow reminded her once she was inside the car.

  She smiled and held up the device between two fingers. “You mean this?”

  “We had a deal. I held up my end,” he reminded her. “Hand it over.”

  With a flick of the wrist, she sent the small plastic piece flying as the driver of the car zoomed away. He reached for it and missed. She had purposefully thrown it where he wouldn’t be able to catch it. The tiny plastic rectangle snapped into two pieces on impact with the concrete sidewalk.

  Snow grabbed it, hoping it wouldn’t go off—

  —and let out a sigh of relief to see that it was an empty casing.

  There was no bomb. It was all a bluff.

  Snow looked up in time to see the getaway car take a hard left at the next light just as Mac and a couple of his agents ran over to him. There was only one place that road went. Freeing the gun from his waistband, he started running down the one way street that paralleled the one used by the sniper’s getaway vehicle.

  “She’s headed for the interstate!” Snow shouted to Mac as he crossed the street to the glare of honking horns.

  Mac pointed to one of his men. “Call it in. Lock that car down. I want to know where it’s going! Go! Now!” Then he took off running after his friend.