by Chris Carter
A 9mm bullet will enter someone’s skull and exit at the other side in three ten-thousandths of a second. It will shatter the cranium and rupture through the subject’s brain matter so fast the nervous system has no time to register any pain. If the angle in which the bullet enters the head is correct, the bullet should splice the cerebral cortex, the cerebellum, even the thalamus in such a way that the brain will cease functioning, resulting in instant death.
Hunter placed his gun in the best possible angle to achieve such a result.
CLOCK: 0:04, 0:03, 0:02 . . .
Hunter held his breath.
One Hundred and Sixteen
Neither Garcia nor Captain Blake could believe what they were witnessing through the computer monitor on Hunter’s desk.
CLOCK: 0:10, 0:09, 0:08 . . .
SAVE: 34,146.
EXECUTE: 34,155.
‘Is this for real?’ Captain Blake asked, and for the first time ever Garcia heard fear in her voice.
He didn’t answer, didn’t move, didn’t blink, didn’t breathe. His eyes were cemented to the computer screen. Dread was pumping through his veins like poisoned blood. He didn’t even notice his hands shaking.
CLOCK: 0:06, 0:05, 0:04 . . .
SAVE: 34,184.
EXECUTE: 34,196.
Hunter finally moved, and, as he did, time seemed to slow down for everyone.
First, his left hand let go of its grip to his gun. Then his eyes saddened in a way Garcia had never seen before, as if he knew there was nothing else he could do. As if he knew he had been outwitted and outplayed by a smarter opponent.
After that, Hunter’s right arm folded back in the direction of his body, bringing his gun with him.
‘Oh my God!’ Captain Blake brought both hands to her face, covering her nose and mouth. Just like Garcia’s, hers were also shaking.
Hunter raised his gun and placed it under his own chin.
The captain felt an enormous pit open up inside her stomach. She knew Hunter well enough to know that he would give his life to save someone else’s, never mind someone he knew, someone as important as his partner’s wife. She felt tears come to her eyes and squeezed them tight, wishing that when she reopened them she’d find herself back in her room, waking up from a terrible nightmare. But she knew that that wouldn’t happen. That day was as real and as hard-hitting as she would ever have.
Captain Blake kept her eyes shut. She knew exactly what was about to happen. She didn’t need or want to watch it happening.
Garcia, on the other hand, kept his unblinking eyes wide open, taking everything in. He saw the moment the look in Hunter’s eyes changed from sad to serene, as he recognized and accepted that he really had only one choice.
CLOCK: 0:03, 0:02, 0:01.
At that exact instant, as if programmed by Graham, the images on the screen faded to total darkness. As it did, and just before the broadcast went completely offline, they heard the faint sound of a single gunshot being fired.
‘No, no, no . . .’ Garcia jumped up and grabbed the computer monitor with both hands, shaking it. ‘What happened? What happened? Where’s the picture?’ His heart seemed to stop beating for a moment. Desperation took over him, because there was no way he could be sure if the shot had come from Hunter or Graham’s gun.
One Hundred and Seventeen
CLOCK: 0:03, 0:02, 0:01.
And that was when Hunter’s gamble paid off.
Graham had been right. From that distance, Hunter only needed half a chance, and he would hit the target ten times out of ten.
Graham had said so himself – he wanted to watch Hunter take his own life. The problem was, from where Graham was hiding, his direct line of sight to Hunter was blocked by the high-backed metal chair that Anna was strapped to.
Hunter kept his eyes wide open, staring straight at the chair, waiting for his chance. As the countdown clock reached 0.01, Graham Fisher did exactly what Hunter was expecting him to do.
First, Graham shifted his attention from his own gun and from Anna. Then he subtly moved sideways, partially abandoning the safety of his shield. In doing that he was forced to expose just a little more of his body, while craning his neck to get a better glimpse at something that he just wouldn’t want to miss – the closing act to his master plan.
That was all the chance Hunter needed.
As he dived right, simultaneously extending his arm, time switched to slow motion. In his head, all sounds ceased, being replaced by a vacuum. Hunter became aware of only two things: his target, and his own heartbeat as it pounded inside his chest and thundered in his brain. While in mid-flight, and as his eyes locked with Graham’s, Hunter squeezed the trigger on his gun.
In real time it all happened way too fast for Graham to be able to react.
Hunter’s shot hit Graham’s right shoulder with pinpoint precision, rupturing muscles, shattering bones and slicing through tendons and ligaments.
Graham’s hand instantly lost all its grip, and his gun dropped to the floor. The powerful impact of an ultra-high-performance, center-fire, fragmenting 9mm bullet projected his body backward, throwing him to the ground while a red mist of blood shot up, coloring the air. The bitter tang of cordite filled the room.
Hunter also hit the ground after the shot, rolling sideways twice but expertly keeping his aim on his target.
Graham let out a guttural roar and immediately brought his left hand to his right shoulder, which was now just a gooey mess of blood and torn flesh. He felt the room spinning violently around him, as dizziness, brought on by the tremendous pain and sudden loss of blood, took over. Only in Hollywood films can a person be shot with a high-velocity exploding bullet and still have the strength to dance a jig. A couple of seconds later, Graham fainted.
Hunter shot back to his feet and covered the short distance between him and Graham in a flash.
‘Don’t even think of moving,’ he said firmly with his gun pointing straight at Graham’s head, but Graham was down and out, at least for the time being.
Hunter lost no time in cuffing his hands behind his back, disregarding the new bolt of pain that undoubtedly shot up Graham’s right arm as he did so. After that, Hunter quickly checked on Anna.
She had been heavily sedated. Her pupils were dilated, making her eyes seem lost in time. Her body was unresponsive, but her pulse was strong, and she didn’t seem hurt.
That was when Hunter heard the most terrifying and agonizing scream he’d ever heard. He swung his body around in the direction of the scream and the metal-bar cage, only then his attention returned to the computer monitor to the left of it.
CLOCK: 0:00.
SAVE: 34,471.
EXECUTE: 34,502.
‘Oh God! No.’
He ran toward the cage, but the EXECUTE process had already started. The mechanical arm the metal-mesh mask was attached to had begun pressing it against the woman’s face. The laser-sharp wires were already tearing through her skin and flesh, covering her face with a red mask of sticky blood.
Hunter took a step back, aimed his gun at the lock on the cage’s door and fired twice. The bullets didn’t even seem to scratch it. He fired two more rounds. Nothing.
The wires had now cut through the cartilage on the woman’s nose. Unable to escape the most basic human reaction to pain, she began screaming. Her jaw and head movement only served to shift and grind her face against the sharp wires that had already dug deep into her flesh, making them not only cut horizontally but vertically as well, in a shredding action, mutilating whatever was left.
Hunter took a step to the side and looked around, desperate to help but not knowing how. He needed to find something.
That was when all of a sudden the metal-mesh mask stopped compressing against the woman’s face and began retracting, bringing with it chunks of skin, flesh and cartilage. Hunter then heard a loud buzzing noise, followed by a lock click.
The cage door popped open.
Graham had told Hunter that if EXECUTE was ahe
ad when the countdown clock reached zero, the time-release mechanism would release the door after five minutes, enough time for Graham’s horror-mask to have put the woman through the most agonizing and torturous pain before killing her. But the whole process had lasted less than fifty seconds.
Something had malfunctioned.
Hunter pulled the cage’s door open and quickly got to the woman. She was shaking uncontrollably, just about to enter shock.
Hunter still had the phone the cab driver had given him. He called for help, untied the woman and, cradling her bloody face in his arms, sat on the floor and waited for it to arrive.
One Hundred and Eighteen
Next day
Outside Garcia’s apartment building
5.00 p.m.
As Hunter parked his car, he saw Garcia exiting the building’s entrance lobby, carrying a suitcase.
Captain Blake had ordered them both to take a two-week break, effective immediately.
‘Need any help with that?’ Hunter said, stepping out of his car.
Garcia looked up and smiled. ‘No, I’m cool. Why do women always have to over-pack?’
Hunter had no answer.
Garcia popped open his trunk, placed the suitcase inside it and turned to face his partner. He knew Hunter had spent part of the afternoon at the California Hospital Medical Center in South Grand Avenue.
‘Any news?’ he asked.
‘The doctors have just operated on her again,’ Hunter replied. ‘The second surgery in less than twenty-four hours.’ His eye had a sad gloom to them. ‘And they believe that she will have to undergo a few more in the next few months. But even so, most of her disfigurement will be irreversible.’
Garcia combed a hand through his hair.
‘It wasn’t a malfunction, Carlos,’ Hunter said.
Garcia looked at him.
‘The metal-mesh mask stopping when it did,’ Hunter clarified. ‘It wasn’t a malfunction. Graham Fisher programmed it that way. He lied when he told me that it would take five minutes for the door to disengage, by which time she should’ve been dead.’
‘How do you know? Has he confessed?’
‘No,’ Hunter replied. ‘He isn’t talking . . . yet. But I know that that was what he wanted. He never wanted her dead. He wanted her disfigured.’ Hunter leaned against the car parked next to Garcia’s. ‘If my face were that fucked up, I would’ve killed myself a long time ago. Los Angeles has one less ugly freak to deal with. If all the ugly, fucked-up school-kids who can’t deal with their own problems followed suit and topped themselves, LA would be a much better place.’
Garcia’s brow creased.
‘She troll-posted those words on the Internet,’ Hunter confirmed. ‘Referring to Graham Fisher’s son.’
‘Fuck,’ Garcia whispered.
‘Graham wanted her disfigured because he wanted her to go through everything his son went through. He wanted to teach her what having others stare at you, laugh at you, gossip behind your back, call you names and treat you like a monster for the rest of your life felt like. That was his final revenge, not her death.’ Hunter looked away, shaking his head. ‘Even though we caught him, he won. In the end, he got what he wanted.’
‘No, he didn’t,’ Garcia shot back firmly. ‘His final revenge involved you being dead, remember? And that didn’t happen. Graham Fisher will now rot in prison. He’s never coming out.’ He looked away for a moment, regaining his breath. ‘But that can’t undo the fact that people voted, Robert.’ He looked almost disgusted. ‘Regular people out there, sitting in their homes, in their offices, in cafés, in schools . . .’ He shook his head. ‘They voted. Unlike the two previous times, Graham gave them the chance and the power to save someone’s life, and a great number of them chose not to. They chose to sentence a complete stranger to death, just so they could watch it for entertainment. A human life in exchange for a few laughs – how’s that for a bargain?’
Hunter breathed out.
‘There’s no two ways of looking at this, Robert. That’s just fucked up. Some people out there have lost track of everything. Especially of how valuable a life is.’
Hunter’s long silence told Garcia he agreed. ‘How is Anna?’ he finally asked.
‘Alive because of you.’
Hunter said nothing.
Garcia drew in a deep breath. ‘She’s very shaken up, and still a little dopey from the drugs Graham pumped into her. But in a way that was a blessing. She doesn’t remember anything that happened after she was drugged. If she’d been conscious throughout that whole ordeal yesterday, the psychological damage she’d be facing would’ve been far worse than what she’ll already have to overcome. You know that better than anyone else.’
The next few seconds felt more awkward than it had ever felt between the two of them.
‘So where are you going?’ Hunter asked, indicating the suitcase.
‘We’re going to visit a few relatives up in the mountains in Oregon,’ Garcia replied. ‘Just get away from everything for a while, you know? It will be good to take Anna away from this city. It will be good to be just the two of us for two weeks . . . No interruptions . . . No phone calls in the middle of the night . . .’
Another awkward silence.
‘Will you be back?’ Hunter asked.
Garcia knew Hunter was referring to the Homicide Special Section. He was pensive for a long moment. ‘I’ll be back to the force,’ he finally said. ‘I have to decide if I can come back to Homicide Special.’
Hunter said nothing.
‘I’ll be truthful with you,’ Garcia said, meeting Hunter’s eyes. ‘I’ve never been as scared as I was yesterday, Robert. Anna has always been everything to me. Without her, I’m nothing. I’ve always feared losing her. But you know the kind of fear I’m talking about, right? The kind that happens to every couple in love.’ Garcia shook his head. ‘Not yesterday. Seeing Anna tied to that chair with a gun to her head made it real. It made me totally realize how fragile and vulnerable she really is. And you as well as I know that the only reason her life was put in danger was because I’m a Homicide Special Section detective. In other words, I put her life in danger by doing the job I do.’
Hunter studied his partner in silence.
‘You know that threats to my life don’t scare me. I don’t even mind being nailed to a human-sized cross, as you well know. But this is the first time that a threat has branched out to Anna, and I won’t lie to you, Robert. It’s forced me to rethink things. To rethink my priorities.’
Hunter knew it would.
‘I was so scared, that I wasn’t thinking clearly,’ Garcia admitted. ‘If it had been me instead of you in that room yesterday, I don’t think I would’ve seen the chance you saw, and even if I had I don’t think I would’ve had the nerve to have taken it. I would’ve simply shot myself to save Anna.’
Hunter said nothing, and the silence stretched for several seconds.
‘But I’m not making any decisions right now,’ Garcia said. ‘Things are still too vivid and fresh in my mind, and therefore I’m not thinking one hundred percent straight.’ Garcia put on a brave smile. ‘The break will do me good. It will give me time to sort my head out. It will do you good as well. Are you going anywhere?’
Hunter shrugged. ‘I haven’t decided yet, but I was thinking maybe Hawaii.’
Garcia smiled. ‘That would really do you good.’
Hunter smiled back. ‘Yeah, I really do need a break.’
‘Whatever decision I come to,’ Garcia said at last. ‘You’ll be the first one to know, partner.’
Hunter nodded.
Without any warning, Garcia took a step toward Hunter and hugged him as if he would never see him again. ‘Thank you for what you did yesterday, Robert. Thank you for saving Anna.’
Hunter smiled awkwardly.
‘Now why don’t you come up?’ Garcia said. ‘I know Anna would love to see you.’
‘Give me a minute,’ Hunter said and quickly returned to his
car. From the passenger’s seat, he retrieved a bouquet of white and yellow roses before following Garcia into the building.
One thing Hunter was certain of. Whatever decision Garcia came to in the next two weeks, it would be the right one.
Acknowledgments
Many people have contributed in so many different and generous ways to this work and, though a simple acknowledgment page cannot fully express my gratitude, I’d like them to know that this novel would never have been possible without them.
My friend, and the best agent an author could ever hope for, Darley Anderson. Camilla Wray, Clare Wallace, Mary Darby, and everyone at the Darley Anderson Literary Agency for their never-ending strive to promote and sell my work anywhere and everywhere possible.
My fantastic editor at Simon & Schuster, Maxine Hitchcock, whose comments, suggestions, knowledge and friendship I could never do without. Emma Lowth for double editing, and making sure that everything makes sense (because it usually never does). My publisher, Ian Chapman and Suzanne Baboneau, for the tremendous support and belief. The amazing team at Simon & Schuster for always doing their best, and going way beyond the call of duty.
Samantha Johnson for patiently listening to all my crazy ideas, and for being there.
Most of all, thank you to all the readers and everyone out there who have so fantastically supported me and my novels from the start. This one, and all my novels are written for you.
